Happy goddamn 200th birthday Charles D., you ornery quill pen scribblin’ literary pimp. You’re lookin’ pretty good for being a couple Benjamins old, what’s your secret? Bikram yoga? Damn, that’s pretty badass Chuck. You don’t mind if I call you Chuck do ya? I tried that hot yoga shit once and damn near pulled my hammy while runnin’ everyone out of the room with my night before drinking and Del Taco gas, shit, I was blowin’ the tile off the walls that day. Luckily it was a free class, but hells no, I ain’t goin’ back to that sweaty ass shit ever again, so props to you grampa, keep it up.
Hey check this shit out, I think you need to put out a sequel to Tale of Two Cities, but this time you have it set in New York and L.A., you still deal with the major themes of duality and revolution but you concentrate on the East Coast vs. West Coast hip hop scene in the 90’s. Now to tie that shit together with the first book, you can still start it off with “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”, because that shit is still relevant to this story, know what I’m sayin’? Yeah! And when you put the screenplay together let me play the part of 2Pac, but a white version of him, you know, just to mix that shit all up so it’s all wackity wack, and don’t even get me started on what I’ve been thinkin’ about for the new A Christmas Carol, if we do it right, it’ll be all Avatar up in that beotch. So hit me up later on that.
Ok LISTEN UP EVERYONE!! It’s C-Dick’s birthday bitches, so raise yo 40 in the air and let’s toast to the great great great grandfather of the written word, before typewriters and before computers, and in his own words … “There is nothing so strong or safe in an emergency of life as the simple truth”, well, don’t tell that shit to my Uncle JoJo in cell block 6, and don’t forget to pour some out for your homeys. Happy Birthday C !!
Remember Madonna? Yeah, she was that blonde super popstar singer who wore all kinds of crazy outfits and sang about sex and religion and emerged from an egg at the Grammy Awards? No wait, she was the one who made super erotic music videos pushing the boundaries of feminism while wearing crazy makeup and pranced around 3/4 naked in badass shoes. Wait! The one with kind of messed up teeth. SHIT! Oh wait, no, she’s the old buffed one. Remember her?
The old white rich men who run the Super Bowl have decided to let Madonna perform at the half-time show. The spectacle where we’ve seen Janet’s boob, Janet’s famous brother, McJagger’s skeleton and that one old Beatle who’s still alive. Half Time Show Fun Fact: Up until 1984, the halftime show was primarily college marching bands and drill teams. What the hell happened?
Instead of inspiring college musicians with pride for their school and their aspirations to be seen by a large crowd, we get super-stardom shoved down our throats with a chaser of Pepsi and Bud Light. We are consecrated with 30 seconds of $2.7 million dollar brilliance beamed to our eyeballs, whilst reveling with our 7 layer dips, cheeses, meats and sudsy lagers, laughing like royalty with a turkey leg in hand in the merriment of all our festivities watching millionaires run around a field chasing a ball with pretty colored costumes. And we wonder why all the other countries hate America.
I’m still going to watch though in hopes that one of Madonna’s cut pecs falls out.
How come I have to read about this fucking story a few hours after eating a Quarter Pounder with Cheese for lunch? Why? Because it’s God’s way of pecking me to death. Thanks God.
Enter … Pink Slime.
Just when you thought it was safe to go back to McDonald’s drive-thru, Mickey D’s has done it again. Like JAWS lurking below in the dark depths of the ocean, we all swim on the surface ignorant in our trans fat day comas, the happy red and yellow clown keeps putting shit in his food that kills us alive. Thanks Ronald.
This time, the yumminess that’s been inserted into my #5 value meal looks like Bazooka Bubble Gum but not as sweet, or maybe it is, but I haven’t had a spoonful of it in it’s natural habitat. It’s all the parts of a cow that are deemed unworthy of human consumption. It’s the parts that they use to make dog food out of. It’s the parts that make my McD.L.T. taste so damn … tasty. All the scraps and hooves and bones and fat and sinew are cut from meat that gets sold for steaks and that shiny wet cat food. Those scraps are then taken to a meat dry-cleaner where they separate the “meat” from the fat, give it a bath in ammonia and call it safe. Yay!
Oh wait, this just in. McDonald’s has just put out a statement claiming “This product has been out of our supply chain since August of last year”. Instead, they’re using Slimey Pink.
Carnival folk, they live a life that most of us could never imagine. Subsiding on the corn dogs, cotton candy and popcorn left over at the end of the night and spending what little money they make assembling rickety fun wheels in department store parking lots, on home made, bathtub speed. It’s the kind of existence most of us dream about, but sadly, could never realize in real life.
Philosophers, wise men, all around fountains of knowledge and experience. Carnies say some crazy shit, and you would be crazy not to get a nose full of it when ever the opportunity presents itself.
So please enjoy “Shit Carnies Say” and pass it on, these are wise words that will benefit anyone who hears them… Or just creepy shit some toothless meth freak yelled at a single mother of three outside the Port-a-let, mistakenly believing they were praying to a dragon… Either way…
We all understand that fast food isn’t good for us, we get that, it isn’t a secret, but sometimes you just have to make a run to McDonald’s, or Jack, or Carl’s, or Wendy’s, or the BK. Too tired to cook, and too lazy to go hunting, you get off the couch, drive your car over to the drive-thru, order through a box, and take home your bag of cholesterol. Fast food chains have definitely helped us to become lazy in our cars, and for that, we thank you oh creator of drive-thru’s.
We can do our banking in a drive-thru, pick up our dry-cleaning in a drive-thru, wash our car in a drive-thru, get a venti white chocolate mocha frappuccino with carmel and whip cream in a drive-thru. We don’t ever have to get out of our cars anymore if we don’t want. We could live in our cars and most of our basic necessities would be met.
But now !! Just when you thought it wasn’t safe to get out of the car. Now, my beloved King of Burgers is going the extra mile by cutting out the middleman of actually having to stand up, put on shoes, grab keys, and drive 1/6th of a mile. They’re making our already lazy lives LAZIER !! “How?” you ask? Pick up your phone, dial your closest Burger King and tell them your order. THEN! Somebody will arrive at your door with your hot disk of meat parts and a gallon of Coke. Your phone is the new drive-thru !! BRILLIANT !!! Now if only Starbuck’s would deliver.
As a guy, when I first heard about this story, my first impression is “fuck yeah, let’s do this!”, but when I didn’t get a return call, I had a lot of time to reflect on the situation. Let’s rewind shall we?
As I stumbled around my living area this morning, I, what my grandparents would say, “turned on the news”. Turning on the news back in day meant walking up to a huge wooden box and pulling a button and waiting 30 seconds for the tube to warm up and an image to appear on the screen. But when I say it, turning on the news means swiping the “slide to unlock” on my little black half pack of cards made of glass and plastic. And that’s a lot of words to have to go through to get to the girl with the double-vagina part of the story. A young Australian woman, Hazel Jones, revealed that she has an extremely rare medical condition, two vaginas.
Now, back to the beginning, as a guy when you hear a story about a woman with a double-va-J-J, you get really close to your computer monitor and hope to see how you can buy tickets to the ride, and you hope that there’s a freaky clip on YouTube somewhere, not because I’m a perv, but because I enjoyed science class as a kid. But then I got to thinking of the logistics of having a 3-sum with one other person, it’s perplexing and stressful all at the same time.
1. Finding the Grafenberg Spot is practically impossible for a mere mortal, but when you’ve got two spots to find on a non-existent map, fogettahboutit, get me a beer and something that makes me feel good about myself.
2. Hand cramps and lockjaw. Look, I’ve got some serious skills but trying to sing all the parts of a barber shop quartet by yourself is like trying to fill the van’s gas tank by farting in it, it’s possible, but it’s gonna take a LONG time. If you wanna make this woman happy, you’ve got to be a concerto pianist and a champion yodeler. Yodelers use their tongue to yodel right?
3. And the final word on the stress of all this, what seems to be awesome situation, pregnancy.
Porn. It’s naughty, it’s fun, it’s my best friend on a late, lonely Wednesday night whilst sadly looking through yearbooks of all the friends I never had and all the empty pages without signatures and cool sayings like “Stay Cool this Summer”. Play, pause, fast forward, oh wait, yeah, just like that, pause, on your FACE! You like that don’t you ??!!
Porn. My real pretend friends who never let me down and are there when I need them. Men and women of all ethnicities and statures, making me feel like I’m part of their hot threesomes, nun exploitation, and lesbian trists in a locker room, while at the same time making me feel small and stamina-deprived, but they don’t judge.
Porn. No rules, do who you want, how you want, when you want, where you want. Midgets, horses, bound in leather, wearing costumes, on your back, in your back, bare back, shack a lack. Except for now … there is a rule, a NEW rule.
Condoms. Necessary. MANDATORY !!
Here’s all the verby verbage … The “Safer Sex In The Adult Film Industry Act” would require “any person or entity directly engaged in the creation of adult films who is issued a permit” to “maintain engineering and work practice controls, including the provision of and required use of condoms, sufficient to protect employees from exposure to blood or other potentially infectious materials consistent with state law.” This was laid out by the city council of Los Angeles City stating that all that above nonsense has to be done if filming within the city. Whatever the fuck that means. And where do I get a permit? I’d like a permit.
It’s quite apparent that these “people” who “voted” and made this into a law have never seen porn where the dude is wearing a condom. It’s horrible! How much feeling do you think he’s really experiencing? None. And what if the receiver has a latex allergy? HMMMMM? Think how depressed these actors are going to become. Where is the fun in waking up, heading to work and knowing you’re gonna have boring old condom sex? Nowhere, that’s where. That’s like asking a Starbuck’s employee to come to work but not being able to drink any of the coffee, asking a dentist to show up to put in a cavity but not getting to use a drill, or worse, taking away a lawyers ability to sue !!
Come on LA, give the porner’s a break. Let them hump away the way they were meant to, naked and slippery. Nobody wants to see a lite green sheathed pecker goin’ in and out of anything, it’s just wrong. What’s next? You gonna pass a law mandating that porn stars get married before they film?