I’m back after spending a week in seclusion. Not Hollywood seclusion where people have to climb trees to take pictures of your nips, just the most seclusion my tax bracket allowed. Specifically, Hilton Head, SC. It’s a pretty interesting place once you realize that back in the 50’s a man had a dream to take an entire island and hide it in plain site. Today, that man’s dream has come true. Don’t believe me? I challenge you to find anything on that island without a GPS. All buildings are hidden in the woods. All the signs are low to the ground and look exactly alike. All the communities are gated. In 14 miles of beach front property we never saw a single public beach access… or minority without an apron.
I can’t completely shit on the island. It was a very peaceful vacation that I think I enjoyed mainly due to the fact that I was able to just spend some quiet time with my family. Kerry White thinks I just enjoyed being somewhere it was safe to drunkenly neglect my children. Ask my wife if you want a tie breaker vote. Either way I intentionally visited this place full of those that think differently than I so to pay them back I thought I’d provide them with a free design for a t-shirt they can sell next year to compete with Myrtle Beach’s bike week.
I have recently pulled all the disney princess movies from our collection and they are banned from viewing until by all females in my house. I did this because every one of those movies seems to be written for young men instead of young girls. The mermaid is cool but better with legs, Cinderella’s hot for the trailer park but put her in versace and it’s a whole new chic. Sleeping Beauty, the Beast, all of them teach young men the exact same thing. Get a girl with baggage and she’s fun for a few weeks but if you want to spend the rest of your life with her you’ve gotta clean the bitch up first.
I think all men need a girl with issues, they’re great. But make sure they’re daddy issues, not uncle issues. You want one that wasn’t loved enough, daddy left when she was young, or traveled for a living. That girl will straddle your lap while you’re driving down the interstate, but she still holds down a job that requires a business suit (sans panties). You don’t want one with a greasy uncle that made her watch him lick bra ads in cosmo. She’s great for the 4 years she’s pulling in $1200 a night snorting bumps during a private dance but after that her only career options have her and her meth dimples rocking out to $6 an hour 3rd shift at the pump house. She’s only there because she didn’t realize that job was pumping gas.
If you let your girls watch disney movies they get the wrong idea and start believing in all that happily ever after shit. If they believe in it, then the guy who rides his bike to the bar and and lives in a school bus is going to be able convince your little girl that together they can make a difference in the world. But if she never watched those movies she doesn’t believe in happily ever after and then she’ll know that guy is not the ticket to her happiness he’s just an asshole who can’t afford to make meth without stealing the change from his nana’s purse.
After being alive for just over 13 months (unless you’re a religious person then she’s been around since I missed her mother’s mouth) my kid decided to walk today. I wasn’t there to see it, but the wife told me and she’s not one to bullshit about such things. While I do think some congratulations are in order I have a simple question: What the fuck took so long?
I direct that question not just to my kid but to all children. Puppies generally take just a few days to walk and I think they taught a chimp sign language in a few months. Yet the supposedly smartest of all species takes forever to learn to communicate effectively and travel on it’s own. I assume the answer must be evolution. Animals that tend to get killed and/or eaten soon after birth have learned to get their ass in gear, scream for help, and run the fuck away at a pretty early age. Since we protect our little monsters I guess we evolved them into laziness. Maybe if we kick the shit out of some of the less important ones (future fat band kids and anyone that lives in Fort Smith, AR) we can force an evolutionary shift that will make things happen a little quicker.
As these changes tend to take thousands of years I’ll do my part by teaching my youngest something fun. Fun for me anyway. I figure I got the first one right, now it’s time to play. At present we’re learning the dog is in fact called a gorilla and I’m teaching her to talk like a parrot. If all goes well her kindergarten class introduction will be something like, “I’m a pretty bird, and I have a pet gorilla.”
I was going to type this long ass blog about all the shit that happened in Memphis the weekend leading up to the Sinner’s Ball and then I just got tired of it and decided to throw up the short version. Here it is, read fast. Kerry White picked us up at the airport wearing nothing but boots, a cowboy hat, and a bath robe. Not even the cops gave him a 2nd look. I highly recommend the Sun Studios tour. It’s especially cool when you see pictures of people recording there standing beside the same shit hanging on the wall you’re standing beside. If you find yourself bored with the food you’re eating in your town, go to Memphis. Everything tastes like a mistake, in a good way. A podcast called Ron White’s little sister Shea a tranny and it appears they learned the lesson of fucking with someone who has 150,000 listeners when you only have 150. I responded to the podcast by showing them the ballon knot between my ass cheeks and my ball sack. The actual Sinner’s Ball show went great and I got to hear a pregnant chic on stage say “sucking dick for mommy’s smack by 2:00.” Comedy Central would never air that, get out to your local clubs queers. The guy in the picture above is Wild Bill who conned several of us into getting him free beer while we were getting Shea a ride on a mechanical bull, only to have her defeated by a 4 year old who out rode her not once, but twice. I’m fairly certain this may be the only time anyone has typed a truthful sentence that involved a 4 year old “out riding” Shea.
Thanks to Kerry and Tracy for letting us crash at their big ass house and waking up at the crack of dawn to feed us. Thanks to the fat retard at Sun that danced to the cadence of a sentence when there was no music playing. Thanks to the adulterer who gave us liquor soaked fruit. Thanks to the cops for grabbing Sean and letting the rest of us make it thru with our beer. Mo, sorry I passed out before we made it to the restaurant.
find the hooker, preacher, and the food stamps and win a free ipod
I’ve never really been much of a religious person. Actually, that’s an understatement I’ve never understood religion at all. I’m not a hateful atheist I just read a lot and understand that every religious book is nothing more than a collection of stories meant to keep the tribes from constantly uprising. You know, like Obama’s youtube videos.
If you would’ve asked me if there was a god a week ago I would’ve answered no, probably not. But that was a week ago. Something has happened and now I’m forced to question all I’ve ever believed. Yesterday I sat in my office pissed at the world. The economy is taking it’s toll on my finances. On top of that it seems more and more lately I’m dealing with people who have no idea on how the world really works. In the last month I’ve listened to a small town plumber explain that he can fix the economy with a tank and a 13 year old girl call Obama a nigger terrorist (I’m fairly certain she can’t spell 3 of the last 4 words of that sentence). Yesterday I’d had enough of the shit. I just wanted it all to stop. Stop the hypocrisy. Stop the stupidity. Stop the close minded bullshit. That was yesterday.
No matter how hard Jimmy Fallon tries (and he really does try hard) every word out of his mouth is unfunny and lifeless. At this point I think reruns of “My Three Sons” would pull more ratings than Fallon’s show. To prove the point of just how little you have to try to be funnier than Jimmy Fallon, Craig Ferguson opened last night’s show with 2 minutes of lip syncing with puppets. That wasn’t his closer man, he opened with that shit.
It’s over. Crazy Ted has pushed our country into the realm of “The Running Man“. Later this year “The Nug” is starring in his own reality show “Running wild… from Ted Nugent.” He has disguised the show’s true intentions by using the first segment to teach the victims contestants survival skills. Don’t worry though, in the end Ted always gets his man and the last part of the show he and his son Rocco (seriously mother fucker, Rocco?) hunt every last one of them down.
It’s always been right there in front of us. Uncle Teddy has been screaming about the rights of gun owners and hunters just and long and loudly as Alex Jones has been telling us aliens are the puppeteers of our souls. Since he hasn’t been able to convince congress anti-aircraft machine guns are the only suitable artillery for hunting flying squirrels he has now taken it upon himself to kill everyone that disagrees with him. I hate to spoil the secret behind this show but I read the treatment for it and the plan is that once CNN covers the funerals of the stars from the first part of the season most of us will fall in line for the episodes that air sweeps week.
Obviously Ted won’t use what he considers “lethal force” to prove he’s a better outdoorsman than his students, but Ted thinks everyone should be man enough to take a gut shot with their morning coffee. Two bills says just before this show gets cancelled we get to see Ted argue the point that it was a real bullet but he only grazed the guy’s spleen.
The image above is sort of a “Where’s Waldo the racism” type game. I took this at a gun show I attended a month or so ago with my step father and two other comedians who will remain nameless so I can give an honest summary of the events of the day. When they read this they can feel free to post additional stories from that day and take credit for their part.
The day began with the four of us standing in line discussing a problem one of the other comics was having and after I uttered the phrase, “call the IRS” the nosey conspiracy theorist in front of us explained in an elevated tone that the IRS was illegal and any association with that organization is a crime as well. Yippie! The nutbags are out and it’s going to be a good day. That is, as long as we remain calm. In any normal setting filled with crazy, religious, political, and war torn twitchy assholes with no shortage of opinions we would make every conversation uncomfortable and push it to the brink of a physical altercation. The difference in this scenario is everyone is packing, there is no shortage of extra ammunition, and there are four of us and five thousand of them.
After we got inside there were two key parts of the day that made me giggle. The first was one of the other comics continuously asking the most obviously racist individuals “what kind of gun is the best to get when a nigga be trippin?” No one ever answered the question but he kept trying. The second was when I was able to quickly snap the image at the top of the post without getting shot. Take a close look at this picture and make sure you take it all in. You start by noticing the title of the songbook “When a Coon Sits in the Presidential Chair.” This particular item was for sale for $1500 but I’m fairly certain the purchase comes with a free addition of your name to several FBI files. Then you notice the original copy of an Atlanta newspaper with a headline from the day MLK was shot with one of Hitler’s headshots leaning against it. On the table is a picture of the Rosenbergs, a jar of jelly beans, and a pair of bedazzled baby moccasins. Just out of frame they had a written contract on the life of Frederick Douglas and jar of tears from the original trail.
