The Mind of Spaz

Vatican City, Rome – Vatican Church “Scientists” announced today that Jesus is his own dad.

“It only makes sense” Says head “scientist” Gabrial Vercise “We all know that the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are the same entity but different entities at the same time, even if they are all one but not one, you know what I mean?”

The ruling came after an intense debate between Vatican officials of the semantics of the virgin birth.  It is the Catholic Church’s stance to forever break with tradition, make up new rules and reinvent Christianity, especially if it pisses off Protestants.

Mr. Vercise continued to explain that the reason God chose Mary was because she’s an incredible prude and knew that she wouldn’t let Joseph touch her.

Jesus was able to slip into her bed at night without waking her, and he impregnated her. It was quite easy really, because Jesus at the time was pretty much just a ghost, letting him waft right under the bedroom door.  his penis is also very small, allowing him to slip it right in there without breaking the hymen.

Mr. Vercise concluded with “…and we know Jesus and his father had a really small penis because of the old testament.  I mean, why else would god be THAT angry?”

A rebuttal came from noted Pentecostal spokesperson, Barbara Smythe,  who had this to say:

Beem babba smatty wacka wacka bitty wachity wachity wachity bunka bunga beep boop.

The mindofspaz.com delved further into the issue, asking for an interview with noted Muslim diplomat Mohammud Machbar Mohammud Mohammud Mohammud Mohammud of his thoughts on this subject:

What sort of NONSENSE are virgin births anyways? I should suicide bomb the Vatican so I can get my 72 virgins.

Mr. Mohammud Mohammud Mohammud Mohammud then threw stones at me until I left his office.

The rebuttal interviews concluded with our Jewish Correspondant, Hecccchyam Kohen, who has a very simple take on the subject:

We all know that the story stopped after the old testament and the new testament is nothing but a made up piece of christian rubbish. Why all this fuss over virgins I’ll never know. They are horrible in bed and they make a mess on the sheets anyways, why not?

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Parody, politically incorrect catholic, Jesus, jewish, muslim, religion, religious satire, satire, suicide bombing, virgin birth

A certain somebody left this rather surprising comment on my blog the other day:

On another note, damn do you talk about shitting a lot.

Well yea. Poo is funny. Bodily functions in general is funny.  Anybody who is cool understands that.

You also understand that if you’re a mommy blogger.  We all know how much mommy bloggers suck, because it’s only funny if it’s coming out of their little ugly babies orifices.

ALL bodily functions are funny.

So to commemorate poo, and to commemorate my poo commentor, I give you some poo de motivational posters.

Enjoy.

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Hello there gentle readers!  It’s time for the next episode of Tardz Ask the Interwebz! No one actually wants to ask me anything because:

1. I’m an asshole
2. I don’t have normal human emotions
3. I’ll tell you all the stuff that might be true, that you don’t actually want to hear.

Since I like giving advice, and the courts have prohibited me from giving unsolicited advice, I’ve decided to do something about that.

I’ve gone to those retards who solicit advice from the interwebz. That’s right, if you’re dumb enough to ask a question in an open forum, you’ll get your answer. From me. Deal with it.

So, I’ve scoured Yahoo Answers for some really good questions that I can give advice to.  Oh, if for some unknowable reason you want me to answer one of your questions, click here.  I doubt you’ll want answers after you read this though.

Question #1 – Some ditz writes:

How to remove Tan from my skin?

I imagine a restraining order would suffice.  Or perhaps a machete if he ignores the restraining order.  In the meantime, try dating guys that aren’t sexual perverts to prevent this from happening again.

Question #2 – A complete retard asks:

Why are the dead not touring in the south?

I imagine it’s the same reason why they’re not touring anywhere else – THEY ARE FUCKING DEAD.  Dead people don’t move.  Somebody really needs to have a talk with you, ok?

Question #3 – Some dummy asks:

How do I shave my side-burns?

Same way you shave the rest of you, with a RAZOR, you idiot!  But maybe not in your case.  In your case, I recommend using a shotgun.

Question #4 – Ms. Oblivious Writes:

What do you do when you eat the groceries before the weekend is over?

Are you fucking serious? Listen fatty, here is some possible solutions.

1. You aren’t buying enough groceries.  Buy more groceries.
2. Don’t eat so much, you whale.
3. Go out and get more groceries, you blubbery genius.

That’s the end of my advice to ‘tards that solicit from the interwebz.  If you want some asshole giving you advice, I’m always here to help.

politically incorrect, talking out of my ass asshole, I give answers, idiots ask questions, Q&A, retards

Why do I eat Indian food?  I’m a white guy, with a white guy digestive system.  I know that. Yet I eat it anyways. It’s just so good! It smells good, it tastes good, it’s so spicy and exotic.  But it’s just so powerful to my whitey gut.

The minute the stuff gets past my stomach and into my intestine, it turns into a large angry boxer, doing fisticuffs with my bowels.

The Butter Chicken fisticuffs has some interesting side effects.  Yea, it tries to explosively crawl out my ass, but that’s not for at least five or six hours after I eat it.  In the meantime, it produces gas babies.

Horrible, foul smelling gas babies. LOTS of gas babies.

I know what happens when I eat Indian food, and I eat it anyways. And then do you know what I do?

I go to the gym.

Did you know that running puts something like seven times your body weight of stress each time your foot hits the ground? That’s a lot of pounding around when you’ve got thousands of little fart babies trying their best to escape and the only thing holding them back is your clenched sphincter.

So, I make the worst decision I could make. I go for a run on the treadmill.

I decide to get a good sweat on.  Two miles an hour. Three, four, then five.  My intestine was shaking around like a fat guy at an anorexic dance.  Finally, at five and a half miles an hour, my shutter could not longer hold back the butter chicken gas babies. With each step a butter chicken fart baby escaped my cheeks. Keep in mind that I’m running at five and a half miles an hour, so the farts came out my bottom at machine gun velocity.

And the farts hit the guy on the treadmill behind me like a Browning .30 Cal on full auto.  It had the same effect too. He collapsed immediately.

You see, the guy behind me was some sort of pro athlete or something. He must have been.  Because my five and a half miles an hour was a snail compared to whatever he had the thing set to.  I think he set it to maximum. Anyways, my fragrant ass gun made him drop onto the moving conveyor, which shot him into the back wall.

He crashed through the wall.  This might not have been too much of a problem, except behind that wall was the woman’s shower room.

I have never seen so much wet glistening titty and soggy beaver running around in my entire life! Those first few minutes were absolutely great!

The restraining order won’t let me come within one mile of that gym.

Oh well.  Now if you will all excuse me, I need to get some butter chicken. I’m hungry and could use a good cleaning out.

dumb things I do to myself, talking out of my ass butter chicken, farts, gym, indian food, poo, restraining order, treadmill