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.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
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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