I’m such an idiot. A complete dolt.  If you were to cut my head off, I’d run around like a chicken, all jumping and flapping and excreting and whatever it is they do because they are so dumb.

I do one thing, one tiny little thing that takes a nosedive, and I spend the rest of my existence to date correcting it.

I had gotten tired of watching you petty little humans poke at animals with sharpened sticks and doing each other from behind without so much as a “hello, my name is..”.  I decided to throw you ugly primates a bone and scatter around some primitive written words.  Soon enough you picked up the art of writing, and your evolution took off from there.

I had to go and do it.  I got drunk one night, really drunk.  When you’re an immortal like me, life gets boring after a while and you find yourself lost in the drink night after night, just to take the edge off the agony of existence.

I wrote it. I went and wrote it, and that was my first mistake. It was just a collection of bullshit stories.  I was so drunk that the stories didn’t even make coherent sense: It was just a bunch of rambling around one very angry and childish central character who threw fits all the time.

Well wouldn’t you know it, but I dropped the damned thing in the tavern. Somebody found it, shook my vomit off and well – BELIEVED the damned thing.

Next thing you know they start mutilating themselves, emulating one of the worst parts of my book!  Do you know what you retarded hairless monkey’s started doing?  You started cutting your damned foreskins off!

Holy fucking OUCH!  That’s where most of your damned nerve endings are! You stupid retards.

It didn’t end there though.  They started murdering people in the name of the main character in the book.  They actually thought my bullshit was real. Can you believe that?  It’s complete FICTION and they’re MURDERING people!  Over absolutely nothing too I might add. Just utter madness.

A thousand years of bloody mayhem went by, and I soured in my own corpulence.  It was then one drunken stormy night that I decided that I had to fix my mistake, and I wrote another book. This book was about the son of the main character in the old book.  I made him not into an angry childish idiot, but a peace loving hippie good for nothing beatnik.  I figured that the people would drop the old book in favour of this new one, simmer down a little and just get on with life and love already.

It wasn’t too long after I cursed myself for not knowing your imbecilic nature as of yet.  You didn’t adopt the new book and take it to heart, oh no.  A group of you broke off with the old and new book (while claiming the old one didn’t count any more), and some of you stayed with the old book, saying the new book was all lies and they would just sit tight and wait for the ‘real’ new book.

And there started my hundred year migraine.

The new book people flourished, spread, thrived, and converted people to believe in the new book by treat, convincing, conniving and threats.  Soon they had an empire, but it wasn’t a peace loving beatnik hippie free love pot smoking empire.  Oh no.

These people wanted blood.

I admit that while drunk I probably don’t write very well, but COME ON!  How can ” You are all sinners” and “He who is without sin cast the first stone” NOT be any clearer?  Yet not only did these people kill outsiders, they killed their own too, and for the silliest reasons imaginable.

And so I tried it yet again.  Maybe a third book would set balance to the planet.   I got smashed on tequila and wrote something akin to the first book, but way bloodier.

Don’t judge. Tequila does some mad things to a man.  You’ve all been there. You’ve all woken up to a coyote ugly, and let me tell you this: A thousand years ago just about EVERY woman was a coyote ugly.

Anyways, I think a traveler from the east picked up this vomit soaked book and took it back with him. His people adopted it and their belief in it grew strong.

So what did the people with the middle book do?  Went over en mass and started slaughtering the third book people! What the hell! I just don’t get it!

Then the middle book people discovered North American, and started burning innocent women for being something called “witches”.  I don’t think I ever mentioned something called “witchcraft” in any of the books. I’ll have to borrow a copy and see for myself.  Hey, it’s been a few thousand years and I’ve gone through enough alcohol to power a Linsay Lohan house party. I can’t be expected to remember every detail, ok?

And so it continued.  I wrote a book and now a bunch of retards walk around with white shirts and black ties annoying people in their homes.  I wrote another and now people won’t get blood transfusions for their sick children. I even had a go at science fiction but a cult grew around that too.

So now, here I sit in my newest disguise as a lowly water quality technician in probably the only relatively sane country left on this stinking planet.  I sit here and write this inane blog, wondering if one day someone is going to collect these works and start worshiping poo.

Trust me, it won’t have been the strangest thing to happen.

politically incorrect, talking out of my ass idiot, religion, religious intolerance, stupidity, violence, writing

There was a time in my life when I thought that food was just for eating.  Whether you ate vegetables, meat, a combination thereof, it was just food.

Some people don’t like meat.  They don’t enjoy it, they don’t want to eat it. Hey, who am I to judge?  I’ve had all vegetarian meals before.  I’ve had all meat meals before. I’ve even killed, gutted, and cooked my own animals.  When you’re in the woods, you eat what the woods has to offer.

I met a new breed of people recently.  Sure, I knew they existed.  I mean, I thought if you were one of them you went and joined up with all the rest of the PETArds.  But I was wrong. Very wrong. This group of people are so angry, so unsatisfied with their lives, that not only do they not understand humour or satire, but they feel the need to threaten people with their lives simply for the food they eat.  This group is known as the….

ANGRY VEGGIES!

Yes, these people exist, and there were some very interesting comments left on my last post, Petardia.  One man in particular, was very interesting. He was the first angry veggie to comment.  Well, I don’t know if he’s a man.  It’s kind of hard with a name Dacho. Maybe it’s a girl. Or maybe it’s an it.  Or maybe it’s a boy with a really really small wiggly, which is why it feels compelled to get angry over a little humorous satire.

In Patardia, I was making fun of the the retardation the PETArds call sea kittens, in which if we rename fish to sea kittens, nobody will want to eat fish any more.  They’d prefer people to starve than eating fish, I’m guessing.  The thing named Dacho took exception to that post.  He/she/it took something not serious seriously, and made some interesting comments. For example, on evolution, Dacho says:

-You didn’t spend a single second of “climbing your way up”, you’re eating meat from an animal that’s been raised and slaughtered for you, that’s what you did.

So apparently evolution started sometime in late 1977 huh?  Interesting.

Some other tidbits of brilliance from Dacho:

……we might as well eat fetuses and little babies. Nothing like a nice bloody piece of meat, right?

I’m wondering, just because I like cow, pig, chicken, and sometimes cat (we have a GREAT Chinese food restaurant here in town), you assume I’m into cannibalism too?  Because cooked fetus is just like a plate full of delicious prime rib.  Us carnivores haunt proms looking for dumpster babies.  You tard.

Of course, since Dacho took my satire so seriously, he left serious comments. Not hypocritical in any ways. For example, he said this:

-I suppose you mean vegetable farms. No, they’re not, but let’s take a soy farms example. EIGHTY PERCENT of soy made on farms is used for FEEDING ANIMALS ON FARMS.

And he followed it up with this tibit of genius:

OK now I’m really curious. People would usually delete my comment and pretend it was never there, and continue with their silliness. And I would really like it to be something with trustable sources, not just “doctors say yadda yadda” (like my 80% soy thing, lol).

So Dacho.  You can leave bullshit made up statistics, TELL me they were bullshit statistics, and insist that I come up with verified sources? Sounds like the only one who’s being silly here is you, my friend.

According to the great Dacho, my parents:

I really don’t see what your problem with vegetarians might be, have your parents been hitting you with a vegetarian when you were a kid or what? Anyway, set your facts straight if you wanna spit on something.

I’m guessing that it was actually my parents who had a problem with vegetarians, because they used them to beat me.  And I always thought that dad used his belt. I guess he really hated veggies if he used one as a belt!  And Dacho, why do I have to get my facts straight when you admit you don’t?

As I was making fun of the PETArds and their sea kittens, apparently I also mentioned all the things that I think vegetarians are:

I just love the stereotypes: “oooh, a vegetarian, does that mean you’re gay? or punk? or goth? oooh, so you’re one of those that throw molotovs on MCD! oooh, a vegetarian

Where did I say that in my last post? Nope, I don’t think that about vegetarians at all.  Maybe just you Dacho, maybe just you

While Dacho was an angry veggie, the next commenter, known as Vegan, was a VIOLENT veggie. Observe.

politically incorrect, talking out of my ass idiot, religion, religious intolerance, stupidity, violence, writing

Not long ago, my friends John and Etta wrote their respective pieces making fun of those eco terrorist freaks known as PETA. Who am I not to get on that bandwagon?

The most recent piece of brilliance from those Petards is to call fish “sea kittens”. Apparently, if you think of a fish as a kitten, you won’t want to eat it.

Makes me want fish even more!

The group I now call Petardia, or Petards for short, as a collective, wants us all to stop eating animals. I see three problems with this:

1. We, as humans, didn’t spend thousands of years climbing our way to the top of the food chain to NOT eat animals.
2. There is NOTHING like a nice, bloody piece of meat.
3. And farming is environmentally friendly?

See, with number three, there is just SO many people on this planet that there would HAVE to be more farms. And I don’t know if anyone noticed, but NOTHING is allowed on a farm except for what is being farmed. If you’re anything, plant or animal, other than what’s being farmed, you might as well have just paved it over.

But don’t worry my dear readers, I have a solution that should satisfy the Petards.

Eating them.

The solution is perfect! I mean, you won’t be harming the millions upon millions of cows, chickens and pigs bred to be eaten. We can let them all wander off into the woods to starve to death and get eaten by predators!

No more animals getting killed. Not even sea kittens.

Best of all, extra farmland won’t be needed, leaving room for natural habitats like forests, plains, swamps, and Wal*Marts.

Personally, I might like my Petard BBQ’d. Slow roast those ribs. Speaking of roast, Petards come with lots of natural body hair, pre braided, you can use to wrap the Petard roast in. For extra flavour, try wrapping a smaller Petard inside a larger Petard before putting it in the roasting pan.

But whatever you do, make sure you cut around the part where all the drugs they take are collecting. If you take that you might just start thinking that “sea kittens” was one hell of a great marketing plan.

‘Nuff Said.

politically incorrect, talking out of my ass idiot, religion, religious intolerance, stupidity, violence, writing

Well, it’s almost 2009. And I’m still alive. I just can’t believe it.

It’s not like I’m trying to commit suicide, mind you. Life’s ok. Not good, not bad, but certainly worth sticking around for.

No, it’s just that I have this little problem. That thing in your brain that says “you really shouldn’t do this, DON’T do this” is severely under developed for me. Combine that with a lack of normal human emotions and very few people who would actually miss me, you have a walking time bomb.

Regardless, a 2008 “stupidity year in review” is in order. This list is not comprehensive. I’ve taken a lot of blows to the head.

This year, the following stupidity happened:

• I’ve played a game of follow the leader with 3 pit bulls and a pork chop tied around my neck
• Kicked over 15 Harley’s in front of a biker bar
• Didn’t run after I kicked over the bikes
• Hung off an overpass with only 1 finger like they do in the movies, to see if it’s actually possible. It’s not.
• Drank a bleach margarita.
• Stowed away in the luggage compartment of an airplane.
• Hopped the fence at the Zoo and stuck my thumb up the ass of a silverback ape. I wish it wasn’t the only gay silverback at the zoo.
• Called Oprah a fat bitch.
• Tried to have sex with Madonna. Luckily I fell in. I only got sticky, not diseased.
• Went to the Westboro baptist church dressed in drag.
• Went swimming at the local sewage lagoon.
• Called the 1st string lineup of the Chicago Bears a bunch of “faggot candy asses”.
• Wiped my ass with sand paper, and then sat in a bucket of lemon juice.
• Put on rollerblades and tied my face to the back of a big rig.
• Challenged Johnny Knoxville to a game of rochambo.  He won. After 10 hours.
• Walked into a weight watchers meeting eating chocolate ice cream
• Dressed up as an orthodox jew and went to hang out in Palestine.

Clearly, I am an idiot.

So here’s to 2009. If I abruptly disappear, you can be sure that I did so giving the local reporters the story of their lifetime.

politically incorrect, talking out of my ass idiot, religion, religious intolerance, stupidity, violence, writing

….. But it wasn’t.

I thought it was just two and a half hours of hell. But it was more, much more. It lasted for the next few days.

It started the night of. I thought I was going to be ok. It had been 10 hours since my last meal and I wanted to test out my now fragile digestive system. And so I downed a small piece of dry white toast. Apparently, that was enough food to dislodge another round of liquidy bum pow.

A few hours later, I tried soup and a sandwich to the same result. Yay me.

And the fun continued. The gas! Oh the gas! My gut was producing gas in quantities to power New Orleans during Mardi Gras. With the exception that ass gas doesn’t let me see boobs. No, this was far and above my normal flatulent self.

There is a problem with my new found friend.

You see, I found that my new gaseous companion was actually a gamble. If I thought it was gas, it was more likely his best buddy shart. And so, it became a gamble I was likely to lose. I don’t gamble to lose, so I stopped gambling, and that really put a damper on my free time.

The next morning it was time for my regularly scheduled poo. Yes, I schedule poo time. I’ve trained my body to expel waste first thing in the morning. That way, I minimize toilet paper consumption and make use of my shower head to clean up the mess. Don’t judge, it works.

Sitting down on the cold porcelain, I open the trap door to let the bomb fly. Only it wasn’t a bomb. Some jackass had replaced my bum rocket with ass molasses. Cleaning that up wasn’t wiping. It was like daubing a bleeding wound.

It continued. It happened at 9 am at work. I was trying to get my second cup of coffee and was re-routed on my way to the kitchen. I never made it to the kitchen.

Just after lunch it happened again. And again. At three, it happened yet again.  And then I left work to find something very interesting.

You see, after the fourth runny ass vomit, my anus was sore. Very sore, and throbbing.  Throbbing loudly.  I thought that I was the only one who could hear it, but I was wrong. There was a contingent of hippies outside dancing to the beat of the throbbing. They had thought it was a love in. They were wrong, so very wrong.

It’s now Tuesday, three days after I subjected myself to the colon cleanse.  I finally have had a solid shit and I’m no longer afraid to fart.

Kids, there is a moral to this story.

Don’t be stupid like Uncle Spaz.

‘Nuff Said.

politically incorrect, talking out of my ass idiot, religion, religious intolerance, stupidity, violence, writing