Man, shit is fucking brutal

So yeah,

I was chillin with my lax bros and we decided that going to a Justin Bieber concert would be chill as fuck.  We decided that we should drink some BroLokos before we went and got our nut on.  I normally drink natties, but tonight was special because Bieber has a sick flow.  We struck out for the concert when I found out my Bro bought the wrong tickets.  Our tickets were for a Minudo concert.  I like to party hardy with Baccardi, but the liquor store only had Cap’n Boatswain’s Smoked Rum.  On the way to the concert, we ran into some more bros and they invited us to a sweet house party.  My lax bros wanted to go to the concert, but I went with the new bros to their house.  As we approached, I could hear the DMB blastin from at least a block away.  When I went in, I finished my Smoked Rum and then started pounding natties.  A little while into it, some guy asked me if I wanted to see his sweet lax spoon, and I said sure.  We went into his room, and told me that he was a bromosexual.  I told him that I was chill with that and he let me smoke his tight nugs.  After that, I got wicked munchies, so I went down to the kitchen.  I told some slam piece to make me a sandwich, but she told me that she was out of bread and ketchup.  She said all she could do was put some Colon Joy bran cereal into a plastic baggy with some mayonnaise.  I told her that it would be dank, so I ate about five bags full.  It made me feel funny and it turned my pee green for a couple of days.  After that I wandered out of the house and things got really hazy after that.  I woke up the next day in the produce section of a Whole Foods.  A clerk was standing over me, hitting me with a broom and shouting in what could either be Chinese or Massachuseten.  Hey, it’s all cool… This is what happens when you party like a rockstar!

Peace!

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Brominated Soybean Oil

So yeah,

I’m still hanging out in New York City, and it’s chill as fuck.  I’m even cooler now that I wear a visor upside down and backwards, and I’m rocking out in my new pair of Sperrys.  I’ve been watching that crazy shit in Egypt unfold and it is totally cool.  I really wish I could be there, because I am such an important celebrity.  I’m even more important than that exec from Gogol.  If I saw him, I would totally say “move over bro, I can walk like an Egyptian!”  What I really want to do is play lax with Mohammad ElBaradei.  My flow is better than his, because he is like totally bald, but we would totally win and we would bump fists every time we score.  Afterward we would pound a case of natties and get dome from some slam piece.  We would totally bump fists when we got dome.  All that would be left is for our slam piece to make us sandwiches, which we would eat while watching Shark Week!  During the commercials, I’d pound my slam piece until the condom broke.  Afterword, I would take her to Walgreens for the Morning After Pill.  I’d in the spot designated for “Expecting Mothers.”  She’d cry and then make me a sandwich.

Peace!

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A Favor House Pacific

So yeah,

I’ve been watching a lot of German television lately, because American TV is just not sophisticated enough. Shows like “Don’t Put That Sausage In Your Mouth Mrs. Nederlander”, “The Careless Butcher”, and “Das Ist Jeopardy” stimulate the soul and make my pee-pee tingle. I have to find something to make my pee-pee tingle, because my girlfriend broke up with me… a long time ago. She totally said she was pregnant and she made buy her all sorts of things like a new toilet seat and baby einstein videos. The new toilet seat was to replace the one she tore off and beat me with on several occasions. She said that she had to hit me, because she loved me so much, and I do things to bother her sometimes. I think I might have brain damage, but it’s really cool to see all the pretty swirleys when I stand up and sit down.

Where was I… oh yeah, she totally said she was pregnant, but I found out later that she was just getting chunky from all the Tofruitty she was eating. She made the whole thing up, so I got mad and left her. I told her I was devastated, and she said that she wouldn’t make me egg salad any more and that I will burn in hell for pleasuring myself with her curling iron. So I told her to collate her own goddamn screenplay. I took all of my stuff and moved into the squat and now I’m here watching deviant German programming. It’s a lot like Joanie Loves Chachi, but only if Chachi surprised Joanie with the body of a homeless man he had dressed as a clown. All I can say is that I’m getting bored with masturbating vigorously to Ferngully, and I’m looking forward to seeing Avatar. I’ll write a review of it if my forearm isn’t too sore.

Peace!

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Vasolene & Cinema

So yeah,

I’ve haven’t posted lately, because I’ve been really busy with my work.  And by work I mean masturbating vigorously and watching the movie Ferngully.  Sometimes both at once, but I digress.  I’ve had the melancholy of a Tennessee Williams play ever since my publisher told me he didn’t want to print my book.  It’s a novel filled with biting images that assault the senses, unmasking both reader and poet alike in a macabre dance of despair. I, being one of the foremost poets of anarchy and rebellion, am offended that they did not take my publication seriously. The editor called me a plagiarist just because the novel is based on the characters in “Hi and Lois” and their erotic encounters as they travel from St. Paul, Minnesota to Lincoln, Nebraska. What an ass-wipe!

But, dude, he didn’t stop there. He hit me with a rolled up newspaper and now I have a Mary Worth mark on my forehead. I should have come to expect this. I’d like to kick him in the ass with my new pair of Ugg boots. Dude, they’re for guys too… Shut the fuck up! The comic page is run by fascists!

Peace!

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My pleasure dome is collapsing!

So yeah,

A bunch of editors at those quote-unquote respectable publications said that I was a polyp on the anus of independent media.  I think that is totally not dope, so I went to Davos!  Yeah, it was totally dope.  I couldn’t get my agent to fly me there, because he told me that he would buy the ticket after I left his office.  I came back a week later, and he had fled the scene.  I can’t believe that he abandoned me in my time of need.  I didn’t know that doing business out the back of a Turkish restaurant is apparently not a sound business practice.  I had to find another way, so I just hung out at the airport.  When I was in the terminal, I ran into Robert Scrotal, the famous blogger!  He was totally cool, but he acted kinda weird when I sat next to him.  It’s not my fault I smelled like pee and retard-stool.  When I was in the bathroom, a retard tried to rush to a cupcake I was lifting from the trash, slipped, and landed on me.  He hit me with such force that it caused him to release his bowels into my unisex overalls.

When I was talking to Scrotal, he just got more and more pale.  eventually, he ran to the bathroom and started ralphing so loud that I could hear it near the Quantas counter.  While he was busy, I sorta grabbed his luggage and passport and got on the plane.

l liked the plane ride, because the stewardess hit me so hard that I lost consciousness until we touched down in Switzerland.  She decked me just because I asked her if she was up for lingering for a fingering.  That’s totally cold.  Upon waking up to find that not only was the stewardess gone, but so was half of Scrotal, er my luggage.  I picked up what I had left and began my press-bus voyage.

So Davos is a Ski Resort where rich people ski down the Matterhorny.  I thought Davos was a Blimpie’s, but in France.  I learned a lot that week… even though Davos has sandwiches too.  So yeah, in addition to the sandwiches, they also have conferences and banquets… with tacos!  I went to a couple of the “break-out” sessions, because I thought that was a preview for a new Chuck Norris movie, but it turned out to be boring old-people stuff with names like “Wealth Maximization Through the Pursuit of Perfect Nash Subgame Equilibrium” and “Strategies for Central Banks and other Stakeholders in repelling the global economic slowdown.”  I thought “screw that, I’m looking for a oriental microwave cooking class!”

I tried to find a learning annex room, but I couldn’t find it.  I finally gave up and went to the keynote dinner.  They had some boring Russian guy named Poot-In who was talking about Gas Prom, which is a dance they have in Moscow every month, but they don’t have it in Ukraine, because chicken Kiev is for Fascists.  They made me sit at a table in the corner with Micheal Gross.  Mike would not shut the fuck up about the maxi pad commercial he did a few years ago.  He just kept talking about freshness and moisture control and how Chuck Mangione replaced him in the commercials.  Dude, I don’t even know what a flugelhorn is, but I wanted to hit him with one too.

I got so fed up with his bullshit I went to the taco bar and ate nothing but carrot shavings and then I went to the big vase full of wine at the tasting in the next room and drank the whole thing.  Then someone told me it was a spittoon, so I wandered around the hotel drunk for a couple of hours.  Apparently, I got so drunk that I broke into the Sultan of Brunei’s room where I proceeded to eat all of his dates, and I ate a couple of Cuban cigars too.  The Sultan’s security detail found me throwing up in his laundry hamper, so they dragged me out of the room and left me in the press area after a savage beating.  Then the Fourth Estate beat me when they found out that I had stolen Robert Scrotal’s press credentials.  Dan Rather looks like a big woman on teevee, but he kicks with steel-toed boots.  It wasn’t too bad until Baabwaa Waaters rubbed carpet fresh into my face and burned me with a cigarette.  I won’t even go into where Fred Friendly’s cousin plunged Scrotal’s handicam that was in his luggage.  All I can say is that it tingles now whenever I go to stickcam.com

So yeah, the Swiss police saved me from the press corps and they put me on a plane back to America.  It wasn’t that bad of a trip, and I even have a memento to remember it by.  Apparently, during my drunken ramblings one of the hotel cleaning ladies gave me a tattoo that says “Fahrvergnügen” on my right buttock.  She forgot the umlaut, but the cigarette burns made the word syntactically correct.

It was the most I ever threw up, and it was the best winter vacation ever!

Peace!

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Marry X-mas

So yeah,

I totally spent x-mas with my relatives in the Ozarks and it was totally dope.  I don’t get to talk to that part of the family because they do not subject themselves to society’s norms of telephone access or hygiene.  My cousin Orville took me out to see how real people live in real America.  We spent the day before xmas finding a tree to cut down and decorate.  When we found the most perfect pine tree I had ever seen, we tried to saw it down.  Orville doesn’t have a chainsaw, so we took turns with the hacksaw.  It was cool, because the five hours we put into slicing this mighty timber down just made this pine tree’s maple syrup taste even sweeter.  So yeah, since my cousins are not burdened by worldly possessions, they don’t have “xmas ornaments” in the traditional sense.  We went down to the junkyard across the street to recycle what decadent people put in the trash next to disposable diapers and issues of Us Weekly.  Soon, I found plenty of shiny syringes and cat-food tin lids to adorn our feisty bush.  All that was missing was a star for the top of the tree.  As I pondered this, I saw something shiny glint in the distance.  It was the hood ornament sparkling on the hood of a 1973 Yugo!  I totally had to gank that, so I climbed atop a pile of Datsuns and Subaru’s to grasp this pinnacle of perfection.  As I was trying to position myself, I grabbed the Yugo’s shift lever and the car started rolling forward.  I panicked and I crawled in through the window.  The car just kept going faster and faster as it slid down the pile of foreign cars until I hit the bottom.  An old roof from a tornado-demolished mobile home acted like a ramp, launching the Yugo straight into Cousin Orville’s living room.  When the car came to rest between the wood stove and the little shrine they built to Dale Earnhardt.  When I opened the door, I knocked over one of the candles in the shrine, and it ignited the ultra-flammable children’s sleepwear that had been used to create the backdrop for the shrine.  The ensuing fire melted all of the lenolyum off the floor and melted all of their velvet paintings of Jesus.  I told them it was not my fault, because the car was an evil tool of capitalism and since it’s gears were greased with the blood of the workers, it was the manager’s fault for mistreating the wage slaves.  Orville’s older brother Gus hit me with a board with a nail in it until I lost consciousness.  I later woke up at a bus station in Bentonville, Arkansas.  I didn’t have any shoes but I did have a sack full of those cat food tin lids with me.  I’m glad it wasn’t a hood ornament from a Fiat, because Fiats are made by Italian Fascists.  It was a happy holiday after all!

Peace!

P.S.  Does anyone have a couch I can crash on for New Years?

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I’m so going to be a student!

So yeah,

I went on a campus tour at Burroughs College, and it was totally dope.  I went to the admissions office, and there was this guy in a Carroll College t-shirt who called himself Dr. Pepper, and he was so cool because he was dressed so ironically.  We began outside the Administration building, and it was totally cool.  Dr. Pepper told me that in the 60′s it was occupied by hippies and on humid nights it still stinks like the Paris commune!  Next, we went to Maxi Hall.  He showed me some rooms, and told me that some day I could have a pad in Maxi.  There were people in their rooms reading Sartre and books on Magick!  Dr. Pepper even pulled me aside and let me have a big glass of really exotic liquor.  It was called Floo r poli sh and it came from Monsanto, which is a city in Italy.  Dr. Pepper explained that it was the really expensive stuff.  You can tell that because it has a label on it that says “Peligro: Tóxico!” which is italian for “special batch.”

I felt a little woosy after that, so we went to the science building.  It was really cool until we went to see the cow insemination labratory and I got my arm stuck in a hands-on exhibit.  All that mooing and giggling made me naucious, so I ran out of the room.  Dr. Pepper found me horking up my quinoa and lentil souflle in Dr. Utility Room’s Labritory.  I begged Dr. Pepper for forgiveness, but he said that Dr. Room wouldn’t mind.  Once I finished bleeding out my nose and ears, we went to the Falcone Quadrangle.  It was totally wavy gravy because it was like Harvard Square, but without those snooty college students.  There was a group of beatnicks playing hacky-sack, so I decided to join in, because Dr. Pepper had to sit down for a while, because he had to ponder the wonder of an adult soda called Smithwicks.  As we were kicking the hacky sack around, I looked up, and MacKenzie was there.  He was so excited that he accidentally kicked it too hard, and I found myself with a sack speeding toward my face.  It’s macromaed exteroir struck the end of my nose with enough force to make me fall down.  When I came too, I was bleeding out my ears again.  Dr. Pepper didn’t have a chance to show me the dining hall, because he had to go euthanize a shaved rat.  I told him that I thought animal cruelty was wrong, but he explained to me that he was going to put it out of it’s misery in the only humane way imaginable.  He was going to have Mr. Fudgey D. Whale break up it’s marriage and then sit on it until it died on the inside.  I thought that was cool, so I showed myself to the Woods Outdoor Pavillion and had a cone of Tofruity.  Dude, the WOP was so cool, because I could yell as loud as I wanted to inside and nobody told me to be quiet.  The only rule was that we had to wipe up after ourselves, because nobody likes a greasy wop.  I’m going to come back in a few days and meet more people from the admissions office, so I’ll keep you updated on my voyage of smart.

Peace!

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Jail Blows

Three Little MaidsSo yeah,

I was on my way to Chairman Moo’s Granola-torium and Soy-Milk Dispensery and I only had enough for a dried lentil and chickpea salad with chunky tofu non-dairy linseed-oil based topping, and not enough money for anything else.  So I got to the subway turnstile, and I didn’t have my subway card, because MacKenie used it to clean the cat’s infected anus.  So I thought, public transportation shoud be free for free-thinkers.  I’m a free-thinker because nobody pays me to think… yet!  I jumped the turnstile in front of some cops, and I totally thought I could get away with it, because I am more smarter than they were.  One of them grabbed me and I screamed “don’t commit your hate crime here, facist!” and he tazered me.  I peed myself a little bit and dropped my hemp bag.  Dude, it’s a big bag, not a purse.  Okay, I took it from my ex-girlfriend so that’s why it has some lipstick and a diaphragm in it, but it’s totally not a purse.  It’s an urban tote by Liz Claybourne.

Yeah, I regained consciousness in a holding cell in Brooklyn with this big guy named Molly.  He made me sing “My Galliant Crew, Good Morning” from Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinnafore.  I had to dance and sing it until I cried. Eventually one of the cops came over and took me out of the cell and made me dance and sing selections from the Mikado in the middle of the precinct.  Dude, I totally nailed Three Little Maids, but I pranced so hard, I almost went Nanki Poo in my unisex overalls.  After that, they booked me, by paddling me with an autographed copy of Paul Reiser’s book, Couplehood.  Then they took my fingerprints and photographed me in compromising positions.  Then they took some mugshots.

I totally know what it is like to be a political prisoner now, just like Nelson Mandella, Ghandi and Betty Ford.  I was kept there for my radical beliefs about free transportation for free spirits.  After I finished my cake and ice cream, they released me into the cruel world, but I emerged a free man… even if I wasn’t filled to the brim with girlish glee.

Peace!

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I’m all about Bella Sara

So yeah,

I’m totally into this card game called Bella Sara.  It’s not like those card games that dweebs play like Magic: The Gathering, Illuminati, or stud poker.  It’s totally cool, because it’s noncompetitave and all zen-like.  It has these inspirational messages like “You can climb huge mountains if you choose your paths wisely,” or “Start each day with a happy thought.”  It even has really cool esoteric messages like “Do not back up, severe tire damage” and “Employees Must Wash Hands Before Returning to Work!”  I totally log onto the website, where I can groom my horse and pimp it out with ribbons and bows n’ shit.  I can make my horse the pretty princess that I’ve always wanted.  It’s cool, because it’s a real virtual horse, and not a pony, because ponies are for facists.

I like it, because I can play challenging horsey games like “Magic Bubble Wand” and “Cloud Jumper,” and if I do good enough, I can earn awards and horseshoes, which is what they use for cash in the Bella Sara world.  The website says it’s for pre-teen girls, but I don’t see what the problem is.  It’s totally cool, and sophisticated Vassar-bound intellectuals like me can totally benefit from exploring its complex worlds.  That, and I can earn horseshoes so I can buy items for my cottage, like animals, furniture, decorations, “wonders” toys, and even extra rooms.  I don’t have any toys anymore, because my ex girlfriend melted a bunch that wern’t dishwasher safe.  She said she destroyed them because all those brainless dildos lying around reminded her of me.

So yeah, I’m a leet gamer these days, and I’m so cutting edge, you wouldn’t understand how smart I are.

Peace!

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Dude, I’m all about Turkish Bidets

So yeah,

I was at this oriental supermarket and I was buying a new stash of pachouli oil and some exotic Japanese Fun-Fun Umbrella Juice and I had to drop a mega-load of dookie.  So I went to the men’s room and there was this toilet that was totally out of star trek ‘n shit. It totally had buttons all over it and it was like pimped out in bright pink with a hello kitty sticker on it, just like my skateboard! So I sat down and dropped the kids off at the pool while facing the tank. Swami Vindaloo says that it is one of the auspicious positions toward enlightenment.  I like it because it makes it harder for me to accidentally pee onto the back of my pants when I’m stoned. I got kinda bored, because I had Colombian food last night, and the taffy apples and beef jerky made me squirt out an awful mess, so I pushed the button that looked like a ‘W’ with a finger going into it. This robot arm totally came out of the bowl and squirted me in the bunghole with warm water. It was totally cool to shiver with a spasm of ecstasy when I felt the seductive moisture caress my tight fanny… It was like the water was exploring my every nook and cranny, reducing me to a mound of oozy pleasure. It’s totally not gay! Fuck You! Shut the fuck up!

Yeah… then I went to leave, and I wanted to know what the other button did, so I pressed it.  The hello kitty toilet sprayed a jet of water right into my junk through my pants.  it was cold and made me uneasy.  It also looked like I totally pissed myself. I walked out of the bathroom, so I could go pick up a new pair of unisex overalls from The Gap (because the people at The Comfort Zone told me to stop trying on the silk-panty-garments because they’re facists).  When I got out there, I ran into my ex girlfriend who violated me with a Pez dispenser.  She was totally there with MacKenzie and they both laughed at my wet private area.  I asked them to please not point, but they did anyway.  I totally started crying and ran out of the store.  I ended up hiding in Dr. Mengele’s Container Emporium and Lid Dispensery until my junk was air-dry.  Fuck you, MacKenzie, Fuck you with something hard and sandpapery!

Peace!

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