Sorry for the long break from the blog. I’ve been working on some projects and basically decided you fuckers would be here when I got back. Looks like I was right.
I’ll update more later this week but for now, here’s a peak at one of the projects.
Short film coming soon.
Looks like someone will be putting a little more love in the next meal
The more I look back on my life the more I realize things have gotten progressively better when I simply decided not to settle. The less I settle, the more I notice those who do. I generally try to stay out of it until they ask my opinion. At that point I’m either the guy with the answers or that prick who told them what they didn’t want to hear. It’s becoming baffling to me.
Why do you spend ever week going back and forth to a job you hate? Quit, do something you want to do. You’re probably not going to starve to death and if you do then you weren’t really contributing to society anyway.
You’re sick stupid, go to the doctor. Thera-flu doesn’t cure the flu, it treats the symptoms. There’s a person in an office that can cure you if you’ll simply shut up and do what they say. And when you get there, don’t ask them what the commercial told you to ask. The writer responsible for that script is not someone you’d trust with a finger in your ass so why are you letting them dictate what treatment you think you want?
Question everyone. In elementary school I learned Columbus was a hero. In Jr. High I learned who paid him to be a hero. In my 20’s I learned he was a mass murderer and a thief. Don’t believe “the facts” until YOU have researched the facts. People are stupid and if you’re not careful they’ll make you that way too.
Learn to bitch. One of the simplest ideas I use to live my life came from Goodfellas. “Fuck you, pay me.” AT&T charged you too much and won’t give you a refund? Fuck you, pay me. The bank wants to add fees to your account without telling you? Fuck you, pay me. Our house burned a few years ago and the insurance adjuster tried screw us out of a lot of our money by setting unrealistic deadlines on our paperwork. I never complained I just organized 10 of our closest friends to help and we cut his deadline in half. We got every penny. Fuck you, pay me.
But who am I to give you advice? My HDTV only gets about 20 channels that don’t look like shit. I’ve been punched and shot and didn’t swing or shoot back. I love my iPhone but it’s still connecting to AT&T. Maybe you should be listening to someone with better standards.
Believe it or not, this website is not just some internet chump. It’s a highly technical network much like a 1920’s pimp working several different corners all the while letting each think they are my special place. I put information on this site, then my bottom bitch (twitter) spreads herpes the word to those waiting for the next post. A few of my other bitches (facebook, google, etc) help promote me as well and I’m always on the look out for another way to get my name out there keep my pimp hand strong.
This week while looking for new corners, the RSS feed for the very blog that you’re reading was rejected because “The content is inappropriate for syndication.” I didn’t get pissed off or go on some freedom of speech rant. I’m completely aware I’m allowed to say whatever I want, but nobody has to listen or help me repeat it. I wasn’t disappointed that I was rejected. No, I’m actually kind of proud. I’m not the edgiest comic on the block (Doug Stanhope). I don’t have a lot of life experiences that scare the average human (Kerry White). No one has ever had to tape my pants on so I wouldn’t pull my dick out on stage (Paul Hooper). I’ve never convinced an entire room full of people that retard porn is good for the economy (Matt Davis). I’ve never called a flag magnet the “aids ribbon of patriotism” (still my favorite hardcore line from Josh Goguen). And I’ve never got a standing ovation while mimicking a kick to my mother’s chemo bag (Mo Alexander).
Nope, I’m just a loud, arrogant, hick that likes to yell about living with 6 vaginas in a small town in the south. As simple as that sounds to both you and me, today I’m pretty proud of the fact that a nameless/faceless soul found the time to put his pizza and chocolate milk on his mother’s counter long enough to greasily poke out an email to let me know he actually read my blog and as the spokesperson for the uncensored world of internet syndication he has deemed my thoughts too dirty to help me spread my seed to soccer moms in western Iowa. Thank you sir for your honesty and I consider your opinion a compliment. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to watch a video of that same western Iowa soccer mom unscrewing the lid off the shampoo in her pussy without twisting the bottle.
Matt Davis and me + beer + a guy who wants someone to pay to punch him in he face + a pocket full of cash = video gold.
The chair was recently released from Guantanamo Bay
A 14 year old Chinese boy was killed when the desk chair’s gas cylinder attempted to escape into his asshole. Some are saying (no they’re not, it’s just me) this was his father’s lame attempt to get him to [insert random 1980's punchline here].
My lovely wife and some fag
Adwana - the 2nd in a house full of fucked up names
As with all true love stories, this one begins in a bar. On Halloween night in 1999, I was making my annual drunk rounds to all the bars in whatever rude costume I could put together. That year I was especially proud because my costume included a 28” cock. While at my first stop, the bar I spent most of my free time at anyway, I was informed the young lady who was the fortunate owner of the great ass I’d been watching for months was newly single. I made my move with the expected bravado that a large penis and a bunch of beer gives you and by that I mean she came to me. She walked over with a dessert tray and stated, “I’m on here too, but I’m more than $2.50.” Obviously she wanted to build a family with me.
We hit it off very well on our first date and quickly arranged a second. A few days later I found out that things went so well she got back with her boyfriend. I needed to move quickly to show her I was the better man so I took every girl I was banging to sit with me in her section at the bar. A month later I was in… her vagina. For several months we built the foundation of our relationship by attempting to ignore the other people were both so obviously joining at bible study fucking. One afternoon I made a stop by her apartment only to witness the first clue of her complete lack of ability to manage her money, and another of her MacGyver like ability to keep a single room warm in a house with no gas or water. It was decided we should take this opportunity to become closer (closer = I no longer have to drive all the way across town to hit it). We gathered most of her things that day and for the next three months she lived in a house with 5 dogs and my bitchy roommate while I travelled 5 days a week. When the time came to discuss our problems we did what all mature adults do. I ignored her, she started seeing someone else, and I tossed her shit in the yard.
Three months later I was back in… her vagina. At this point we were living in a duplex short 1200 square feet, one roommate, and two dogs. Things were going so well with my job we were contemplating a move to Boca Raton, FL. At some point during this period I proposed, she accepted, and then we decided not to move to FL. I checked my bank account and asked do we get married or buy a house. Two days later, we bought a house. I asked do we get married or remodel the kitchen. We spent the next 8 months with a microwave and refrigerator in the den. Stalling became expensive so to profess my love I went to Italy for three weeks with a buddy of mine. We already know what happened when I got back in… her vagina.
Since she was pregnant we both reacted like every sensible couple that’s been engaged for two years. I mentioned we should quit stalling. She accused me of only wanting to marry her because she was pregnant. I explained pregnant women get fat and fat chicks only turn me on in college bar bathrooms. Her hormones made her really horny. Our love blossomed. She planned a $10,000 wedding in Salisbury. We flew to Vegas for a week and came back married and threw a $1,000 party.
This blog is getting long, but people that know me will call me out if I leave out certain details so I’ll just say this. We’re still together despite the following:
-She got so drunk and pissed at me one time she tried to Matrix kick me with both feet. I stepped backwards and now we have a story to tell at parties that doesn’t involve nudity.
-We once drove two hours to a bar and I forced her friend to show me her tits in appreciation of our appearance.
-She won’t let me put it in her butt.
-I’ve seen a few of her friends naked. They won’t let me put it in their butt either.
-I’ve told the following lies about her on stage to thousands of people: She drank Jager in the delivery room, I had a minogue with her and her sister, I had to wait in like to bang her after work, and many, many others.
-Her mother is a cunt. So is her sister and her niece.
-Somewhere out there is a picture of her watching me hold a stranger’s breasts in front of a comedy club.
-While typing this blog I responded to one of her texts with a statement that involved our eldest giving hand jobs to a elementary school vice principal.
The proof is at exit 99 on I-79 where for less than $7 you can purchase a final meal that will make you shit your own heart.
Photo credit goes to Matt Davis. If all goes well this weekend I’ll post some more pictures he took of his girlfriend’s vagina.
There is no caption that tops the stupid look in this picture
Now that you know about Shitzu the shit bucket, it’s time you met Sam. Sam is an 8 year old Valley Bulldog. Somewhere there are papers that say she’s an English Bulldog but she’s as English as Puerto Rican’s are black. I don’t care what texture your hair is, deep down you still want a job (Sorry, I just watched Gran Torino). I don’t really remember the reason behind getting Sam, mostly because those memories were replaced by those of a bulldog shitting thru the front of a cage. At just 4 months Sam had the amazing ability to shit on 6’ of wall and not get a single drop on the floor. It was as if she was able to strafe down the hall while vomiting out her asshole. Aside from her fecal ability, Sam is also living proof that dogs can be retarded. This is not a hack chance to use the word retarded, it’s just the only word that make sense. Retarded children do not respond well to a lack of routine to the point that sometimes they are unable to adjust to even the simplest change. If you put Sam’s food bowl behind her, she will starve to death. They don’t realize their own strength even to the point of hurting themselves. Sam once ran full speed into the side of a car that had been parked in the same place for 3 days. IQ for retardation is less than 75. Sam can’t count and lets other dogs piss in her mouth.
I’ve been around long enough where it’s probably time to tell the story of how my little family came to be. Until one or more of them come to their senses, I live with my wife, two daughters, and three dogs. Since every other living creature in my home is a female, according to my eloquently spoken step father I’m “the only swingin’ dick in the house.”
So how does an asshole like myself amass a home filled with pussy? The story can’t be told all at once. I guess the easiest way to tell it is to start at the bottom and work my way up.
Kloe, is a 10 year old Cocker Spaniel/Shitzu breed we have named “crock -o- shit.” I believe this breed name has a lot to do with her behavior over the years. The dog was purchased, as most are, to ensure my access to the interior of a 19 year old girl’s panties. It kind of worked, but to learn more about that you’ll have to wait until I get to the story about my wife. After I bought the dog I left it to live at the apartment of the previously mentioned young lady because 1. I was living in a house with 3 other dogs (a Pug that was missing an eye, rib, and nipple, an epileptic Dalmatian, and a Great Dane with hip dysplasia and lactose intolerance) and 2. I hate fucking cocker spaniels. Upon leaving the mutt at her residence, she assured me that she would be following my strict training instructions enlisted upon every animal that I’m forced to share a roof with. After a week of visits it was clear that either she was not following these rules, or she was re-staining her hardwood floors with piss. At some point during the tense training negotiations, the young lady and I decided to combine households. Now I’m living with two women, and 4 dogs. Everything you expect to happen in this situation does. I’ll save the part about the women for a later blog and let you know the surprising part that relates to this story is that with four dogs, the one running things is an eight pound handicapped pug. Demon puppy didn’t seem to appreciate the distribution of power so she took matters into her own hands and destroyed the house.
Now, most does will chew up a couch cushion, a shoe, or maybe the leg of some furniture. Amateurs. This dog started a Red Dawn full assault on my life. She warmed up with items around the house. She ate the bottom of every door, she soaked every rug in urine, and just in case there was any question about who the culprit was, she would force me to follow her down the hall so I could watch her back up and piss on my pillow. Next she took out my wallet. Her first financial attack began with her swallowing an entire pair of panties whole. The tickling lace caused a constant cough, much like parvo. Since my roommates dogs hadn’t been vaccined properly, and they were too big for her to manage getting them to the vet, I had to pay the vet to come to the house and give $1500 worth of shots to every dog. About a month before my wife gave birth to our first daughter, Kloe broke her back. After spending four years with this dog my wife had become so attached to her that a death at this point could cause problems with the pregnancy. I checked our saving and we had $3,000. I told her if it cost a dollar more, we had to put the dog down. The surgery ended up costing $2995. Looking back, if we’d eaten a steak dinner the night before I could have saved myself a lot of stress over the last six years.
After the surgery the dog recovered fully and spent the next five years getting her way through a series of hateful acts including but not limited to: shitting in my shoe, stealing my clothes, barking every 10 minutes after baby’s bedtime, eating bullets, eating money, hiding dead rats in my workshop. Things went pretty much like this until all one day she just didn’t look good. She would cough, weez, walk funny, fall down, etc. The vet said make her comfortable, this is it. My daughter had just turned five, and a new kid was on the way. The wife and I decided since the daughter was going to loose a lot of attention with the new baby, it would be easier to do a proactive swap and get a new puppy before the old one kicked off. So we bought a new dog and the simple act of bringing her home instilled a second wind in Kloe of miraculous proportions. All symptoms immediately disappeared. She also found the strength to let me know how much she appreciated our gift of a new dog and a new will to live. She walked over and shit on my leg. She was banished outside for a week. 45 seconds after she was let back in, she did it again. The new puppy is now 100 lbs, the dog who should have been name Falcor refuses to die.
