There have been a lot of tragedies in my life that have rendered me speechless. But not this one. I actually find MadTV's cancellation to be mildly humorous in a way, and let me explain why. I enjoy human suffering. Suffer, humans, suffer.
Actually, the real reason is that the show wasn't funny. The Fox network has been behind countless hit shows that have been slightly entertaining, and it's had it's share of god-awful wastes of television space. If I bothered to make a top 10 worst shows I've ever watched, MadTV would be in there, next to the History Channel's "The History of Bridges" and that one cartoon created by David Cross for liberals to masturbate to. Maybe I'm being too harsh on MadTV here, and for that, I apologize.
Wait. Actually, I don't apologize. Suck my dick.
I basically had two problems with MadTV:
- The actors
- The writing
Besides those two things, the show was good. The sets were good. The lighting... it was excellent.
The worst of the actors was undoubtedly Michael MacDonald, whose best impression was a spoiled man-child which resembled a murderous homosexual ghost from a nightmare you'd have after a day of hard drinking. The first time I saw him do it, I said "Oh, a man acting like a child, haha." and that was it. But for some reason beknownst to myself, sketch comedy shows feel the need to recycle annoying characters, placing them in different "situations". For example, let's say I came up with a character called Mel the Cactus. Mel the Cactus likes to swear at children in public and pee in random places. My original skit would have him in a restaurant. Then the writing staff, the next week, would say to me "OH HEY! LET'S DO WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF MEL WENT TO THE MALL!!" and I'd laugh like a clown with a newly-kidnapped child and reply with "OKAY LOL."
THEN REPEAT THIS PROCESS TWENTY-SIX MILLION TIMES. Then Mel becomes significantly less funny, and quick. Trust me, even if you like the idea behind Mel now, if you have any taste at all, you'll hate his fucking guts after seeing him do the same thing every week for 5 years.
Also, have you seen Michael MacDonald's Maury impression? He just puts on glasses and a sweater and does a Gilbert Goetfried voice, and the staff of the show just nods and goes "Close enough for government work."
The only actor on the show I liked was Bobby Lee. Now that MadTV has been destroyed by the flaming templars of fate, he can finally be on a decent show, or fade into obscurity and die by overdosing on oxycontin. One of those. I'm hoping for the former to occur, rather than the drug thing.
Now, the writing on the show was fairly crippling. The jokes were often very cheap gags that focused heavily on mocking celebrities poorly, and dragging the sketch out for several minutes longer than what is humanly acceptable to tolerate before bursting into spontaneous projectile vomiting.
Maybe that's just part of being forced to do an hour-long sketch comedy show every week when your writers spend monday through friday being stoned perpetually to the point of incomprehensibility, then being expecting to pull something together at the last minute. Yes, I understand it's so hard, and yet, still don't give a fuck. It's like a Chrysler vehicle; tons of workers put so much dedication into their factory jobs to create a marvel of modern transportation, and yet, still deliver a product that can only be described as a total shitfest from shit-heaven.
I will now write a MadTV skit.
It would be a rap video, because supposedly, everything is funnier when there is a hip-hop version of it. And let's make it world leaders rapping. Done. The video would feature the Queen of England (who would grind against another world leader), Barack Obama, Kim Jong Il (Played by Bobby Lee), Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, and whoever the hell the president of Mexico is. The Mexican President, of course, would do his part about how his people can't stop coming to America.
Oh, the hilarity. I think my liver just exploded from laughter. Or it exploded simply as a reaction by my body trying to destroy itself in order to end the suffering.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Science Fiction Story (From the Future)
The year: 3,000 a.d.
aw, hell, let's make it the year 4,000
Setting: Humanity now travels between the stars (surprising, I know) and the Earth has been largely abandoned. It is considered to be the 3rd most boring planet in the galaxy, only behind Saxaphone-5 and Planet Amazing. It's a running joke that Planet Amazing is actually amazing, whereas everyone knows this is false, except old people and the mentally ill.
In space, a mighty spaceship roared silently through the black void. At the helm of this vessel, the Captain stared blankly out into the stars. "I wonder," he thought, "what would happen if Selnus-6 fought with mX-99382. There are so many variables involved and..."
Suddenly, the ship was struck by an asteroid. "I should have been paying attention!" the Captain cried out as the warning siren sounded on all the decks. The Captain staggered to his feet and looked around the bridge of the ship, which was littered with the bodies of dead crew members, and random fires. "Great Darwin's Beard..." the Captain muttered in disbelief. A hologram of a woman appeared. "Captain, we've been hit by a large asteroid." she reported.
"NO WAY." The Captain replied sarcastically.
"Yes way."
"How bad is this?"
"According to my calculations, we're all going to die in exactly 78 seconds."
"Computer-woman-hologram-thingy, calculate our odds of survival!"
"Your odds of survival are 0%. 73 seconds."
"Alright, teleport me to the nearest planet."
"The teleportation capacitor was damaged last week when one of your crew members copulated with a robot on it. I attempted to inform you of this, however, my efforts were in vain, as you were engaged in a game of Space Strip Poker, which is similar to regular Strip Poker, but in Space."
"Computer, your incompetence astounds me."
"I apologize, Captain."
Then the power failed on the ship, and all the oxygen was sucked out. The Captain slumped down onto the floor, and wondered why he was able to slump onto the floor if there is no gravity, but it didn't matter because he was dead.
The ship happened to be carrying a very valuable cargo: The Particle Deregulator, an experimental device, that, when activated, would turn all the matter in the universe into anti-matter, and vice-versa. Basically, everything would be destroyed, but the scientists who created it were allowed to finish it because they said "We promise that after we build it, we will not activate it." and were scanned by highly-intelligent robots who calculated there was a 92% chance that the scientists would keep their promise.
After the asteroid-stricken ship was disabled by the asteroid, the entire crew died, and the cargo was picked up Space Pirates. This surprised absolutely no one, because every other person in the galaxy was a Space Pirate. It all started when a very famous robot decided to quit his successful career as a musician to begin raiding the colonies in the Fucktra Sector, and stealing billions of gords worth of eels. By the way, in the future, the only money accepted is gords. The weirder the gord looks, the more it would be worth.
After a 5-nanosecond-long investigation by the Galactic Bureau of Inquiry, it was determined that the crew might have survived if they ship had not been robbed of oxygen. Therefore, the United Glorbist Alliance held a meeting to discuss what should be done. Of course, as every school kid knows, Glorbism was a philosophy founded by Glorb the Gluttonous, who also invented "Smart Food", which simply teleported itself into the eater's stomach, then analyzed the body's needs, and morphed itself into the proper suppliments to fulfill those needs. However, Glorbism, the philosophy, was a system of thinking that is impossible to explain in just a few sentences, but basically, it's just a belief that everyone in the world is actually one person who just runs around really fast to create the illusion that there are a bunch of different people everywhere. Other elements of Glorbism state things like: the universe's size is shrinking while appearing to expand, robots should have equal rights with humans (the rights to get married, vote, etc., all that fun shit), and that aliens exist. The entire galaxy had been searched, but no intelligent alien life had been discovered, which begged the question, "What the fuck? Seriously!" But it was surmised that even though our galaxy had no alien life, that perhaps another galaxy could contain aliens.
Anyhow, the United Glorbist Alliance's high council went into session to discuss what should be done about the recent wreck.
"Thank you for coming today," the President began, adding, "Even though we all know that you would be executed if you were absent."
"Here here!" the councilmembers cheered.
"As you all know, one of our ships, the Hapsburg, was struck by an asteroid, which probably belonged to our enemies. Our enemies are sneaky vermin, and we should be vigilant of their conspiring minds."
"Your Fordship," one of the councilmembers began, "Suppose that it was merely an accident that lead to the disaster?"
"Nonsense. Our mortal enemy, the Orbian Conglomerate was clearly behind the attack."
"What is your proof, my Ford?"
"Simple, very simple. The Orbians hate us. They hate our love for peace, and our protectiveness of life. That is why they must be destroyed."
"I do agree with you, the Orbians are horrible, vomit-eating boars, born from the grey-haired vagina of a Space-Witch, but there seems to be no indication that they had anything to do with this malicious act of Space Terrorism."
"Nevertheless, the people want blood. Plus, we want the Orbians dead, so let's just kill two Troygions with one Xantesh."
"I've never heard that expression."
"It's what all the kids are saying."
Another councilmember stood up and said "No one has used the word 'Xantesh' since the 3980's, your Fordship."
"Ah, nevermind, then." The President said.
So, they all agreed to declare war on the Orbians, a race of people that no one really understood, because they had given up their human bodies to become floating orbs of light. This, of course, meant they couldn't engage in sexual activities, but the Orbians insisted they were perfectly happy and that sex was just a emotional burden slowing down human progress. The humans with bodies, however, were convinced the Orbians were actually, in fact, secretly bitter and vindictive, and feared the Orbians would lash out and attack because of their sheer sexual frustration. Actual studies done by actual robots seemed to confirm these fears.
Still, there were protests against the Glorbian government, which claimed the President was only going to war for the eels.
The Glorbian's Space Navy mobilized one hundred billion dreadnaughts, supercarriers, super-mega-carriers, and of course, super-dreadnaught-death-carriers to destroy every last remnant of the Orbian race. The Orbians became alarmed, and they, in turn, mobilized an equal number of equally powerful ships. The Glorbians' best robots predicted that, in the event of a battle, the Orbians had a 50% chance of victory, which everyone on the Glorbian side believed, was far too high.
Therefore, the Glorbians sent more ships, and the Orbians sent more ships, until there were nine trillion ships total facing each other. Meanwhile, at that moment, in some insanely-forgotten dark corner of the galaxy, a very wise midget realized that the names of the two fighting factions rhymed. Only no one cared.
The Admiral of the Glorbian fleet looked out into space at the Orbian's ships and said to himself "Darwin help us all."
A female officer with an amazing physique and an incredibly-unnecessarily tight spandex uniform walked up to the Admiral and said "We've received the order, Admiral. The President wants us to attack."
"Wait..." the Admiral replied "I don't know if I can do this. I have a confession. I'm still a virgin, and if I die without being sexed upon, then I'm no better than those Orbian fuckers."
"Admiral, sir, grow some testicles this instant and order the attack."
"Alright, I'll do it. FIRE!"
Both fleets fired at each other, and in 2 nanoseconds, trillions of ships were instantly disintegrated on both sides. There was only one ship left, which belonged to the Glorbians, thus making them the winners of the war. Unfortunately, there was a gaping hole in the side of the Glorbian ship, causing all the oxygen to be sucked out, and all the crewmembers died.
The President of the United Glorbian Alliance was shocked. "This cannot be!" he cried, and his second head said "Cheer up lad." because it was very fashionable for important aristocrats and political leaders to have two heads and four arms.
But, because he was a man of action, he decided that the best course of conduct would be to fill the entire universe with oxygen, thus ensuring that no crew would ever run out of air again. So, he founded a program called Let's Fill The Entire Universe With Oxygen by The Year 3012, which was protested by religious groups, because they felt that if God wanted the universe to be filled with oxygen, that He would've made it filled with oxygen to begin with.
There was a problem, though, seeing as how the two most powerful fleets in the galaxy were both destroyed, there was no way for anyone to manage the problem of Space Piracy. Pretty soon, Space Pirates were robbing everyone blind.
The President, while onboard his ship, received a transmission from the Space Pirate Leader.
"It's you!" The President said, startled.
"How are you, Mr. 'President'?" The Space Pirate Leader began, "I regret to inform you that all of your bases now belong to us. Soon, you will be destroyed."
"What did you say?"
"My robots have informed me that you have no chance of survival."
The President's ship was promptly destoryed, (not 'destroyed', but 'destoryed', a term which means that you've been destroyed so hard that you no longer have a story.) and the galaxy slid into a state of anarchy.
Suddenly, the President appeared in a bedroom, which was completely white. Then he got up, and ate a steak at a little dinner table, but accidentally dropped his glass, and it broke. He sighed.
And somewhere, in a distant part of space, a Starbaby was born.
The end.
note: this entire story takes place within the time span of 2 seconds, because everything happens unbelievably fast in the future.
aw, hell, let's make it the year 4,000
Setting: Humanity now travels between the stars (surprising, I know) and the Earth has been largely abandoned. It is considered to be the 3rd most boring planet in the galaxy, only behind Saxaphone-5 and Planet Amazing. It's a running joke that Planet Amazing is actually amazing, whereas everyone knows this is false, except old people and the mentally ill.
In space, a mighty spaceship roared silently through the black void. At the helm of this vessel, the Captain stared blankly out into the stars. "I wonder," he thought, "what would happen if Selnus-6 fought with mX-99382. There are so many variables involved and..."
Suddenly, the ship was struck by an asteroid. "I should have been paying attention!" the Captain cried out as the warning siren sounded on all the decks. The Captain staggered to his feet and looked around the bridge of the ship, which was littered with the bodies of dead crew members, and random fires. "Great Darwin's Beard..." the Captain muttered in disbelief. A hologram of a woman appeared. "Captain, we've been hit by a large asteroid." she reported.
"NO WAY." The Captain replied sarcastically.
"Yes way."
"How bad is this?"
"According to my calculations, we're all going to die in exactly 78 seconds."
"Computer-woman-hologram-thingy, calculate our odds of survival!"
"Your odds of survival are 0%. 73 seconds."
"Alright, teleport me to the nearest planet."
"The teleportation capacitor was damaged last week when one of your crew members copulated with a robot on it. I attempted to inform you of this, however, my efforts were in vain, as you were engaged in a game of Space Strip Poker, which is similar to regular Strip Poker, but in Space."
"Computer, your incompetence astounds me."
"I apologize, Captain."
Then the power failed on the ship, and all the oxygen was sucked out. The Captain slumped down onto the floor, and wondered why he was able to slump onto the floor if there is no gravity, but it didn't matter because he was dead.
The ship happened to be carrying a very valuable cargo: The Particle Deregulator, an experimental device, that, when activated, would turn all the matter in the universe into anti-matter, and vice-versa. Basically, everything would be destroyed, but the scientists who created it were allowed to finish it because they said "We promise that after we build it, we will not activate it." and were scanned by highly-intelligent robots who calculated there was a 92% chance that the scientists would keep their promise.
After the asteroid-stricken ship was disabled by the asteroid, the entire crew died, and the cargo was picked up Space Pirates. This surprised absolutely no one, because every other person in the galaxy was a Space Pirate. It all started when a very famous robot decided to quit his successful career as a musician to begin raiding the colonies in the Fucktra Sector, and stealing billions of gords worth of eels. By the way, in the future, the only money accepted is gords. The weirder the gord looks, the more it would be worth.
After a 5-nanosecond-long investigation by the Galactic Bureau of Inquiry, it was determined that the crew might have survived if they ship had not been robbed of oxygen. Therefore, the United Glorbist Alliance held a meeting to discuss what should be done. Of course, as every school kid knows, Glorbism was a philosophy founded by Glorb the Gluttonous, who also invented "Smart Food", which simply teleported itself into the eater's stomach, then analyzed the body's needs, and morphed itself into the proper suppliments to fulfill those needs. However, Glorbism, the philosophy, was a system of thinking that is impossible to explain in just a few sentences, but basically, it's just a belief that everyone in the world is actually one person who just runs around really fast to create the illusion that there are a bunch of different people everywhere. Other elements of Glorbism state things like: the universe's size is shrinking while appearing to expand, robots should have equal rights with humans (the rights to get married, vote, etc., all that fun shit), and that aliens exist. The entire galaxy had been searched, but no intelligent alien life had been discovered, which begged the question, "What the fuck? Seriously!" But it was surmised that even though our galaxy had no alien life, that perhaps another galaxy could contain aliens.
Anyhow, the United Glorbist Alliance's high council went into session to discuss what should be done about the recent wreck.
"Thank you for coming today," the President began, adding, "Even though we all know that you would be executed if you were absent."
"Here here!" the councilmembers cheered.
"As you all know, one of our ships, the Hapsburg, was struck by an asteroid, which probably belonged to our enemies. Our enemies are sneaky vermin, and we should be vigilant of their conspiring minds."
"Your Fordship," one of the councilmembers began, "Suppose that it was merely an accident that lead to the disaster?"
"Nonsense. Our mortal enemy, the Orbian Conglomerate was clearly behind the attack."
"What is your proof, my Ford?"
"Simple, very simple. The Orbians hate us. They hate our love for peace, and our protectiveness of life. That is why they must be destroyed."
"I do agree with you, the Orbians are horrible, vomit-eating boars, born from the grey-haired vagina of a Space-Witch, but there seems to be no indication that they had anything to do with this malicious act of Space Terrorism."
"Nevertheless, the people want blood. Plus, we want the Orbians dead, so let's just kill two Troygions with one Xantesh."
"I've never heard that expression."
"It's what all the kids are saying."
Another councilmember stood up and said "No one has used the word 'Xantesh' since the 3980's, your Fordship."
"Ah, nevermind, then." The President said.
So, they all agreed to declare war on the Orbians, a race of people that no one really understood, because they had given up their human bodies to become floating orbs of light. This, of course, meant they couldn't engage in sexual activities, but the Orbians insisted they were perfectly happy and that sex was just a emotional burden slowing down human progress. The humans with bodies, however, were convinced the Orbians were actually, in fact, secretly bitter and vindictive, and feared the Orbians would lash out and attack because of their sheer sexual frustration. Actual studies done by actual robots seemed to confirm these fears.
Still, there were protests against the Glorbian government, which claimed the President was only going to war for the eels.
The Glorbian's Space Navy mobilized one hundred billion dreadnaughts, supercarriers, super-mega-carriers, and of course, super-dreadnaught-death-carriers to destroy every last remnant of the Orbian race. The Orbians became alarmed, and they, in turn, mobilized an equal number of equally powerful ships. The Glorbians' best robots predicted that, in the event of a battle, the Orbians had a 50% chance of victory, which everyone on the Glorbian side believed, was far too high.
Therefore, the Glorbians sent more ships, and the Orbians sent more ships, until there were nine trillion ships total facing each other. Meanwhile, at that moment, in some insanely-forgotten dark corner of the galaxy, a very wise midget realized that the names of the two fighting factions rhymed. Only no one cared.
The Admiral of the Glorbian fleet looked out into space at the Orbian's ships and said to himself "Darwin help us all."
A female officer with an amazing physique and an incredibly-unnecessarily tight spandex uniform walked up to the Admiral and said "We've received the order, Admiral. The President wants us to attack."
"Wait..." the Admiral replied "I don't know if I can do this. I have a confession. I'm still a virgin, and if I die without being sexed upon, then I'm no better than those Orbian fuckers."
"Admiral, sir, grow some testicles this instant and order the attack."
"Alright, I'll do it. FIRE!"
Both fleets fired at each other, and in 2 nanoseconds, trillions of ships were instantly disintegrated on both sides. There was only one ship left, which belonged to the Glorbians, thus making them the winners of the war. Unfortunately, there was a gaping hole in the side of the Glorbian ship, causing all the oxygen to be sucked out, and all the crewmembers died.
The President of the United Glorbian Alliance was shocked. "This cannot be!" he cried, and his second head said "Cheer up lad." because it was very fashionable for important aristocrats and political leaders to have two heads and four arms.
But, because he was a man of action, he decided that the best course of conduct would be to fill the entire universe with oxygen, thus ensuring that no crew would ever run out of air again. So, he founded a program called Let's Fill The Entire Universe With Oxygen by The Year 3012, which was protested by religious groups, because they felt that if God wanted the universe to be filled with oxygen, that He would've made it filled with oxygen to begin with.
There was a problem, though, seeing as how the two most powerful fleets in the galaxy were both destroyed, there was no way for anyone to manage the problem of Space Piracy. Pretty soon, Space Pirates were robbing everyone blind.
The President, while onboard his ship, received a transmission from the Space Pirate Leader.
"It's you!" The President said, startled.
"How are you, Mr. 'President'?" The Space Pirate Leader began, "I regret to inform you that all of your bases now belong to us. Soon, you will be destroyed."
"What did you say?"
"My robots have informed me that you have no chance of survival."
The President's ship was promptly destoryed, (not 'destroyed', but 'destoryed', a term which means that you've been destroyed so hard that you no longer have a story.) and the galaxy slid into a state of anarchy.
Suddenly, the President appeared in a bedroom, which was completely white. Then he got up, and ate a steak at a little dinner table, but accidentally dropped his glass, and it broke. He sighed.
And somewhere, in a distant part of space, a Starbaby was born.
The end.
note: this entire story takes place within the time span of 2 seconds, because everything happens unbelievably fast in the future.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Me Dictating an Angry Letter to a Congressperson
Despite my massive hangover crashing viciously against the insides of my head like a crazed goat, I managed to catch a blog from Southern4life, where I watched a video where a Congressman, Scott Renfroe, R (huge surprise) Colorado, compares being gay to murder, using that great Republican argument that we shouldn't "make sin legal". Well, gee, that makes perfect sense except that this fatass refuses to make gluttony illegal, but choose not to acknowledge that as sin because of his pride, which happens to be another legal sin. And since he wants to follow the book of Leviticus so badly, maybe he shouldn't be eating ham sandwiches.
Consequently, it says in the Bible that a person who breaks even part of the Old Law (from the leviticus region of the Bible) is guilty of breaking ALL of it, so basically, his ham sandwich pretty much makes him a sodomizing animal-fucker.
Therefore, I wrote him this email:
to: scott.renfroe.senate@state.co.us
from: calicolyst@gmail.com
Despite the childish overtones this message may convey, the more I think about it, the more his face does look stupid. Anyhow, that's kind of moot, and this actually a small waste of my time, considering that since the fall of Soviet Russia, the Republicans have been trying desperately to find a new enemy to peg all of America's problems on, and unfortunately for gay people, they drew the small straw.
Anyhow, you all reading this should email your congresspeoples and just let them know what a fucked-up job they're doing right now, especially Scott Refroe.
Consequently, it says in the Bible that a person who breaks even part of the Old Law (from the leviticus region of the Bible) is guilty of breaking ALL of it, so basically, his ham sandwich pretty much makes him a sodomizing animal-fucker.
Therefore, I wrote him this email:
to: scott.renfroe.senate@state.co.us
from: calicolyst@gmail.com
Dear Mr. Renfroe,
I know you're just trying to "do the right thing" and get brownie points with God by banishing homosexuals from being able to wed. I would try to argue with you that you're being an incredible hypocrite, but you're probably not going to return this email, and if you do, it's probably going to be some "You made some good points, but I gotta go with what the Bible teaches", nonsense that totally disregards that Jesus part of the Bible where he tells us that we should all love each other despite being sinners. So, what I'm going to do instead is simply say that your face looks stupid.
Despite the childish overtones this message may convey, the more I think about it, the more his face does look stupid. Anyhow, that's kind of moot, and this actually a small waste of my time, considering that since the fall of Soviet Russia, the Republicans have been trying desperately to find a new enemy to peg all of America's problems on, and unfortunately for gay people, they drew the small straw.
Anyhow, you all reading this should email your congresspeoples and just let them know what a fucked-up job they're doing right now, especially Scott Refroe.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
It's Mardi Gras, where is your daughter/sister?
Hi folks.
The most magical time of year has finally come. It's Mardi Gras today, which is a special time when we all go to New Orleans to get smashed and go streaking. Or am I thinking of Cinco de Mayo? It's one of those, I know.
Now, as a scribe, it is my duty to inform my tribe of the "true meaning" of every holiday, or else something bad will happen, like Russia will take over or some shit. Mardi Gras was started in the future, the year 2102 by time-travelling pranksters who thought it would be funny to alter the fabric of history by filling the Grand Canyon with origami cranes, then just laughing at us while we fumbled around in confusion and dismay. Unfortunately for those assholes, the moment they came out of the time warp, the time machine collides in mid-air with an albatross. One thing lead to another, and Mardi Gras was invented.
Today, the holiday is mainly an excuse to get loaded, and for emotionally vapid girls to flash their boobs in front of cameras that they have no idea belong to the imps of Fox News. It's hard to tell an imp from a human when you're drunk.
Enjoy your celebrating.
The most magical time of year has finally come. It's Mardi Gras today, which is a special time when we all go to New Orleans to get smashed and go streaking. Or am I thinking of Cinco de Mayo? It's one of those, I know.
Now, as a scribe, it is my duty to inform my tribe of the "true meaning" of every holiday, or else something bad will happen, like Russia will take over or some shit. Mardi Gras was started in the future, the year 2102 by time-travelling pranksters who thought it would be funny to alter the fabric of history by filling the Grand Canyon with origami cranes, then just laughing at us while we fumbled around in confusion and dismay. Unfortunately for those assholes, the moment they came out of the time warp, the time machine collides in mid-air with an albatross. One thing lead to another, and Mardi Gras was invented.
Today, the holiday is mainly an excuse to get loaded, and for emotionally vapid girls to flash their boobs in front of cameras that they have no idea belong to the imps of Fox News. It's hard to tell an imp from a human when you're drunk.
Enjoy your celebrating.
Monday, February 23, 2009
I Didn't Watch the Oscars Because I Didn't Really Want To.
The Oscar Awards were held yesterday and I didn't watch them. I plan to spend the next several days avoiding anything that attempts to inform me about who won what. This may prove to be difficult, because I read the news, and the people in the news love Awards Shows, especially when they have nothing to report, leading their coverage to blow a relatively low unemployment rate out of proportion.
Here's what happened at the Oscars (I know because this always happens):
- Some movie everyone liked won a ton of awards.
- Some movie no one expected won some awards.
- Some movie that was expected to win a bunch of awards won less awards than expected.
- Chris Rock was not invited to host.
Well, I hope they enjoy their little gold-colored statues, but I don't think those will be of much value when the Cloverfield Monster attacks and destroys pretty much everything.
Here's what happened at the Oscars (I know because this always happens):
- Some movie everyone liked won a ton of awards.
- Some movie no one expected won some awards.
- Some movie that was expected to win a bunch of awards won less awards than expected.
- Chris Rock was not invited to host.
Well, I hope they enjoy their little gold-colored statues, but I don't think those will be of much value when the Cloverfield Monster attacks and destroys pretty much everything.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Rule #546: Turn Personal Tragedy Into An Opportunity To Sell Books and Get Famous
It's a tough world. You could be walking down the sidewalk when you're suddenly jumped by a Caucasian gangster, who is certainly not black (because I'm not racist), and he beats your ass into the pavement and steals your wallet, and maybe also your clothes. So now, you're lost and alone, naked and without your money, driver's license and library card. Now imagine, right after that happens, a pigeon flies out of nowhere and shits on your head. Then it starts raining.
Life is tough, so it takes a shrewd mind to get through it successfully. So, normally, when someone you love dies, you mourn their loss, and then "pick up the pieces", whatever that means. However, if you're shrewd (not a 'shrew', a large rodent similar to a vole) you mourn the loss of your loved one for a bit, but then think to yourself, "How can I use this to make a lot of money?"
Let me explain the steps about how to do this:
- Be middle class, and preferably, white and attractive. The media loves this, and will feature you on their shows.
- Marry the love of your life, and have the "perfect life together".
- Now, that person has to die. The more tragic the circumstances, the better.
- Wait 6 months. This is vital because you don't want to look like you're doing this for the money. People tend to be judgmental about that. This grace period gives the image that you're not overly anxious to cash in.
- Now, write your book. You can write it before the six months, but you have to pretend to have written it after the six months. That's why it's a good idea to start it off with an introduction that tells a sweet story about how you and your loved one were on your honeymoon watching the sun go down together, and then start the first chapter with "It has been six months since that day I lost [Loved one's name goes here]..."
- Go on the internet and post video/blog about how you're struggling. Tell your viewers to "tell their friends to pray for you", because this gets you word-of-mouth viral exposure that will boost your overall views. The friends will visit, and they in turn, will get their friends to visit. See how that works? Plus, if anyone criticizes you, then they're just assholes, right? YOU had this huge tragedy. How dare they. Those fuckers.
- Start a non-profit organization with your loved one's name in it's title. You have to say "I want to help people just like myself going through tragedies." Why do you do this? Because word of your selflessness will be spread throughout the internet by your many followers, which will get you sufficient exposure to be noticed by a major media outlet.
- Get interview on major media outlet. This is vital.
- Profit! Finally, your book will sell 50,000 copies, and after the publisher gets their cut of the money, you'll make something like 15 dollars. But fear not, your non-profit org will get thousands of dollars, and of course, some of that will go to "administrative costs".
- Become hero. When someone you love dies and you tell the story on television, it automatically makes you heroic and a great person.
That's all there is to it. Follow these simple steps, and you too can sell tons of books and become a hero-on-television.
Life is tough, so it takes a shrewd mind to get through it successfully. So, normally, when someone you love dies, you mourn their loss, and then "pick up the pieces", whatever that means. However, if you're shrewd (not a 'shrew', a large rodent similar to a vole) you mourn the loss of your loved one for a bit, but then think to yourself, "How can I use this to make a lot of money?"
Let me explain the steps about how to do this:
- Be middle class, and preferably, white and attractive. The media loves this, and will feature you on their shows.
- Marry the love of your life, and have the "perfect life together".
- Now, that person has to die. The more tragic the circumstances, the better.
- Wait 6 months. This is vital because you don't want to look like you're doing this for the money. People tend to be judgmental about that. This grace period gives the image that you're not overly anxious to cash in.
- Now, write your book. You can write it before the six months, but you have to pretend to have written it after the six months. That's why it's a good idea to start it off with an introduction that tells a sweet story about how you and your loved one were on your honeymoon watching the sun go down together, and then start the first chapter with "It has been six months since that day I lost [Loved one's name goes here]..."
- Go on the internet and post video/blog about how you're struggling. Tell your viewers to "tell their friends to pray for you", because this gets you word-of-mouth viral exposure that will boost your overall views. The friends will visit, and they in turn, will get their friends to visit. See how that works? Plus, if anyone criticizes you, then they're just assholes, right? YOU had this huge tragedy. How dare they. Those fuckers.
- Start a non-profit organization with your loved one's name in it's title. You have to say "I want to help people just like myself going through tragedies." Why do you do this? Because word of your selflessness will be spread throughout the internet by your many followers, which will get you sufficient exposure to be noticed by a major media outlet.
- Get interview on major media outlet. This is vital.
- Profit! Finally, your book will sell 50,000 copies, and after the publisher gets their cut of the money, you'll make something like 15 dollars. But fear not, your non-profit org will get thousands of dollars, and of course, some of that will go to "administrative costs".
- Become hero. When someone you love dies and you tell the story on television, it automatically makes you heroic and a great person.
That's all there is to it. Follow these simple steps, and you too can sell tons of books and become a hero-on-television.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Kanye West: Give Chris Brown a Break.
No.
That should be the entire post, but I'll take it a few steps further. When I thought it wasn't possible for Kanye West to have any less credibility, I learned that I was mistaken. Silly me. Why all this judgment, man? I mean, who hasn't punched a girl in the face before strangling her into being unconscious? I haven't, for one, which seriously tarnishes my image as a bastion of malevolence. So, I'm going to pass judgment. Chris Brown is a dick, Michael Phelps is a pothead (Who didn't see that coming?), and Alex Rodriguez had sex with a 70-year-old woman.
But out of them all, Chris Brown is the biggest douchebag, shattering the perception of trillions of young girls who actually think all those r&b singahs are these really sweet romantic guys. Those girls will be shocked to find out that if a guy is smooth, polished and says all the right things, it's because he's had a lot of practice. They're like those guys who do bicycle races; they have a lot of practice getting onto bikes and riding them, riding them all day long.
I'm going to go overboard on purpose and say that Chris Brown is worse than Hitler. Fuck him. How dare he. This affects me personally, because someday, Rihanna and I are going to be together, and have so many beautiful children, who I will form into an unstoppable Soccer team which will square off against the Duggars, and the Octopus-Mom's (So-named because of her vile tentacles) kids in one huge soccer match, so if Chris Brown ruined Rihanna's face, then I will have to make her wear a bag over her head on the honeymoon. After all, I have posters of Rihanna all over my room, and have all her albums, including the ones that haven't even been recorded yet, and have sent her exactly 92,391,019 letters, most of which I mailed last December. I loaded them all into an enormous garbage bag, which I hauled to the post office three times a day, and just poured them all into the mail chute. Hey, I'm just doing my part to Save America by wasting money.
^ all lies
But seriously, Kanye West's opinion means nothing to me. If it was a decent rapper, like say, Talib Kweli or Nasir or even that weird creepy guy from the Black-Eyed Peas saying to lay off, I might consider it, but in this case, I will not, considering Kanye's lyrics are wickity whack, and that he thrives purely on grotesquely outrageous statements and his "unique" sense of style, which essentially means he deliberately wears mismatching styles of attire/bright colors/shit people in Germany wear. Oh, how profound. There must be a magical grey cloud of cynicism raining drops of contempt all over my head, because I find myself surprisingly unmoved by his decision to wear plaid pants with a bright pink sweater. I must hate art or something. I suppose I'm one of those "haters" he frequently references that takes time out of our busy schedules to let him know that his lyrics and his cloth-based vehicle of self-expression are a gigantic mass of nuclear bullshit from the 9th dimension.
Well, I'm off to go punch major female pop-singers. Don't judge me.
That should be the entire post, but I'll take it a few steps further. When I thought it wasn't possible for Kanye West to have any less credibility, I learned that I was mistaken. Silly me. Why all this judgment, man? I mean, who hasn't punched a girl in the face before strangling her into being unconscious? I haven't, for one, which seriously tarnishes my image as a bastion of malevolence. So, I'm going to pass judgment. Chris Brown is a dick, Michael Phelps is a pothead (Who didn't see that coming?), and Alex Rodriguez had sex with a 70-year-old woman.
But out of them all, Chris Brown is the biggest douchebag, shattering the perception of trillions of young girls who actually think all those r&b singahs are these really sweet romantic guys. Those girls will be shocked to find out that if a guy is smooth, polished and says all the right things, it's because he's had a lot of practice. They're like those guys who do bicycle races; they have a lot of practice getting onto bikes and riding them, riding them all day long.
I'm going to go overboard on purpose and say that Chris Brown is worse than Hitler. Fuck him. How dare he. This affects me personally, because someday, Rihanna and I are going to be together, and have so many beautiful children, who I will form into an unstoppable Soccer team which will square off against the Duggars, and the Octopus-Mom's (So-named because of her vile tentacles) kids in one huge soccer match, so if Chris Brown ruined Rihanna's face, then I will have to make her wear a bag over her head on the honeymoon. After all, I have posters of Rihanna all over my room, and have all her albums, including the ones that haven't even been recorded yet, and have sent her exactly 92,391,019 letters, most of which I mailed last December. I loaded them all into an enormous garbage bag, which I hauled to the post office three times a day, and just poured them all into the mail chute. Hey, I'm just doing my part to Save America by wasting money.
^ all lies
But seriously, Kanye West's opinion means nothing to me. If it was a decent rapper, like say, Talib Kweli or Nasir or even that weird creepy guy from the Black-Eyed Peas saying to lay off, I might consider it, but in this case, I will not, considering Kanye's lyrics are wickity whack, and that he thrives purely on grotesquely outrageous statements and his "unique" sense of style, which essentially means he deliberately wears mismatching styles of attire/bright colors/shit people in Germany wear. Oh, how profound. There must be a magical grey cloud of cynicism raining drops of contempt all over my head, because I find myself surprisingly unmoved by his decision to wear plaid pants with a bright pink sweater. I must hate art or something. I suppose I'm one of those "haters" he frequently references that takes time out of our busy schedules to let him know that his lyrics and his cloth-based vehicle of self-expression are a gigantic mass of nuclear bullshit from the 9th dimension.
Well, I'm off to go punch major female pop-singers. Don't judge me.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Bulletin for Myspace
These
Enjoy
Put o's in all the boxes
[ ] You belie
[ ] You belie
[ ] You have a wicke
[ ] You'
[ ] You'
[ ] You'
[ ] You can suck on a slice
[ ] You take care of an anima
[ ] Your abili
Now, take the answe
Monday, February 9, 2009
Stupid Comment
As much as I enjoy comments, sometimes, some of them are stupid. I remember eons ago, when the Earth was still young and Dinosaurs ruled the Earth, devouring small mammals and time-traveling scientists, I wrote a blog entry on Myspace about how much I hated Harry Potter. As usual, I exaggerated a lot of things, and wrote it chock-full of my deliberate overboard statements.
I mainly wrote the post to piss off all my friends, who left me comments saying:
"Okay, first of all, Harry Potter books are not 10,000 pages long. Next, there are more wizardry schools besides Hogwarts. Also, the book doesn't always have to 'make sense', because it's a fantasy world and blah blah blah."
Only their spelling was far worse than that.
Anyhow, it's been a long time since I've received a comment that's caused me to blink rapidly out of confusion and dismay at the overall state of human perspicacity, so I was delighted to get this on my Wordpress blog:
(if you can't read it, just assume it says "Nibiru is coming. 12/22/12.")
My response:
WHAT.
That's right, this necessitates a 'what' with no question mark. This came as a random out-of-the-blue response to my awesome post "People Who Need To Shut Up". As far as interpreting what the hell he's talking about, that is something that will be debated by many great philosophers for thousands of years, that is, until some math genius discovers a formula that explains nonsense.
I hate Almond Joy bars. In fact, I hate black twizzlers, black jelly beans, Tootsie Rolls (because they look like little turds), butter-flavored jelly beans, circus peanuts, and especially motherfucking Almond Joy bars. These items all taste like a mixture of garbage, vomit and defeat. I hope the U.S. military use a combination of laser-guided bombs and Special Ops Units to destroy all that bullshit.
But also, I don't visit his "convienience store" (Possibly a humorous combination of 'convenience' and 'Vienna', but I strongly doubt this), do not own a rodent, and am not a morose teenaged boy.
However, I do have a Matrix t-shirt. How did he know!? ESP, BITCHFUCKS!
I mainly wrote the post to piss off all my friends, who left me comments saying:
"Okay, first of all, Harry Potter books are not 10,000 pages long. Next, there are more wizardry schools besides Hogwarts. Also, the book doesn't always have to 'make sense', because it's a fantasy world and blah blah blah."
Only their spelling was far worse than that.
Anyhow, it's been a long time since I've received a comment that's caused me to blink rapidly out of confusion and dismay at the overall state of human perspicacity, so I was delighted to get this on my Wordpress blog:
(if you can't read it, just assume it says "Nibiru is coming. 12/22/12.")
My response:
WHAT.
That's right, this necessitates a 'what' with no question mark. This came as a random out-of-the-blue response to my awesome post "People Who Need To Shut Up". As far as interpreting what the hell he's talking about, that is something that will be debated by many great philosophers for thousands of years, that is, until some math genius discovers a formula that explains nonsense.
I hate Almond Joy bars. In fact, I hate black twizzlers, black jelly beans, Tootsie Rolls (because they look like little turds), butter-flavored jelly beans, circus peanuts, and especially motherfucking Almond Joy bars. These items all taste like a mixture of garbage, vomit and defeat. I hope the U.S. military use a combination of laser-guided bombs and Special Ops Units to destroy all that bullshit.
But also, I don't visit his "convienience store" (Possibly a humorous combination of 'convenience' and 'Vienna', but I strongly doubt this), do not own a rodent, and am not a morose teenaged boy.
However, I do have a Matrix t-shirt. How did he know!? ESP, BITCHFUCKS!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Worst Blog Ever; The Intertubes Hath Fallen
Dearest Friends and Fellow Bloggers,
For awhile, I've been racking my brain trying to produce a title that would aptly describe my blog to the public (all 3 of you) and most of the ideas I came up would probably get me banned from every search engine ever devised, and would also mostly likely be blatant violations of Blogger's Terms Of Service. So, as you can see, I was forced to go with the one you see currently.
So, allow me to explain the title of my blog more thoroughly:
- There are a lot of blogs. It's a number higher than 7 fucktillion. From what I've seen, most of these people take their blogs very seriously, whereas, I don't.
- Most bloggers update "whenever they feel like it", because they're too lazy to log in and simply type out "Dear Diary, today, I realized I suck, as usual." I, on the other hand, update when my friends IM me demanding that I create blogs. Those curs.
- 95% of bloggers make their blogs white, because white is "professional". Unfortunately for their hilarious notions of professionalism, their pro-status is viciously usurped in the vagina when they misspell various words, writing "Intellegence" and scattering the entirety of their scribblings with atrocious punctuation, unlike myself; my punctuation is perfect.
- Bloggers think their opinion matters. They have this blisteringly misconstrued belief that the universe magically allots gravity to their opinions simply because they feel really, really strongly about them. This, of course, is squid shit. Opinions only matter when other people care about them, and it only matters to those people. I don't think my opinion matters, so I just say preposterous shit. This works well for me, AND IT CAN WORK FOR YOU, TOO!
- My blog is the primary cause of violent crimes. No one is able to control themselves after visiting; the illusion of freedom of choice shattered by the reality that my subliminal messages OWN YOU. If you take all the text in this post and make it backwards or re-arrange it or some shit, IT SAYS "WORSHIP TEH DEVIL!!!!11" I'M NOT KIDDING.
- I'm not a cute girl. This is bad because it makes people less inclined to visit.
- I'm not gay or fat. And I don't dye my hair.
- I hate talking about politics, which is a major blogging past-time. I can't decide which I hate more, the Refucklicans or the Demore-craps. All either of them care about is getting their particular group of assholes elected, and ignorant shills for either party are just making the problem worse, like throwing gasoline on a shark that is gnawing through your torso.
- I don't follow celebrities enough to talk about them. Oh, I know all the big ones and know the following: Angelia Jolie is building an army, Brad Pitt is a cheating bastard, Britney Spears is trailer trash, Paris Hilton is a walking sperm bank, Lil Wayne is the most prolifically god-awful excuse for a musician the world has ever known, and yet, somehow manages to sell records. Beyond that, I don't know, and don't care.
- No one has ever listened to my relationship advice before, therefore, whenever someone asks me what they should do in any relationship crisis, I always reply with "Stab them."
- My blog is the worst one ever made by anyone, and I'm slowly saving up enough money to pay a team of experts (who all have beards and suits), who will certify that my blog is the worst, and this will be on paper and everything. Real fuckin' compressed dead tree pulp, which is the final symbol of the totality of our newly-scribed reality. Confused by this? So am I, but I prayed for the strength to accept things I couldn't understand, and God said "Sure."
Special note from the authour: God did not actually say "Sure."
- My main goal in writing this blog is to help me to gather the resources to build my laser, and then revenge shall be mine. Canada will pay for sending us Celine Dion.
For awhile, I've been racking my brain trying to produce a title that would aptly describe my blog to the public (all 3 of you) and most of the ideas I came up would probably get me banned from every search engine ever devised, and would also mostly likely be blatant violations of Blogger's Terms Of Service. So, as you can see, I was forced to go with the one you see currently.
So, allow me to explain the title of my blog more thoroughly:
- There are a lot of blogs. It's a number higher than 7 fucktillion. From what I've seen, most of these people take their blogs very seriously, whereas, I don't.
- Most bloggers update "whenever they feel like it", because they're too lazy to log in and simply type out "Dear Diary, today, I realized I suck, as usual." I, on the other hand, update when my friends IM me demanding that I create blogs. Those curs.
- 95% of bloggers make their blogs white, because white is "professional". Unfortunately for their hilarious notions of professionalism, their pro-status is viciously usurped in the vagina when they misspell various words, writing "Intellegence" and scattering the entirety of their scribblings with atrocious punctuation, unlike myself; my punctuation is perfect.
- Bloggers think their opinion matters. They have this blisteringly misconstrued belief that the universe magically allots gravity to their opinions simply because they feel really, really strongly about them. This, of course, is squid shit. Opinions only matter when other people care about them, and it only matters to those people. I don't think my opinion matters, so I just say preposterous shit. This works well for me, AND IT CAN WORK FOR YOU, TOO!
- My blog is the primary cause of violent crimes. No one is able to control themselves after visiting; the illusion of freedom of choice shattered by the reality that my subliminal messages OWN YOU. If you take all the text in this post and make it backwards or re-arrange it or some shit, IT SAYS "WORSHIP TEH DEVIL!!!!11" I'M NOT KIDDING.
- I'm not a cute girl. This is bad because it makes people less inclined to visit.
- I'm not gay or fat. And I don't dye my hair.
- I hate talking about politics, which is a major blogging past-time. I can't decide which I hate more, the Refucklicans or the Demore-craps. All either of them care about is getting their particular group of assholes elected, and ignorant shills for either party are just making the problem worse, like throwing gasoline on a shark that is gnawing through your torso.
- I don't follow celebrities enough to talk about them. Oh, I know all the big ones and know the following: Angelia Jolie is building an army, Brad Pitt is a cheating bastard, Britney Spears is trailer trash, Paris Hilton is a walking sperm bank, Lil Wayne is the most prolifically god-awful excuse for a musician the world has ever known, and yet, somehow manages to sell records. Beyond that, I don't know, and don't care.
- No one has ever listened to my relationship advice before, therefore, whenever someone asks me what they should do in any relationship crisis, I always reply with "Stab them."
- My blog is the worst one ever made by anyone, and I'm slowly saving up enough money to pay a team of experts (who all have beards and suits), who will certify that my blog is the worst, and this will be on paper and everything. Real fuckin' compressed dead tree pulp, which is the final symbol of the totality of our newly-scribed reality. Confused by this? So am I, but I prayed for the strength to accept things I couldn't understand, and God said "Sure."
Special note from the authour: God did not actually say "Sure."
- My main goal in writing this blog is to help me to gather the resources to build my laser, and then revenge shall be mine. Canada will pay for sending us Celine Dion.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Humanity Has Fallen; The Most Worthless Movie Ever
If I was a parent, and I hated my kids, I'd take them to see Disney's Space Buddies. I'm talking about those fucking vindictive bitter parents who resent the fact that they've born offspring and are required by law to raise them; they'd get their vengeance and secret pleasure out of making their kids sit through a soul-damning 90 minutes that is Space Buddies. Now, mind you, I have not seen Space Buddies, but I am fully confident that if I were to watch it, my eyeballs would explode and my bones would melt, as it is destined to join Son of The Mask, Howard The Duck and Spiderman 3 as The Worst Movies Ever.
Oh, and Spiderman 3 was awful, too. Just admit it. When Peter started doing pelvic thrusts, the movie should've just ended right there.
But let's get back to how much I hate Space Buddies. Everyone involved in the process of making this movie needs to be kicked in the vagina, because there is no way they could possibly have balls. This includes the production crew, the children voice actors, and all the television shows that allowed themselves to be sponsored by this movie. That's how much it sucks.
This literally happened:
Executive: You have 60 seconds to come up with a children's movie. If you don't, you will be thrown to the leopards. The clock starts now.
Writer #1: Okay, okay... what do all kids love? Puppies.
Writer #2: And spaceships.
Writer #3: We could combine the two and put the puppies in the spaceships.
Writer #1: And we could make them talk!
Writer #2: What would they say?
Writer #1: We'll just use every cliche joke in the book to fill all the dialogue.
Executive: Time's up. What do you have?
Writer #1: It's a movie with talking puppies flying Spaceships. Think "Air Bud" meets "Star Trek".
Executive: I love it when two movies are combined to create the false illusion that we made a new movie. I mean, I hate original ideas. They aren't proven to sell. Holy shit, I'm having an orgasm in my pants right this instant!!!
Writer #1: Huzzah!!!!!!!!!
AND THEN GOD ENDED THE WORLD BECAUSE HE JUST COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. THE END.
Well, that's what I wish happened.
I give Space Buddies -23 stars out of 5 and I also give it the middle finger with both hands.
Monday, February 2, 2009
How To Score a Ninja Girl
Hey, "friends". Are you ready to embark on a life journey that could potentially get you killed? If you're all "Yes." then please, read on.
Everyday, I pick up the newspaper and throw it in the trash. Then I go on the internet and read the news, and hear about all these couples who divorce each other. That's because love is dead. I, being a bastion of romance, am deeply disturbed by this trend, but I should point out that most trends in general disturb me, especially blogging.
The other day, I was talking to this girl who smelled like sourdough bread, and the whole time, I could not stop thinking about how much she just smelled like sourdough bread. Finally, I just stood up and said "The olfactory sensory equipment of yours truly art overwhelmed by the stench you emit." and I decided right then that I NEEDED TO SCORE A NINJA GIRL.
Tired of boring dates that don't involve the possibility of dismemberment?
Does your cat not respect you?
Do you feel the need to lie during dates and insinuate that you're affiliated with the Triads?
Then you happen to be in luck.
On my new DVD, "How To Score a Ninja Girl", you will learn the following:
- How to score a ninja girl.
- What the hell a ninja girl even is.
- How to survive ninja sex while minimizing the damage to your body.
- How to break a man's arm just by looking at him.
- Seven separate theories explaining where the moth-man came from.
Here are some testimonials:
"After I watched this DVD, I bought a condo for no money down and started a real estate business, and now I make an average of 60 grand a month and... wait... this isn't the PowerPurchase commercial? What the fuck?" - Dave from Miami, TX
"Hoshit! I just scored a ninja girl!" - Bill from Portland, LA
"Stop e-mailing me. I'm not going to do a fucking testimonial and if you contact me again, I will call the cops." - Fred from Phoenix, ND
"That DVD was awesome, like if Jet Li was a centaur!" - Gerald from Chicago, GA
Call 1-555-ninjagal right now to order. Only 9 easy payments of 99.95!
But wait, order in the next 5 seconds, and WE'LL THROW IN A SET OF REALLY, REALLY SHARP KNIVES FOR FUCKING FREE. THIS IS THE DEAL OF THE CENTURY, AND TO PROVE IT, I'M TYPING THIS IN ALL CAPS.
Order today.
Warning: This product doesn't exist. If you've read up to this point and believe it does, you're an idiot. Never use the internet again. everything is fiction.
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