Excuse me while I channel the spirit of Miss Cleo's fake Jamaican accent

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.

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.

Bitch Versus Bitch: THE RECKONING

If you read this post, you may end up being scarred for life. LIFE, MAN. Unless you live to a ripe old age, in which case, you'll forget the names of your grandkids, ergo, also will forget this moment in time. A majority of people probably are trying to focus on positivity (excuse me while I make significant efforts to stifle my vomit) and take to mind happier things, like The Weather, or eating a bowl of Wheaties. Unfortunately, though, I'm going to bring up something you've desperately scrabbled to erase from the cave walls of your prehistoric brain.

Special Note From The Author: When I say "Wheaties", I mean porn.

Anyhow, down to business; I've never been a fan of beauty pageants. Regardless of my belief that they should be destroyed by a death ray from a Sputnik satellite, they continue to insolently exist. So I don't care that Miss California lost and didn't attain her life goal of being the supreme living zombie Barbie doll for 365 days and the acquisition of the coveted pure diamond tiara that grants it's wearer the ability to disintegrate anyone they so choose.

Bohemian pricks who are gay for "facts" may assert hurriedly that the crown grants no such powers, but why the Hell would anyone want it if it didn't?

"Because Miss America is an elitest, pointless, overly-hyped, worthless tramp-parade of totally fabricated significance?"

Exactly.

So, in simple, dumb-people words, "I don't give a fuck about Miss America." Really, the only reason I'm even bringing it up is because Perez Hilton, that fat guy who is obsessed with Hollywood shit, is having an ongoing hissy fit, because Miss California, which asked if she supported the legalization of Gay Marriage, said:

"What? Fuck no. I don't think sodomites should be degrading the wonderful institution of Marriage because in some countries, such as South Africa and Iraq and such as don't have marriage, and we as a country have to do the right thing our beliefs and because yeah and that's how I was raised, to wield M-16s and eat apple pie."

~ Miss California (paraphrase)

So Perez Sez:

"SHE'S A BITCH AND A WHORE AND A CUNT. HOW DARE SHE HAVE A VIEWPOINT THAT IS CONTRADICTORY TO MY OWN!"

And goes ahead and uses his fame to turn people against her personally, because that's what America is all about: climbing the ladder of capitalism so you can crush the peons who would dare raise a finger to oppose your rule. Damn, it's getting me hot just thinking about it.

That would be like me making a billion dollars in the lucrative pork belly market, then going to a neighborhood of my choosing. I would ask the inhabitants if they supported Thailand's government. If they give an unfavorable answer, I will call in an airstrike to drop napalm on their houses so those insufferable curs can burn. If you thought this analogy was blown way out of proportion, then I'll just say it's an example of hyperbole.

It was tricky deciding who to side with, but after meditating on the matter while seating upon a giant boulder while drinking boxed wine, I decided they both aren't worth siding with. They both suck.

And so does Kim Kardashian. It's clear that Khloe is the superior Kardashian.

Why I Blog; an exercise in sarcastic explanations for Irishonbizz

Hypothetical contingency of the day: The world is ending, due to asteroid. Would you have the presence of mind to wear matching articles of clothing?

Okay, I meant to write this sooner, but I was just so busy with video games, which ate into my "blogger time" like a parasitic worm of death. I've also been preoccupied with my harrowing acts of piracy, villainy, anarchy, etc., and also Basic Cable. Now that it's back, I'll almost certainly spend a spectacular quantity of irreplaceable moments watching a hodge-podge of programs, and then explaining here why they suck beyond all reasonable or logically acceptable levels of suckage. For example, anything on VH1. How VH1 became so inexplicably bad is up for debate, but I'm sticking to my assumption that it's being run by a homeless man named Bob.

Now, to business: Irishonbizz "tagged" me, to explain why I blog. Ha. I presumed the answer to that was translucently obvious, but for those who are still in the dark, it's because I'm a pimp, ergo, I do it for the G's, and I do it for the hustlers. There are other minor reasons, which are:

1. Broads, man, broads. I blog primarily for the accumulation of girlfriends. This plan is fool-proof, as it pretty clear that blogs are chick magnets. Haven't you watched Twix commercials, you twit?

2. To "express myself". IM AN AMERUCUN SO I GOTTA USE MY 1ST AMENDMUNT RIGHTS BY SAYING WHATEVA I THINK ABOUT CUZ ITZ SO INTRESTING AND STUFF AND YEAH AND I WANT TO SHARE THAT WITH THE WORLD SO FUTURE GENERATIONS CAN READ THIS IS AND SAY "WOW, STUFF HAPPENED BACK THEN THAT WAS SIMILAR TO THIS STUFF THAT IS HAPPENING NOW. HOW PROFOUND!"

3. To relieve the metaphysical excrement that accumulates in my psyche after eating large amounts of mental ice cream. Case and point: I know the aliens are mutilating livestock, but that's not something people want to discuss. They'd rather talk about the weather, explaining with livid fascination about how the temperature today is going to be ever-so-slightly warmer than yesterday. Because of my participation in many engaging and pretentiously perspicacious weather conversations about "HE SAID 50% CHANCE OF RAIN, SO WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???" that my unimportant thoughts have to be stored in a mildew-filled backroom of my mind until they can be transported here for disposal.



Alright, interesting fact: Originally, as the initial phase of my Plan To Conquer The Universe, I was going to make a Youtube Video about how badly Youtube sucked. I'm fairly certain it would never be featured. That's the beside the point; I won't make Blogger's "Blogs of Note" either ever, BECAUSE BLOGGER IS RACIST. One could also speculate that I've entrenched my contemplations in a castle of misanthropic nihilism, (thus causing Blogger's admins to cower in the face of controversy at the whims of their suppositions, shying away in favor of fluffy photography blogs and any shithead who puts "musings" in their blog title) but this is untrue. I think Nihilism is for noobs.

(Un)Interesting side note: My favorite fluffjobs, People-Who-Generalize-Everything-Possible , often deduce that drinking haterade as a half-assed attempt at 'wit', and nihilism, are consanguineous, but that's dumb.

Anyhow, where was I? Something about a video... oh yeah... the video I was going to make was going to go hand-in-hand with a corresponding video by Gabby of Cybernautes de... uh... something French... in protest of Viacom's bitch-ass totalitarian lawsuit to stop Youtube from being a haven of piracy. I've been forced to watch Anime Music Videos to listen to music, because there are wonderfully mentally retarded people who feel that every classic and contemporary song should be played over a montage of Naruto clips.

And Naruto fans wonder why people hate that fucking show.

Anyhow, that's kind of old news now, and my webcam committed chuocide right before I made a video, thus eliminating the possibility. Then I said to myself, "Well, fuck. Why not just make a blog?" and this shit was born, and this blog will go down in non-history as totally forgotten and irrelevant to everything ever, thus basically freeing me to say whatever I want.

For example, fuck Finland. The whole country. Fuck it.

Don't worry, America. You're safe now. Youtube, however is doomed.

Remember all that death and mayhem you were anticipating, to the point of sporadically flinching throughout your day? Well, fear not. Barack Obama (peace be unto him) has hired Kumar to be part of his administration. This obvious induction into the Obama team will be a vital variable in Saving America.




















I feel exponentially safer already. I didn't even check my cereal for radioactivity this morning, because of my newfound confidence in the American Dream. Finally, an initiative that woos my wandering allegiance, to capitulate my objectivity in favor of supporting Glorious Leader. Good God, Kumar rocks. Good job. If we could insert Harold into the position of Assistant Secretary of Agriculture, I would never miss another night of sleep. Screw that Ambien shit, we need John Cho up in that bitch.

America's Status: Saved.

Youtube, however, is filled with fail. I'm sure you already came to that conclusion after you realized every popular video is tragically horrid. I can't even remember how many times I had to endure this conversation:

Chocobofreak91: check out this video, its so funny

Calicolyst: No thank you, I'd rather not.

Chocobofreak91: YOU HAVE TO! IT'S FUNNY! XD

Calicolyst: Alright, hang on.

Calicolyst: ...

Chocobofreak91: Did you watch it yet?

Calicolyst: Yeah, I did. It was garbage.

Calicolyst: Oh, and we're not friends anymore.

Chocobofreak91: =(


Then... well... there's not much more to tell. Anyhow,



















The reason I'm bringing this up now instead of three years ago is because the user Fred has amassed One Million subscribers. If you've never watched Fred's videos, then I advise against it, because once again, this is a case of the lowest common denominator rising to the top against all logic, proving once again that the intarwebs are chock-full of fucking imbeciles. I can't deny Fred's minimal creativity and "random" humor, because we all know how funny randomness is. Watch, I can be random too:





















Oh, how random! GOLD.

You whores. YOU WHORES.

"How come you have to be such an asshole?" is a question I'm often asked by females who are in tears.

I could serve up a full-blown psychological break-down of my consciousness with a side of beans and rice, but I'm going to avoid the issue and be positive. I believe life is all about balance or some shit, so this post will bring some much-needed Yin to my blog's Yang, (fulfilling my daily recommended dosage of required pseudo-spiritual new-age birdshit!) and kills two birds with one chainsaw.

Have you ever tried to kill a bird with chainsaw? It's surprisingly difficult.

A person from another blog emailed me and asked me to write about "something I liked". He mentioned that he liked Quest, breakdance/trick crew started by that insufferable tool Steve Terada, and when he watched their exhibition of flippy shit on MTV, he successfully resisted the urge to take his friend's head and put it through the screen. His words, not mine. Such violent thoughts... he should see a fucking shrink (They love being called Shrinks) to "sort out his feelings", which always leads to the patient realizing it's all their parents fault.

And it is, fucking parents.

So, I dedicate this post to the hos, bitches and whores. I hear it's hard out there for a pimp, which is precisely why I avoided the occupation as a viable career choice. I don't like hard work; I'd rather bitch, and throw slushies at old people. I was once engaged in a conversation with some asshole, and he said "Snoop Dogg is a pimp and he does weed. That's why he so skinny." as a justification for his fucking comical drug habit. "No." I replied, "The reason Snoop is skinny is because he gets exercise from slapping hos. He slaps a lot of hos." which is true, because there's an visible abundance of hos, and they require a good deal of slapping.

e-Whores are the best whores, in my laughably non-professional opinion. Damn it, why won't you just respect my opinion!? You fucking suck. Anyway, e-Whores are an excellent source of material to target in the laser-guided crosshairs of my futuristic deathrays of literary aggression of death of doom.

That's the same reason I love Twilight. Everything about the movie screams "regurgitated diarrhea", for various reasons I will repeat every time a new Twilight movie is released. It's fans are overdramatic and easily riled into a endlessly entertaining rage at any assertion of flaws in their fantasy dimension of faux-romance and pussy vampires, utterly disregarding that any debate in favor of the series instantly grips their credibility in death throes, because... I don't know, maybe they just fail as human beings and it's blatantly reflected in their interests. These are the same dykes that enjoyed My Chemical Romance, mind you, and possibly also The Nightmare Before Christmas, and I could write an entire post about why Tim Burton needs to fling himself off a skyscraper, but I won't because I'm just too fuckin' nice.

Coincidentally, the primary demographic Twilight appeals to is the lucrative Whore Demographic, but also to middle-aged mothers, because movies about high schoolers fucking vampires gets them wet. Don't ask me why. I don't have all the answers. The capital of Albania is Tirana. The speed of light in a vacuum is 186,000 miles per second. The treaty of Versailles was signed in 1919. Bitches ain't shit. Those are all things I know to be true in my heart, but the nauseatingly creepy obsession with Twilight by the middle-aged women perplexes me. Then again, they're probably bored with normality and cleanliness (That's what they do, right? Well, besides cooking...) so they probably are just acting on a compulsion to get into something the opposite: something abnormal, and covered in shit.

Well, that didn't turn out very positive at all.

Sue me.

The book WAS better, but unfortunately, our nation is borderline illiterate

Attention hos: If you read comic books, and love them dearly, then is going to piss you off. A lot. "Why the insistent belligerence?" you ask? Because, look at that fucky orange "B" in the corner. It's my blawg, mongoloids.

Recently, The Watchmen was transmogrified into movie-form by Hollywood, a town so dolt-filled, they have to have giant letters so it's inhabitants won't suddenly be gripped with terror and confusion upon forgetting where they are. GPS cannot help those asshats, and that should tell you right away that anything they produce as a product is going to be more faulty than various East-Asian vehicles. Furthermore, if the phrase "produce as a product" seems redundant to you, it's because you're a fucktard. Burn.

My point is that your snotty high expectations of quality are laughably unrealistic, as no film will ever be made that "follows the book", for several reasons, but the main ones are:

- You can't put all the musings of the characters into a movie without having a narrator, such as Morgan Freeman.
- It takes 8 hours to read a novel. Imagine if there was a movie that was 8 hours long. Imagine it. Right now.
- Producers like to put inaccuracies in their films just to miff you personally. Your suffering brings them joy.

Life is disappointing. Get over it. Besides, as well as The Watchmen was written, the premise is inarguably ridiculous, as an obvious "adult version" of "The Justice League", which is an unholy cross-over conglomeration of characters from alternate realities brough together just for the hell it all.

I guess the reason for the Justice League started with the eternal question "What if Aquaman and Superman met and fought each other. Who would win?" Of course, it's pretty clear that a super-fast alien with the ability to shoot lasers out of his eyes would have a decisive advantage, with all those factors culminating in an inevitable victory over Aquaman, the illegitimate child of wasted comic book writers and failure. In spite of this, self-loathing Aquaman fans who cling to his fictional ability to "summon creatures of the sea" to cope with their copius lack of copulation, attempt to bring up some bullshit argument that Aquaman could kill Superman with "kryptonite", an overly-abundant cheat-code-weapon that is surprisingly easy to obtain massive quantities of in the Superman universe. Therefore, both fans argue until both of them shit their pants several times because leaving the room is equal to defeat.

The obvious thing to do is to write to Marvel or DC Comics or whoever the hell is making this stuff up, and asking them to make a "Superman vs. Aquaman" issue to answer the pressing question, and of course, because the Comic Book Shitheads are sell-out pussies with fewer balls than Lance Armstrong, they decided that if Superman and Aquaman ever met, they'd work together, as a way to not anger either fanbase.

Hence, Justice League.

So, a concept that was originally developed to keep pizza-faced motherfuckers from decapitating each other with Bat'leths, was taken and made into an "adult version" with The Watchmen, a league of Superheroes that say 'fuck', 'shit', 'bitches', 'goddamnit', and make crude sexual references. The Comedian even tried to rape Slut-Girl, a callous act of villainy that came as a shock to no one, considering that male Superheroes rarely get laid, and that Slut-Girl's power was to be the greatest slut in the universe. That may be slightly inaccurate, like saying that Dr. Blue Bitch's power is to wave his glowing blue cock in front of the cameras until he decided wasn't obnoxious enough, necessitating his self-cloning so that there could be TWO glowing blue cocks on screen. Oh, hold on a second. That's not inaccurate at all.

So, when the latest round of cliche Superhero cinema was released, the massive, nation-wide pant-shittery that occurred due to "inaccuracies" in a story that was already intellectually insulting to me, considering part of Dr. Blue Fuck's back story is that he almost single-handedly won the Vietnam War (And his powers basically make him God. Not even kidding. Yet, the fuckin' Viet Cong was too much for him and his pal Rambo.) and invented the Electric Car, which replaced the Gas-Car, I was forced to torch massive numbers of furry woodland creatures with a flamethrower just to vent my frustration, because rolling my eyes is just soooooo '90s. It's like the author's legions of dick-riding fudgepacking fans expected the movie to start, and for it to display a copy of The Watchmen on the screen. A hand would then appear, which would turn the pages periodically. Much to their audible dismay due to the shit flying out of their anuses, like we discussed earlier, the movie version was filled with infuriating elements, such as: explosions, special effects, and fight scenes.

You went to go see a movie. You got one. Next time you want to read a book, go to the fucking library.

Calicolyst out. Have a nice day.