BUMPER STICKERS I'VE BEEN WORKING ON:
3 and a Half Flaccid
S.U.V. Souped Up Vagina
Group Sex Referee ( Comes with a little man in a ref outfit holding a bottle of lube)
My other car is your Mother's Datson
Swerving cause I’m Burping the lizard.
“Tailgate?” is that another Tiger joke?
Are you sure you’re not from Central Square?
Sorry if I’m driving kinda weird, wait... what were we talking about?
Making Nose Beard look cool since 1982.
Not unlike car crashes, human crash and burns under the watchful eye of the American Media which has been on a strict diet of Amphetamines and Caffeine since OJ, now has another contestant to feed on and those bastards are eating it up. He crashed his car obviously trying not to get hit by a 3 iron in the face again, his balls are still probably black and blue. People are wondering why he hasn’t been seen in public. The guy’s probably got a sack of ice on his sack of ice, and can’t walk. Why do you think he was passed out. He got one in the Jackson with a piece of iron. I don’t know about you but whenever I got caught cheating, I got whacked in the balls one way or another, once a knee, twice a slap, the graze shot hurts ten times worse. This is how I see it, the shit hit and he was in denial mode big time, then the voice message hit and she grabbed a club and thumped his junk, he went swollen nuts in hand for the car but passed out from the pain and stomach ache and hit the fire hydrant. His cock is still probably growing a finger on it from that shit.
Periodically, I’ll browse through the local town’s free newspaper. Every town has one, you know the one that is mostly advertisements and classifieds that also has an article or two usually written by some college kid who is still holding onto some bullshit notion to rally cries. It’s always basically the same rhetoric that’s almost too liberal even for the god loathing Liberals. But mainly it’s just a paper magazine of ads pitching the local restaurants and night clubs who cater to everything from wing specials to dry rides. Tossed in are those articles that preach either “Legalize it” or commentary about how fucked up the government is. Either way, the most entertaining and only reason I pick up one of those papers, aside from the fact it’s free, is for the column in the back that lists the local band names preforming at the dive bar. What did you think I was gonna say, the column in back with the call girl hotline numbers? Negative, I’m talking about those shitty clubs that smell like the perfect storm of piss, spilt beer, cigarettes and asshole. They got some kind of make shift stage and it’s basically a battle of the bands headquarters for horrible metal based homegrown noise. What they choose to call themselves however, endlessly amuses me. Here are some of best of the worst I’ve come across lately:
“My John Burns”
“Jumping Jack Gash”
“Wham Bam Thank You Bitch”
“The Bowl Movement”
“Slipper a Mickey” is opening for “Vomit” on Saturday at 10.
“Hoggin’,Teeth Optional”
“Harry Twatter”
“Dicker”
“Whizzing on a Cop” formerly known as “Put my Cock in Jail”
The uglier the rock star, the better the music. You ever get an eyeful of Jimi Hendrix? Keith Richards is so ugly, it’s like his nose has tennis elbow. Jack White looks like an anorexic vampire. Thom Yorke looks like the muppet Beaker.
Pete Townsend looks like a character from “Lord of the Rings”. Chris Robinson of the Black Crowes could guest star as a Geico caveman as is. The Doobie Brothers always looked like they were in the middle of a heated Mustache contest. You don’t see too many close up shots of Bob Seger. The record company was like, how about you grow us a big old beard?
Steely Dan? It’s like Donald Fagan’s chin is throwing a punch at his nose. Walter Beker’s caricature is a picture of the Grinch who stole Christmas.
Phish looks like four guys who walked on stage fresh from an Elk’s Club meeting in Buffalo. All I’m saying is you throw 30 pounds on Bono and U2 would rock harder.
I’m so hairy, I was getting a massage one time and she was working on my lower back. I’m like jello when I’m getting a rub down, and I’m loud, when it feels good I just let it rip, I’m like “Oh yeah” Get high pitched, “HOOO” You know, you’re face down on the mini face toilet seat thing. The first time I got a message, she hits me with, get undressed and lie on your stomach. I’m looking at the mini toilet like I don’t know whether to put my face on that thing or squat on it and squeeze one out. So anyway I’m getting this massage and about half way through she moved side to side on my lower back and tore from the roots, what must of been like a 12 inch long ass crack hair. She ripped that monster clean out, it felt like a knife fell on me blade down. I screamed like a little girl. Startled, she froze not knowing what happened. I quickly faked a soar rib and later thought to myself, How do you tell a person, “Oh the reason I yelped is because about an inch away from your bare hands right now, grows a sea of random ass crack hairs, one of them just got snagged on your knuckle. Sorry please continue...”
I don’t usually chat on about bathroom humor but sometimes it’s impossible not to share.
I’m in my kitchen yesterday about to eat something and I feel for like the third day in a row,
itchy ass. I’m not talking about ass so much as I’m referring to itchy asshole. I mean, I’ll go
like three years without a single memory of an I.A. and then it’ll be like a cluster. I got a
buddy who is a lifelong bachelor and without remorse or concern, rocks a box of
“BabyWipes” on top of both of his shitters. I thought quickly, I wish I had a god damn baby
wipe right now. Then said screw it and ran a paper towel under the faucet, dropped trow
and got after it. When I was pulling up my pants I looked behind me and saw my neighbor
Bobby with the leaf blower in his hands motionlessly frozen. Attached to the kitchen there’s
a big old window in the dinning room facing his yard and in the morning you can see how
bloodshot my eyes are let alone get a mouthful of my ass. I thought, holy hell he’s gonna
think I’m into some weird sex shit. Then I got laughing and had to exit the room. I mean we
have a beer once in awhile, but we’re not friends by any means, if it was a buddy I’d of
taken my time and gotten into it, but a retired phone company guy out for a brisk morning of
blowing leaves and he gets a front row seat to the rodeo? I finally just went for it and
decided to take my medicine and walked outside and up to Bob with my hands out, like hey
man my bad and he turned off the blower. I instinctually extended my hand for a shake and
Bob literally stepped back and just nodded, I thought, I wouldn’t shake that hand either so I
smiled and said,” Sorry Buddy that’s not cool.” He looked at me and said, “get some fucking
babywipes for the bathroom”.
I’d say the quality of the recent sex I’ve been having is a direct correlation to the quality of the morning wood stuffing my shorts in the morning. I know what you’re thinking; there coexists different degrees to the quality of morning wood? Yeah.... If it hurts you know it was an X rated beauty of a dream and even though you can only remember glimpses of it, you’ll hang a little lower that day because somewhere in your mind you’ve been tricked into feeling that post-gross-piece swagger as the dirtiest part of your sex drive is satisfied even if only for a few hours that day. Unfortunately you only get those rarely now that your an old bastard like me and only after the Mrs has been putting out. Sex wakes up your libido and throws the thought of sex into the ring as a possibility to all the other things your mind has a choice of spinning a tale around. The song Dream Weaver is actually about Morning Wood. So anyway- Without any loving, your mind turns to more relevant topics like fear, death, falling, ect...to choose from. Almost like your mind is so bored it doesn’t even put in the effort to at least try to trick you. You’re mind is so numb it’s creates a dream that’s something so far fetched even in your unconscious you’re like, Yeah I don’t think so, you wake up woodless and disappointed, like nice try. Roll over and nudge your wife and ask her if she want’s to get it on, and her motionless refusal is comforting. You’re like, well at least I gave it a shot maybe that futile effort will score me a halfie in the morning.
I was in to buy a six pack of beer last week and once I got up to the register, A young girl kinda wide turns around and has a typical black tit shirt on, you know the thing with the thing anyway it’s low cut and the only reason I mention this is because, on her chest from shoulder to shoulder was a blue green and gold raven or eagle or hippopotamus I’m not sure it was just something breathing fire. Caught up in the whole thing I must have hesitated probably with a weird look on my face and after about a moment of mouth open pondering I look up and there’s like 7 pieces of shiny shit sticking out all over her face. One looked like a mini clock radio. I put the beer down and handed her money and she lifelessly hands me back change and doesn’t even say thanks or hello, or fuck you, anything would have been nice to just cut the tension of her pseudo disfigurement. I bit my tongue and didn’t say anything but inside it was a sea of one liners, I’d try to make small talk, but could only hear my brain heading towards meanville, “ Nice Tit Tat, what do you call it man repellent? Cover that up, I just had lunch. “ I mean what a commitment, at least children grow up and leave eventually. That stupid cartoon chest is there for life. I wanted to slap some sense in to her, what decent man in his right mind will ever go for that. She could be the best girl in the world. Ren and Stimpy in technicolor on your chest? You’re like 24 years old, anybody not sentenced of a felony is off your radar for good honey, you might as well have taken a frying pan to your face or better yet just lop off your tits and become Mike the gay tattoo dude who when he’s not spending all his time dry digging and ass cramming- spends most of his time punching holes in his face because that’s how individuals express themselves. Express themselves, what the hell is that. This is how I express myself, I wear fish hooks in my face, it means,.......it means......it mean you’re a fucking asshole. What were you thinking? I predict this very thing for you, you’re going to wake up someday you’ll be like 32 years old living in your mother’s basement working on your scowl for the day, and it’ll just hit you, You’ll look in the mirror, and say’ I’m tired of this charade, I wish I was rich...’ Your body is not a good place to make a statement, try having a personality.
Lets get one thing straight, reprimanding your kids loudly in public making sure everyone in the whole grocery store isle can hear how dedicated a mother you are is fucking disgusting. You know the, “What did Mommy tell you, you can push the cart as long as you don’t get ahead of me.” The fucking kid just smashed into your leg while you’re sizing up the salad dressing selection. “ You don’t want Mommy to get upset” Mommy upset? I’m the one over here with a half a shin, you stupid asshole. Hey I got an idea, why don’t you push the cart and keep your fucking monster on a lease. You don’t see me here pushing my chosen lifestyle on everyone within ear shot. You hear me staring at the dressings saying, “When’s the last time Thousand Island got me laid. I think it was that internet girl with one tit way bigger than the other.”
I’m all for good parenting, The grocery store or any public place for that matter is a gross time to sharpen up your parenting chops. It just lets me know that on top of being pathetic, you have no other identity. You’re the good mom. Why do you think he did a pump and run on you in the first place. Referring to yourself as Mommy when you’re talking to your kid is not cute. It’s fucking annoying. What you should do is pay more attention to the kids diet, you’re not doing that little butterball any favors by loading up the cart with twinkies and cheetos, and a gallon of ben and jerry’s and what ever else you got in there that went slamming into my leg. By the way that Nurse gown you’re rocking with the flowers on it is equally annoying. What’s the deal with nurses, I know you do a thankless job for mediocre pay but why do you parade around with the Nurse outfit still on after work? Don’t you guys have a changing room? Isn’t there like a thousand rooms in a hospital? Pick one and get out that shit- You don’t see Doctors rolling around town with their smocks on. I don’t get it?
Neighbors are a tough hang. I’ve just recently been domesticated and live in my first “ neighborhood “ in about 20 years. I’ve been squatting in apartments for years. And I’ll tell you, apartment people don’t fake niceties like they do in the suburbs. You’ll be out mowing the lawn and your neighbor will come over and pretend like they give a shit. Apartment life is much different. I can sum up the whole experience in one phrase “ MOVE your car, you fucking asshole. You know when you’re really mad you hold onto the FFF in Fucking Asshole. Try it right now, hold onto the ff a little. and then finish with asshole, which if you haven’t already guessed is my favorite word. You FFFFFucking asshole.
And what’s with these asshole and their fucking dogs. Jesus christ enough already with the fucking dogs. I’m not saying I hate dogs or I think they should be eaten in thailand or bully raped by Michael Vick and his band of morons. Just lighten up, to me hanging out with a dog is like hanging out with a mentally retarded person all day. It’s fun for a while and then just a pain in the ass. And these pricks will train their dogs to do little tricks and then tell you how smart they are. “Look at Bouser fetch, he’s so smart...” Give me a fucking break, That’s the same mangy bastard I saw nibbling on it’s own shit in the back yard twenty minutes ago. And you let that fucker sleep in your bed. You should Check yourself for the Aids for christ sake.
