Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I think all the male hugging is really upsetting the guy in front. He looks really scared. The guy in the middle looks kind of into it though. He's the cream in his man-dream Oreo.
Note to Those Younger than College Age: You shouldn't be reading this blog. Fuck off.
Basically, I think it's fairly safe to say that Roger has only one facet and it's crack user.
Here is an excellent example of the first category.
She dropped fifteen pounds. Now, maybe she can do something about her damn meth face. Also, she oughta fix those sandals. They look like she made them out of road cones.
I know, I know--I'm an EXTRA BIG CRABBY MEAN BITCH today because I had to get up and come to work a half hour early. Trust me, I'm taking it out on all my co-workers, too. Lucky them!
Twitter is taking America by storm. It's for fucking retards. I rest my case.
I'm not the President, therefore, I can say what I want about retarded people. So fuck you.
You know why Twitter is taking America by storm? Americans have the attention spans of fruit flies, that's why. Don't look at me. I'm Jamaican, mon, at least in spirit.
Yes, it's a Newman-Breen, motherfuckers. How did you guess? I think this hot piece of fug is supposed to be Joan Crawford.
No more wire hangers EVER! I chase the Asshole Licker around and yell, "NO MORE WIRE HANGER EVER!" a lot. She loves that shit. It's thrilling!
"He's a great actor, and if you hire him, you'll get a good performance. I'm just not going to give a guy who gives aid and comfort to people like [Iran president Mahmoud] Ahmadinejad, Hugo Chavez and Saddam Hussein, when he was alive, my 10 bucks. That's my right as an American. It's a personal decision. I don't tell people how to vote or how to spend their money. I don't tell people how to do anything. In America, you decide for yourself. We don't endorse anybody here or promote a political party, which is why we've been so successful." (yeah, right)
--that dumbass Bill O'Reilly on Sean Penn
I'll bet Sean will cry himself to sleep tonight.
I am a tired, grouchy Jamaican this morning. Antidepressants give you bad dreams. At least, me they do. I am always being chased around in dreams or having to murder a bad guy, and I wake up tired. Will Smith I ain't. They are VERY VIVID dreams, too.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sometimes, when the Asshole Licker is going up or down the stairs, she lets out a whole explosive chain of farts. I have to laugh.
If Mr. SB or I fart (it happens people), ironically, Ginger gets scared and runs upstairs. She is afraid of the farts of others. When we got her at the shelter, they mentioned that she had been abused. Perhaps this abuse involved farts.
Link to 50 Animals with Drinking Problems: http://www.bestweekever.tv/2008/03/17/50-animals-with-drinking-problems/
Thursday, March 26, 2009
SO VOTE (for the right candidate), MOTHERFUCKERS! HURRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Arschgesicht = Assface
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Steve swears to this day that he encountered a miniature Bigfoot when he was out roaming the woods as a boy, hunting. It's become something of a family joke, and we are always giving Steve a hard time over encountering Little Big Squat.
I don't know what my brother saw on that day in the woods. I'm making no judgements on that shit. Only he knows. Well, obviously Little Big Squat, who now may be a grown Sasquatch, also knows. Do you suppose that big hairy fucker is still wondering what the hell he saw that day in the woods? (I'm talking Sasquatch, not Steve, here, people. Stay with me, it's not that hard!)
Anyhoo, this post is dedicated to Steve, who is WAY TOO DAMN FAR AWAY in Massachusetts now, with his cherubic daughter and sweet, good-humored, long-suffering wife, Beth. And frankly, I fucking hate it.
Here is an excerpt from Spitznagel's article, in case some of you motherfuckers are too damn lazy to click on the link at the bottom of this entry to read the entire article.
Fahrenbach went into great detail about the sexual habits of a Sasquatch. As it turns out, Bigfoot doesn't just have a healthy libido, he's also a filthy pervert. Fahrenbach claimed that the creature has been observed spying on human women in the shower, and would cry loudly if his view was obstructed. He also described their fondness for gangbangs, assuring us that even a horny Sasquatch has impeccably good manners when it comes to orgy etiquette.
"When an especially large male came onto the scene," Fahrenbach said, describing a sexual pileup involving one willing female and lots of dudes, "he didn't try to buck the line but simply stood there and took his turn in good time."
Somewhere in the back row, a woman turned to her husband and whispered, "I can't tell if he's kidding."
Link to Spitznagel's Bigfoot conference story: http://vonnegutsasshole.blogspot.com/2009/01/everythings-bigfoot-in-texas.html
--Louis C. K.
Currently my favorite food. I eat the damn stuff daily, BUT ONLY ON WONDER BREAD! SB does not like the healthy whole wheat crap. Chicken salad on white Wonder Bread. Luscious, as Grandma Peg would say. Luscious!
Mercer, the Queen of this Damn Blog, isn't such a talker so much as a DISDAINER. And I have already embraced the fact that I am going to die the neighborhood cat lady (like these gay men), and no one will notice I am dead and so the cats will have to eat my body (including my eyeballs) in order to live. Maybe if the smell starts to drift into the hallway, or the mail backs up, one of my estranged neighbors will call the po-pos. Then the cats will all go to the Humane Society, where they will be old and catergorized as "people eaters" and no one will want to adopt them (everybody always wants a damn kitten). Then, my pussies will all be euthanized humanely. They always say "euthanized humanely." But it really means gassed. There is nothing humane about that shit.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
And besides, SB sort of collects foreign cuss words. You just never know when you're going to need to curse a foreign bitch out.
So here is today's German curse word.
der Schwanz = dick
Sentence usage: Der schwanz is hanging out, you moron. Zip that shit up! Do you want to get arrested?
Sorry, but I don't know enough German to write complete sentences. Notice it doesn't stop me though.
In case any of you motherfuckers are stupid, don't send the information. THIS IS A SCAM. I REPEAT--THIS IS A SCAM!
Dearly Beloved in Christ,
Calvary greetings in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I am Mrs. Helene Heather Thomson Sneddon, I am a nationality of Canada , I grew up in Iraq and I am also presently hospitalized in Baghdad Iraq , due to my illness. Presently, I'm with my laptop in this Hospital, where I have been undergoing treatment of cancer for over one year.
My husband was once the Managing Director of Shell Oil Company in Iraq , where I and my husband spent most of our lives I am a widow to Late Mr. Mark Thomson Sneddon. I have served the Lord all through my life, from long time cancer of the breast to a very critical stroke. From all indications, my condition is serious and is quite obvious that I may not live more than six months, because the cancer stage has gotten to a very severe state and my doctor has told me this The one that disturbs me most is the stroke that paralyzed half of my body.
My late husband was killed during his reign as the Managing Director of Shell Oil Company in Iraq , and during the period of our marriage we had a son who was also killed along with his father through food poison in Shell Oil Company convention of 2006 in Baghdad .
My late husband was very wealthy and after his death, I inherited all His business and wealth. Presently my doctor told me that I may not live for more than six months, though I am not scared about this, I am not afraid of death, hence I will be in the bosom of the Lord forever, any time my God calls me home, I now decided to look for an organization or an individual who is God fearing, that will use the funds for charity organization, by contributing to the development of evangelism in the world, assisting motherless babes homes and poor churches all over the world.
I selected you after browsing the Internet for this purpose and prayed over it, for the fact that I always go to God in prayers in situation like this, because He is the Alfa and Omega. I am willing to donate all the money I have in the bank, which is Ђ25,000,000.00 (Twenty Five Million Euros) to you for the development of evangelism and also as aids for the less privileged around you.
Please note that this funds is lying with a Bank in Madrid Spain , where I and my husband deposited the funds along with our family lawyer. My family Lawyer will file an immediate application for the transfer of the money in your name.
Please, do not reply me if you have the intention of using this funds for personal use, you will have a reasonable percentage of the total funds when the funds gets to your custody, before investing the remainder of the funds for God`s works.
Lastly, I want you and your church to keep praying for me regarding my health, because I have come to find out that wealth acquisition with out Jesus Christ in one's life, is vanity upon vanity. If you have to die says the Lord, keep fit and I will give you the crown of life.
SEND ME YOUR INFORMATION FOR THE ANTTORNY TO CONTART WITH YOU.
FILL THE FORM BELOW:
will plead with you to please reply this email to firstname.lastname@example.org because the one I used in writing you is not secured, so please respond to email@example.com as you do that God Almighty would bless you.
May the Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the sweet fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you now and forever more, amen.
Kindly reply to firstname.lastname@example.org
God bless you.
In His service,
Mrs. Helene Heather Thomson Sneddon.
Lost your job? Commit suicide. Wrecked the car? Commit suicide.
I'm not sure why, but I have always remembered that. The article below from the NY Post certainly makes one wonder. God bless you, Nicholas. Good journey.
Plath's Son in Suicide
By HILLEL ITALIE, AP
Nicholas Hughes committed suicide at his home in Fairbanks, Alaska, last week 46 years after his mom, poet Sylvia Plath, killed herself. He was 47.
From the time Plath died in February 1963, her husband, poet Ted Hughes, tried to protect their children, Frieda and Nicholas, from their mother's fate and fame.
He burned the final volume of her journals, angering scholars and fans, and waited years to fill his kids in on the details of her suicide.
And only near the end of his own life, in his "Birthday Letters" poems, did he share his side of modern poetry's ill-starred couple.
"In 1963, you were hit even harder than me," Ted wrote Nicholas in 1998, mere months before dying of cancer. "But you will have to deal with it, just as I have had to."
Plath became a cult figure through the novel "The Bell Jar," about a suicidal young woman.
Nicholas Hughes, who never married and had no children, hanged himself on March 16, State Troopers said. A fisheries biologist, he spent more than a decade on the University of Alaska-Fairbanks faculty but left about a year ago.
Frieda Hughes told The Times of London that her brother, who was younger than she, "had been battling depression for some time."
Nicholas Hughes earned his master's from the University of Oxford and his doctorate from the University of Alaska. At the time of his death, he was involved in a study of king salmon.
"I would really like to see him recognized in his own right, not just as the son of two famous people," said friend Mark Wipfli, an aquatic ecologist at the University of Alaska.
"He was an incredibly wonderful person."
Monday, March 23, 2009
It must be nice to be a retired motherfucker, wear shorts with socks, and have the time to teach a damn dog how to play basketball. (Okay, so it's cute--not the shorts and socks--the damn dog--stay with me here. It's not that hard, motherfuckers!)
You can bet in his spare time, when he's not making like Bobby Knight with the canine, this same guy is holding up some productive working motherfucker at the Kroger while he chats to the cashier or the deli chick or the sushi guy. You can also bet this geriatric motherfucker is one of the old cranks trying to be new-fangled, working up some balls to try and figure out how the self-check out works and then taking 20 minutes to ring up, bag, and pay for one damn container of Metamucil. BECAUSE THIS FUCKER IS RETIRED, AND THAT MEANS HE HAS ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD. ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD!
SB filled out a 401-K form the other day that asked my retirement age. My ass seriously put 99. I meant that shit, too! George W. Bush fucked any chance I had of being able to retire EVER. Now, that illiterate fucker is writing his memoirs for millions of dollars. I suggest the title: How I Ruined an Entire Country or Shit for Brains: The George W. Bush Story. Here is an exclusive peekaloo at a partial Table of Contents only for Sarcastic Bastard readers.
Chapter 1: I Got Drunk
Chapter 2: I Got Drunk
Chapter 3: I went Too Yail, Got Drunk, and Nearly Flunkt Out
Chapter 4: I Ruint an Oil Company
Chapter 5: How I Fuckt the World's Good Will Away After 9/11
[Can you tell I am still bitter????]
Sunday, March 22, 2009
I couldn't even get the outer door open to talk to the grim Witlesses. The asshole licker kept hopping up and down on her back legs. I said, "I'm sorry ladies [I really wasn't], but there is just no way [pointing at the hopping asshole licker]. Besides, I'm a humanist."
Well, if looks could kill. The one STERNEST black lady was having NONE OF THIS HUMANIST BULLSHIT. She really truly frightened me. She just glowered at me like there was a VERY BAD taste in her mouth.
After I closed the front door, I praised the asshole licker for being a good dog and scaring the Witlesses off. I gave her a treat and patted her head. GOOD DOG.
The Moms has an interesting tactic with the Jehovah's Witlesses. She believes in honesty, so she hands them their literature back and tells them she'll only throw it out. "I won't read this," she tells them. "So let's not waste it. You can give it to somebody who might actually read it."
I love my mother.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
And don't any of you Big Beautiful Bullshit ladies start writing hateful shit in the comments section about SB being a sizeist either! I SURE AS FUCK AM. And when I'm "on the chub" as the Moms would say, I wear a big loose shirt. I don't accentuate my fat, motherfuckers!
Check out the Telegraph article on this family of fat lazy fuckwits (thanks Alec): http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/5004431/Family-who-are-too-fat-to-work-say-22000-worth-of-benefits-is-not-enough.html
There was this kid that lived in my neighborhood. Andy, I think his name was. He wasn't technically retarded, but he did act a little bizarre. He had water on the brain or something. He had to wear a bike helmet all the time because his head was so huge.
Our parents told us, "Be nice to Andy because the doctors don't expect him to live very long."
But we didn't need a reason to treat Andy as a friend. He was always very sweet, if a little slow. And his mother gave him copies of Playboy Magazine - I assume because she thought he was going to die soon and would never have the chance to see real boobies - and Andy let us look at them.
When I got too old to deliver newspapers anymore, Andy took over for me, even though he could barely ride a bike without falling. During his first year, I'm not exactly sure what happened, but he got hit by truck. It wasn't fatal, thank god, but it gave his parents a scare. They wanted him to give up the paper route, but he refused. He just loved it too much.
Exactly one year later, Andy got into another accident with yet another truck. Once again, he walked away with just a few bumps and bruises, but that wasn't the remarkable part anymore. I mean really, what are the odds of getting hit by two trucks in two years?
My family eventually moved to the suburbs of Chicago, but we still visited our old neighborhood every summer. During one trip - I think it was my summer break from college - I ran into Andy again, and I was shocked that he was still alive. We'd been told he wouldn't survive junior high school, but here he was in his early 20s, still bouncing with energy and wearing that same battered bicycle helmet.
The doctors were perplexed, but everybody in town thought it was a miracle. I said hello to Andy and asked him how he was. He smiled at me with a big impish grin and said, "I got hit by a truck!" As I learned later, Andy was still delivering papers and had been involved in a head-on collision - always with a truck - every year for almost a decade. The locals had come to expect it."Andy's been hit by another truck? Well, spring must be just around the corner."
Somehow he always survived without any serious injuries, which just made his stubborn refusal to die prematurely, as his doctors had predicted, all the more freaky.
Last year I heard that he'd been hit by another truck - no surprises there - but this time it had killed him. I'm not sure of the exact tally, but I think it took around twenty-three truck collisions to finally finish the job. So much for being a miracle of science, huh?
(Pause, waits for laugh.)
Yeah, uh... I guess that's kinda sad. It seemed funny at the time.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Very highly recommended.
I don't think I need to point out that this article is probably NSFW, since I don't think I have any dumb motherfuckers for readers and also because my whole site is probably NSFW. If you are, perchance, a dumb motherfucker, consider yourself warned.
Link to Nerve article: http://www.nerve.com/regulars/ididitforscience/sexdoll/
So, this morning I ran a little late getting into work because I was knitting a sweater for Mercer. I will post pictures soon.
I don't know what this picture has to do with anything. It just illustrated COLD, alright?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
This literate pussy reminds me of Mercer, the Queen of this Damn Blog! Mercer is especially literate. That ho is always reading over my shoulder. She thinks War and Peace is the big suck, too. Two pussy phalanges down!
Below is a Vox Populi comment in the Savannah Morning News today. I certainly won't be buying Hershey's products anymore.
"Hershey is closing its York Peppermint Patties division and moving it to Monterrey, Mexico. What better message can we send to Hershey than by not buying them? With nearly 300 American jobs lost, just don't buy them."
Boycott the Hershey's! Hershey's chocolate sucks anyway. Just buy the good imported Italian shit like me. Just kidding. Kidding.
Pete, we love you, and we wish you a speedy recovery! We also hope you get some lovely drugs in hospital!!
NOW VOTE, MOTHERFUCKERS!
[Admittedly, Bobby Trendy is a tough act to follow. He sort of personifies the Glam. And also, Bobby HATES Howard Stern, and SB bets he is one happy motherfucker to see Howard indicted this week. Comments from Bobby T. welcome!]
Link to disturbing news about my darling Pete at dlisted: http://dlisted.com/node/31182
CHIMP ATTACK VICTIM'S FAMILY SUES FOR $50 MILLION
The family of a Connecticut woman brutally mauled last month by a 200-pound chimp that went bonkers is seeking a staggering $50 million in damages against the primate's owner.
Charla Nash's relatives filed a lawsuit in Stamford Superior Court today against Sandra Herold, which accuses her of negligence and recklessness for owning "a wild animal with violent propensities, even though she lacked sufficient skill, strength and/or experience to subdue the chimpanzee with necessary."
The Cleveland Clinic in Ohio, where Nash is currently being treated, said the 55-year-old woman lost her nose, lips, eyelids and hands during the Feb. 16 attack in Stamford.
Doctors said Nash, who remains medically sedated in critical condition, also suffered brain damage and may be a candidate for a face transplant due to her extensive injuries.
Herold told police immediately after the incident that the pet, named Travis, was rambunctious that day and that she gave it Xanax, a drug prescribed to people for anxiety, to calm him down.
She called Nash to her home because the chimpanzee had gotten out of the house and Herold needed help getting him back inside.
Herold, 70, has since said she did not give the primate Xanax.
The 15-year-old chimp was eventually shot and killed by police, who are weighing whether to file criminal charges against Herold.
Joseph Gerardi, a lawyer representing Herold, would only say that his client was named as a defendant in the legal documents.
Travis, a former TV star, had appeared in commercials for Coca-Cola and Old Navy.
Travis lived like most people - and even took his own bath and drank wine from a stemmed glass. He also brushed his teeth and watched TV.
Connecticut cops had dealt with Travis in the past, including a 2003 incident when he escaped from his owners' vehicle in downtown Stamford for two hours.
During that incident, police officers used cookies, macadamia nuts and ice cream in an attempt to lure him - but eventually subdued him only after he became too tired to resist.
The cookies and ice cream would have done it for SB. Cookies are my favorite! I'd blow the garbage man for home-baked chocolate chip cookies! Kidding. Just kidding. No cookie-wielding garbage men need apply.
Special shout out to Frank Emerson and his sidekicks down on River Street at the sublime pub of all pubs--Kevin Barry's! God bless and Happy St. Patrick's Day! Wish I were there.
America is also a country where if you are too honest and try to accomplish too much too fast, some crackpot is going to take you out. Look at John Lennon, Martin Luther King, JFK, and Harvey Milk himself. Freedom (a word that is bandied about a lot casually and cheapened) sometimes costs. There are certain special ones among us who have paid that price, and we all benefit.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Look for a new poll in the next day or so.
Friday, March 13, 2009
WHO THE FUCK'S FAULT IS IT, IF IT'S NOT MY FAULT? That's what I want to know. I guess some stranger maxed out all my damn credit cards and bought a bunch of useless cheap Chinese shit at the Wal-Mart.
IT WASN'T MY FAULT, THEREFORE, I DESERVE A DAMNED OVER-PRICED COMPUTER THAT I WILL BE PAYING FOR LONG AFTER THE FUCKING THING IS OBSOLETE!
By the way, there was a note with this video that said, sadly, this cute little guy was smashed across both lanes of highway shortly after this was filmed. Art fueled by death = GREAT ART.
SB LOVES Reddiwip, but why they spell it like that?
Best Part: NO FAT!
Second Best Part: Great in coffee and, did I mention, NO FAT?
Consider this an appreciation of non-dairy whipped topping post. But, if there is no dairy, what is this shit made of?
TIP: Don't read the damn label.
The way SB sees it, between Reddiwip and Easy Cheese, I'm saving the loved ones the embalming fees. Thank my ass later.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Is there a Reader's Digest condensed chicken soup version of this shit? I might read that on the toilet, unless People magazine is in the magazine rack in the bathroom. I like to read crap when I'm taking a crap. If my poop shoot's being taxed (I'm constipated a lot--go figure), I don't want to strain my brain as well.
And don't you Tolstoyan fans get all irate in the comments section either. We're not turning this blog into a forum on that pretentious Russian bore!
The cat's comments are welcome, however. I like his attitude.
Kind of dark, kind of depressing, but then so is life. Great film.
I know you people look to me for advice on every facet of your life, so now I'm a damn film reviewer, too. As if I don't have enough jobs. Two thumbs up, motherfuckers!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
This Jesus could be a damn Rockette! His ass could have a second career in show biz. He could be THE LORD OUR GOD and a chorus-line dancer. Anything is possible with the Lord, people! And don't you forget that shit.
Can you imagine if Jesus were a Rockette? All the other Rockettes would be afraid to kick higher than him. You don't want to out-do the Jeez. He could send you to the warm place.
If my liver somehow miraculously holds up and I make it to this age, please fucking shoot me if you EVER see me wearing a floppy hat. Also, please shoot me if I join any sort of craft, garden, or sewing club, unless there is booze involved. I would become a damn Mormon if there was booze involved, people!
If I must wear a hat to join an opium or drinking club, SB will be a defiant pensioner/motherfucker and wear a backwards Ed Hardy baseball cap or some shit. I'm down with that.
From Dlisted: http://dlisted.com/node/31079
Monday, March 9, 2009
I plan on going to bed VERY EARLY tonight. I'm an old fucker, and I need my damn beauty rest!
Story from Dlisted: http://dlisted.com/node/31036
Friday, March 6, 2009
Handicrafts bore the shit out of my ass, so does making your own butter and crafting solid cherry wood cabinets.
Might I add that if your dumb ass has nothing better to do on vacation than go to Amish Country, you need help. Your life is officially BORING.
You can't even get a damn drink in Amish Country! You can't dance either (so forget drunken dancing--that's out entirely), and you can't cuss. To top it off, there is no air conditioning. Yeah, sounds really great to me. I guess you could sit around in the heat and eat a lot of warm cheese. Where do I sign up? And is there an unair-conditioned bus that will take my fat sweaty sober ass there?
[And don't you damn Amish start getting all irate in the comments section either. You're not supposed to have devices like computers, let alone Internet access. These things are devil devices and using them makes you a BAD AMISH PERSON.]
Now, if these hos drank something besides tea (or even smoked it), I might be interested, but I doubt it. BORING.
You just know these dumb bitches sit around and talk about shit like Longaberger baskets, scrap booking, quilting, or their damn hysterectomies. Also, I'd probably freeze my ass off because these bitches are all going through the change, and the tea would probably make them even hotter, so the air conditioning would be constantly jacked.
Uhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, okay. Love that watch!
These twins are from the Ozarks (go fucking figure--mountain boys!). I think the twin on the right has some personal cleanliness issues--that, or he just murdered someone (perhaps his mother from the look of him) and that shit on his shirt is dried blood.
I'm no doctor, but I think both twins are likely good candidates for the ear-pinning surgery.
Yes, it's Friday--thankthelordjesus--and my ass is in a crabby fucking mood. The goddamn asshole licker (Ginger) kept waking me up last night, wanting out, to go eat her own shit. Yes, I am feeding her plenty. She just likes the damn taste of her own excrement!
Dogs are sweet, sweet souls, but they are stupid motherfuckers, basically, except for Alsatians, which I'm told are the smartest of the canine species. Of course, this may be somewhat akin to saying the smartest member of the Bush family. I'm almost certain W. eats his own shit, too.
Anyhoo, I am barely functioning this morning, despite two pots of coffee. Bear with me, people. I don't even have enough energy to put an exclamation point on the end of that sentence.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
What the hell is Quattro Flushing Technology, you might ask? It's THE MOST ADVANCED FLUSHING TECHNOLOGY AVAILABLE, and that makes your toilet OBSOLETE, Spaz. SORRY. Watch and weep.
Also, these three slutty bitches were STUCK UP AS HELL. They all refused Ken's advances and instead chose to date my lone Evil Knievel doll ALL AT THE SAME TIME! The fact that Evil was about two inches shorter didn't mean a thing to these wanton hos, cause Evil had the testosterone thing going.
[BONUS READER'S TRIVIA! Did you know that Evil had a son named Stevil Knievel?
Fuck you. Look it up! Where else would your asses learn trivia-winning shit like this, if not from Sarcastic Bastard?]
Back to the dolls. Toy collectors BEWARE!
Real Deal (Hasbro shit):
You damn kids, who watched this Cameron Diaz/Lucy Liu mess, missed the hell out. Those bony fug bitches don't know shit.
Britain has all the really good high-cultured entertainment. [Plus, they have Pete Burns! We can't compete as a nation.] As if I needed to have more certitude about this, along comes Bat Boy the Musical! I would shitting KILL to see Bat Boy the Musical! What do we get? Grease. Fucking Grease! Need I say more, or have I made my point?
Link to this high Shakespearean drama: http://www.batboy.co.uk/
And fuck you for acting all lofty and culturally superior and shit. Your dumb ass is not THAT lofty or you wouldn't be reading this blog in the first place! SNOBS!
But, I momentarily (flip my lid and rant) digress. I understand that the Buddhists believe that cats are lazy spirits who refused to improve their station Karmically. Basically, felines are lazy souls, and once you're a cat, your motherfucking ass is a cat for-fucking-ever. I'm thinking this teaching might also explain the Disdainful One's perpetually bad attitude. I'm also thinking that the moggy in the video below HAD REALLY BAD KARMA. Your thoughts?
[And I'm not here to start a damn amateur-hour type Buddhist debate, either, although the comments of senior monks, as always, are welcome. Junior monks, come back when you run with the big monks, so to speak. We need EXPERTS, not speculation.]
I know how this fucker feels. The frustration of this tortoise, trying to bite this juicy red tomato, is my whole life in a nutshell. This sorry little pantomime is symbolic for the unceasing frustration that life presents. And obviously, you don't have to be a damn human being to feel it.
Don't tell me your life isn't frustrating either. BULLFUCKINGSHIT. You can take your happy Doris Day ass and go read Rachael Ray's blog or some shit. She's perky. We don't do perky around here.
Link to that fat happy chipmunk, Rachael Ray's, site: http://www.rachaelray.com/
Better her than me.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
by Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
SB loved Barbie dolls as a kid. At one point, my motherfucking ass had 63 total dolls. All of them weren't Barbies, to be honest. I had three Charlie's Angel dolls, a damn Cher doll, and some Dawn Dolls thrown in for good measure. What I didn't have was a date for my damn dolls that was worth a shit. I had one Ken doll, and my dolls treated his ass like dirt. They stood his poorly-wardrobed and accessorized ass up at every turn. They also occasionally gave him the beat down. He wore a white belt and shoes. Can you blame them?
Ken was dumped countless times for being a Gayken. In fact, I believe one of the hos once came right out and spelled it out for Ken's dumb ass. Bitch said, "Your problem, Ken, is that you're about as exciting as a wet wash cloth. Got me, you fucking effeminate retard?"
For a short while, I copped my brother's GI Joe doll, and I had a manly date for my bitches, but his rock-hard ass was a little short to date my fabby Barbies, so I retired him as a date and made him a mean pimp. Then, my creative ass improvised in order to resolve the date problem. I cut the hair of several of my least favorite female dolls (I burned the hair off one of the Dawn Dolls, and her fucking face melted and that shit was not a pretty sight--she became Freak Show Dawn), and these shorn dolls became tranny males, named Rod Stewart or Nick Rhodes or David Bowie. David was a popular date because he had A REALLY BIG PEEN! Not really, but I had a good imagination.
One of my dolls was a lesbian, and her ass liked dating a butched-up girl doll just fine. Their asses were kissing all the time! This happy pair lived in the Barbie camper and that fucking trailer was always rocking! They lived happily ever after.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Dirge Without Music
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, A formula, a phrase remains,
--but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, -- They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know.
But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
--Edna St. Vincent Millay
Link to Dlisted: http://dlisted.com/node/30947
Below is a link to an excellent New Yorker article on David Foster Wallace, entitled The Unfinished, and also a few pages of his partially-finished novel, which will be published next year. The Unfinished is a tough read, especially the last few pages. Be warned.
Dave's fans, which include moi, are very glad to get our hands on anything new written by him. I certainly will be purchasing the unfinished novel. I feel grateful that it is being published.
Personally, I am completely and increasingly humbled by what we all lost when David Foster Wallace committed suicide. It's probably part of the mood this week.
Link to New Yorker: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/03/09/090309fa_fact_max
Sunday, March 1, 2009
SB chose this particular Dead Porn Star to feature just because I like her name, and also she was a multi-tasker, and creative motherfuckers are employed motherfuckers! Anastasia starred in over 100 pornos and regularly performed anal, interracial, water sports, and gang bangs. Talk about multi-tasking, peeps!
Here is a link to her short bio: http://www.genesisonline.com/26/anastasia-blue-1980-2008/