Canadians Are Like Americans with Brains

Okay, it's 9:30 in the p.m. in the eastern part of the U.S. right now, and I just got out of the shower. I was starting to smell like a homeless person's ass, so I decided to clean up some. It was either that, or I would have to wash the damn bed sheets in the morning. The easiest thing won out, but I do get credit for doing one of the two things. Right?

Anylazymotherfucker, I'm still working on trying to improve my ambition-level overall, due to President Obama's being elected and asking us all to bust a nut. As a result, I just couldn't go to bed without at least washing my dirty ass. I think we Americans need to be just a little bit less lazy and a little more smart and productive. In other words, we should be more like Canadians, who are basically like Americans with brains. [I just like to stir shit up.]

I guess SB doesn't have much else to report. I was in my pajamas all day, and now I put on another pair of PJs, but at least they're clean, so I feel like I have made an improvement. I have made my little corner of America better. I can go to sleep tonight with some self-satisfaction and personal pride in what I've accomplished today. I even clipped my toenails and the toenails of the Diarrhetic Wunderkind, Ginger. Unfortunately, I couldn't catch Mercer.

Anyhoo, here is a picture of Ginger looking all sharp and groomed. Imagine that she smells nice, but in reality, she smells kind of like ass, because it's winter, and SB is afraid to bathe her. She's old now, people! She's like 90 in dog years! So just imagine Ginger smells like orchids or some shit.

My Lovely Co-Worker, T.

It is snowing to beat shit here AGAIN today, so you know what that means. The talk of weather abounds! ALL DAY it will abound MORE! Godfuckingdammit. Many of the schools and even some places of toil (work) are closed. Not mine, of course, and since I only live about two miles from my place of toil, it wouldn't look good to call out for snow, especially since one of my co-workers drove in from fucking Siberia in this tiny little microscopic piece-of-rice-on-wheels Toyota.

I was telling the WONDERFUL Mr. SarcBast, who took about 45 minutes to scrape my entire vehicle off from stem to stern (and also broke my ice scraper, which had sentimental value), about my friend, T., who happens to be from Vietnam and toils here at THIS PLACE, along with me.

On every cold, snowy day, T. offers to go out in the frozen-tundra parking lot to start the cars of his co-workers before their departure from said place of toil, so that they can sit their fat American asses in a warmed-up car on the journey home. I suspect he does this, not only because he is especially considerate of others, but also because his ass came over to this country on a VERY SMALL boat, loaded with WAY TOO MANY other unfortunate fuckers, some of whom expired on the trip, and they ACTUALLY HAD TO EAT THEIR BODIES TO SURVIVE! DON'T YOU DARE JUDGE EITHER--your fat American ass has likely never been starving--you don't know what you would do if you were that damn hungry! And T. probably knows what spoiled pussies most Americans actually are, and I think somehow, he may actually get some sort of unselfish enjoyment in coddling us further.

T. busts his nuts for America almost every day because he appreciates being here.

If It's Not Scottish, It's Crap!

Due to my questionable literary talent, I have made a new virtual friend (we are virtually friends, though I've never met him), named Alec B. You can check out his hysterical blog at: http://alecbeattie.blogspot.com/ I think I know talent damn it, and Alec's got talent!

Alec is Scottish, and he talks about stuff like wee yappy dogs and taking a wee in his blog. For all you dumb fucks, who can't figure it out on your own, wee means both small and to take a piss in Scot's speak. I guess I've got to translate damn English for your dumb asses now, too.

And don't go over to Alec's site and do something dumb and embarrass me, like mistake Alec for a Brit (he's Scottish dumb asses, not a Brit--the Scots were oppressed by the Brits, like practically everybody else on this planet). I am trying single-handedly to fix our reputations as Americans overseas as part of my Bust a Nut for America campaign, so don't fuck it up and be insulting Alec with your damn stupidity.

SB has fond memories of Scotland. I once visited Dundee, Moffat, Edinburgh, and Turnberry, Scotland, where I met Arnold Palmer, but didn't recognize him. We talked lawnmowers, people! I said something like, "This sure is a damn big lawn to mow." Of course it was, it was a damn golf course! I didn't realize the man was a damn pro golfer. Golf was invented in Scotland. I am always teaching you people. They ought to pay me for this shit.

In Edinburgh, the Mums and I were nearly run over crossing a busy street, until a handsome and highly-amused bobby saved our dumb American asses. I owe my life to a Scot!

While in Edinburgh, we checked out the Firth of Forth. How's that for a name? We don't have any physical landmarks named that eloquently over here, instead Americans name places stuff like Big Bone Lick State Park (actual place). I rest my case.

Before I got sidetracked by ranting, I was going to say that when I visited Scotland, I collected weighty tins of Walker's shortbread, which are biscuits, not cookies. So don't be telling them in Scotland you want a damn cookie. They don't know what that shit is. They'll just think--you dumb-ass American, learn to speak the King's damn English! And they'd be right, too.

One of the cookie tins I collected celebrated the escape of Bonnie Prince Charlie. He was a cross-dresser, so I really dug him! I'm not quite sure why Chuck's so celebrated in Scotland, because he abandoned the Jacobite cause, escaped Scotland dressed as a chick, and then screwed a lot of French ladies while in exile. Maybe Alec B. could help me out and explain why Bonnie Price Charlie is so loved. I mean there was a certain panache in the escape.

Below is a photo of Bonnie Prince Chuck. He was a good looking cuss, and you can see how he might have made an attractive woman in makeup and full dress. [And don't be making insulting comments about the Bonnie Prince's manliness because the Scottish get pretty offended when you poke fun over this particular bit of their history.]























The Moms and I also visited the very haunted Greyfriar's Cemetery when we were in Edinburgh, but I was disappointed because it was in broad daylight, and I didn't get slapped around by the angry poltergeist of Bloody George MacKenzie. George was another dumb religious asshole, who persecuted and murdered a lot of poor Covenanters. His spirit is said to roam the cemetery, scratching and slapping visitors, because some dumb-ass street person got cold and made the mistake of breaking into angry George's crypt to get warm. And because this unfortunate fucker couldn't find a damn blanket some place, he released a wrathful, avenging spirit, who slaps the shit out of dumb-assed tourists on ghost tours.

Anyhoo, check out my friend Alec's blog. I highly recommend it.

Anything I've got wrong here, Alec, please feel free to correct. It's been about twenty years since SB has had the pleasure to be in Scotland, so I may have hosed up some of the historical details. I think those dumb network fucks at the Travel Channel ought to give me my own history show though.

What Happened to This Ho?

Clearly that guy has mistaken the Joaqster for a homeless dude and is about to offer Joaquin his half-drunk beverage. It was an honest mistake. Look at him!

Obviously, the helpful guy is one of SB's blog readers, and he is putting my Bust a Nut for America plan to work. He's out trying to help the homeless, people! He's making America a better place for you and me to live! I bet he even 'splained to Joaquin: "This beverage is compliments of Sarcastic Bastard and the Bust a Nut for America campaign!"

Bust a Nut for America!

I just received an e-mail from President Obama imploring all of us to bust a nut (okay, he was a little more eloquent than that) and work hard to make America a better place to live. If I had known that Barack would expect me to work at all, let alone HARD, I would have voted for somebody else. I really just wanted a candidate who was going to fix everything themselves and leave me be. (Just kidding. Sort of.) That's what Americans really want, I think--to be left the hell alone.

Anyhoo, in the spirit of the inauguration, I decided to work harder today, so I actually SHAVED ONE LEG for the President. If you knew how badly I hate to shave my legs, you would understand my personal sacrifice for this country. So now, I have one itchy leg and one not itchy leg, but I did it for Barack, so I am trying not to complain a whole lot. Complaining sort of negates the sacrifice.

If the President reads this tale of personal sacrifice and decides that he wants to erect a statue with one shaved leg in honor of me, I guess I'll let him, but only if Bill Clinton shows up for the dedication ceremony and I get to hold his hand. I'm not getting out of bed for anybody but Bubba.

Since I have a full-time job and a diarrhetic dog and don't have a lot of time for volunteership, I figure my contribution will be to use this blog to implore you readers to get off your dead asses and get out there and volunteer in my place. SO GET OUT THERE AND BUST A NUT FOR AMERICA! You can volunteer in my name if you like. Feel free.