I was just kidding in the last post. The true reason I was away from my blog is because I was fighting time-traveling robots from the future, sent to eradicate all of mankind and start a new robot civilization, complete with a retail center that is hell-bent on raping the shit out Mom-and-pop small businesses (which represent honest virtues and shining puppies of total good) just to be assholes. You know we couldn't allow that, so I lead the resistance against the robots and saved all you fuckers.
Now, as you know, as a professional ghost and/or alien-hunter, I have to act like I've developed a sixth sense in order to impress gullible people, and then start to believe my own lie that I can sense spirits and foresee the future. Which I can do. I just close my eyes, go into a trance and draw whatever I see in my visions, which are usually vividly horrific precognitions, revealing serial murderers killing various people with various sorts of weaponry, massively catastrophic natural disasters, and record companies signing pretty girls to release albums so the companies can make mad money. But even Jim Kramer could see that coming, though. That fucker.
So here are my predictions for the rest of 2009:
- Courtney Love or Steve-O or someone will die of drugs. Then everyone will make a huge fuss over it for months, release conspiracy theories about how it happened, arrest some random doctor, and all the stupid teenagers will start putting quotes by the said famous person on their internet-thingies.
- A fucking asteroid will smash into the earth, but it won't happen in the US, so our people will just write blogs about how no one cares about the tragedy that ensues, but how THEY, in fact, really do care. This will prompt a bunch of people to buy Asteroid Tragedy t-shirts and bracelets, because supposedly, 90% of the money goes to help the victims of the asteroid.
- A pretty young girl with blonde hair, blue eyes and perfect teeth who was just a great person will be abducted, and the media will jump on that story like Fred Durst on a warthog's cock, and there will be a nation-wide hunt for the girl. Her skeleton will found 2 years later at the bottom of a river, and either a person who is of a "minority" (Someone who isn't a cracker) will be arrested or some older man, who will have scary facial hair. The weirder he is, the easier it'll be to turn people against him, and lynch his ass.
- I will abuse anti-depressants, and then drink a lot of booze, but still live anyway. I will wake up the next day naked next to some Thai girl who doesn't speak any English in a dimly-lit basement that smells like Larry King's taint, and I will have no idea why, and will sit up quickly, only to realize I feel like shit. I will then say aloud "I feel like shit. What the fuck am I doing here?" because stating the obvious always helps.
- A plane will crash. Then people will be afraid to fly, then ride off on their motorcycles.
- The Hadron Collider will create a minature black hole, and the black hole will make an elaborate list of demands, which the government will refuse, and the black hole will kill a hostage. Meanwhile, someone will google "black hole" in order to find out what it is, but will have their filter off, and will get some ebony porn site instead and it will contain a ton of weird shit, like girls in full-body fish-net suits.
- I will smack bitches and hoes, because it's hard out there for a pimp.
There you go. I'm going to go contact UFOs.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Well, that got extremely personal.
-clears throat-
I feel like I haven't blogged in awhile. I don't know why; perhaps it was a streak of misguided optimism that temporarily squelched my amazing cynicism-powered creativity, but much to your relief (or horror. Just pick one, you indecisive cretin.) I've kept this burst of hopeful bliss brief. Now, for me to "express my feelings":
Fuck shit fucker fucking fuck. Cocksucking motherfucking scum-sucking bitch-ass asshole bitching bitches. Fuck. Bitches. Shit.
I know. The exhibition of the English language at it's finest. I always deliver eloquence in 30 minutes or less, or it's free, like the publicity you'd receive from you getting naked on Live Television. Trust me, "The Media" pursues stories with nudity with eager bemusement just because. They just cannot get enough of the milk-squirting tips of female mammories.
Alright, now for the meat of this post. If you're a vegetarian, fuck off. I'm going to try to keep this post under 56 paragraphs, in a brave attempt to make it moderately readable, or else we'll both lose; it'd be like Michael Jackson arguing with Joan Rivers about who has the more fucked-up face. But who knows? I may end up re-writing Les Miserables and setting it in "the future", making Jean Valjean a cyborg with ability to teleport short distances and to materialize zombie suicide-clone armies. Hell, if George Lucas can find new ways to completely fuck up the original Star Wars series, then I'm almost morally obligated to ruin classic literature just for shits and giggles.
I feel like I'm in a frying pan with bacon and grits at my side, being scorched by the deluxe non-stick surface made of the same material that NASA uses to make dildos for it's female astronauts. If you've never felt pressure like this, then you're either taking massive doses of Xanax or aren't a fucking human being, and need to GTFO, alien bastard bitch. There are times when I feel so inadequate that I can only compensate by for my festering shortcomings by bitching at strangers, being an asshole, and masturbating to Japanese porn at 4 a.m. in the morning. It seems as though if I fail, the universe will come down on me like Paris Hilton wearing night-vision goggles, but aren't allowed to succeed at anything, and God forbid that my friends and family lift a finger to offer me some encouragement. Curs.
Well, after a seemingly infinite interval of identical days, that things might be looking up for me. At that point, the Health And Fuck Administration raises it's omfg-meter to Phase 5, which causes needless widespread hysteria among the sheltered bourgeois of Utopia, as they scramble to their bomb-shelters, only to find out that the bomb-shelters have been converted into a very hip and cool Youth-ministry-run Video Arcade/Wednesday night church thingy. It's odd. I don't get it. Besides my not-so-subtle allegory alluding the government's false-flag pandemic scare in order to pass their border security blunt to the brother on the right, I'm expressing that the fat fuck, The Universe, has placed a ball-and-chain of fail around my ankle and no one gives a fuck, no one has ever given a fuck, but I believed fucking fuckers who lied to a upbeat obnoxious naive teenager version of myself that they, in fact, gave a fuck.
Due to these circumstances, I hold a general grudge against society, and I won't let up until I control at least 50% of the gold. Sure, I could be a cocksucking sycophant and leech my way to some marginal self-inflated form of success that fails spectacularly on a cosmic scale, but that would be no fun at all. That whole "The Best Revenge Is Living Well" bullshit is bullshit. "Don't get mad, get even" sounds better, but in recent decades, Congress has passed legislation that makes it illegal to "get even", thus reducing the saying to "Don't get mad." and putting pressure on me to just be this nice guy, who just works hard to get money and bitches when I get treated like complete shit all the time. Fuck that shit. That doesn't make sense in the real, rational world, and it takes a complete elitist self-righteous asshole with a soapbox to force it to be supposedly logical. And that, my friends, is why I don't give a fuck.
Oh, and have a nice day.
I feel like I haven't blogged in awhile. I don't know why; perhaps it was a streak of misguided optimism that temporarily squelched my amazing cynicism-powered creativity, but much to your relief (or horror. Just pick one, you indecisive cretin.) I've kept this burst of hopeful bliss brief. Now, for me to "express my feelings":
Fuck shit fucker fucking fuck. Cocksucking motherfucking scum-sucking bitch-ass asshole bitching bitches. Fuck. Bitches. Shit.
I know. The exhibition of the English language at it's finest. I always deliver eloquence in 30 minutes or less, or it's free, like the publicity you'd receive from you getting naked on Live Television. Trust me, "The Media" pursues stories with nudity with eager bemusement just because. They just cannot get enough of the milk-squirting tips of female mammories.
Alright, now for the meat of this post. If you're a vegetarian, fuck off. I'm going to try to keep this post under 56 paragraphs, in a brave attempt to make it moderately readable, or else we'll both lose; it'd be like Michael Jackson arguing with Joan Rivers about who has the more fucked-up face. But who knows? I may end up re-writing Les Miserables and setting it in "the future", making Jean Valjean a cyborg with ability to teleport short distances and to materialize zombie suicide-clone armies. Hell, if George Lucas can find new ways to completely fuck up the original Star Wars series, then I'm almost morally obligated to ruin classic literature just for shits and giggles.
I feel like I'm in a frying pan with bacon and grits at my side, being scorched by the deluxe non-stick surface made of the same material that NASA uses to make dildos for it's female astronauts. If you've never felt pressure like this, then you're either taking massive doses of Xanax or aren't a fucking human being, and need to GTFO, alien bastard bitch. There are times when I feel so inadequate that I can only compensate by for my festering shortcomings by bitching at strangers, being an asshole, and masturbating to Japanese porn at 4 a.m. in the morning. It seems as though if I fail, the universe will come down on me like Paris Hilton wearing night-vision goggles, but aren't allowed to succeed at anything, and God forbid that my friends and family lift a finger to offer me some encouragement. Curs.
Well, after a seemingly infinite interval of identical days, that things might be looking up for me. At that point, the Health And Fuck Administration raises it's omfg-meter to Phase 5, which causes needless widespread hysteria among the sheltered bourgeois of Utopia, as they scramble to their bomb-shelters, only to find out that the bomb-shelters have been converted into a very hip and cool Youth-ministry-run Video Arcade/Wednesday night church thingy. It's odd. I don't get it. Besides my not-so-subtle allegory alluding the government's false-flag pandemic scare in order to pass their border security blunt to the brother on the right, I'm expressing that the fat fuck, The Universe, has placed a ball-and-chain of fail around my ankle and no one gives a fuck, no one has ever given a fuck, but I believed fucking fuckers who lied to a upbeat obnoxious naive teenager version of myself that they, in fact, gave a fuck.
Due to these circumstances, I hold a general grudge against society, and I won't let up until I control at least 50% of the gold. Sure, I could be a cocksucking sycophant and leech my way to some marginal self-inflated form of success that fails spectacularly on a cosmic scale, but that would be no fun at all. That whole "The Best Revenge Is Living Well" bullshit is bullshit. "Don't get mad, get even" sounds better, but in recent decades, Congress has passed legislation that makes it illegal to "get even", thus reducing the saying to "Don't get mad." and putting pressure on me to just be this nice guy, who just works hard to get money and bitches when I get treated like complete shit all the time. Fuck that shit. That doesn't make sense in the real, rational world, and it takes a complete elitist self-righteous asshole with a soapbox to force it to be supposedly logical. And that, my friends, is why I don't give a fuck.
Oh, and have a nice day.
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