It’s Official: I am a Douchebag

Well, I was going to write a post about Charlie Sheen, But my computer died on me, and I lost all that I had written. This really sucks too, because Sheen has gone completely crack-smoking crazy the past couple of days. I WILL be writing on this topic in the near future. For this post however, I am going to explain to you how I made the discovery that is the title of this post: that I am a complete douchebag. My main arguement is this picture:

Superman is much more of a preppy asshole than what I would have guessed.

Let’s break this photo down.

1. I guess I should start with the most vague symbol of my douchebaggery- my build. It isn’t that I am muscular which makes me a douchebag. No, many people who are muscular aren’t douchebags. It is being muscular along with being self absorbed which makes one a douchebag. Look at me. I couldn’t help but take a pic of my flexed bicep as I walked into the bathroom. There is a phrase I like to use that describes that kind of narcisism, and that is “self suck.” You can just tell that I am insecure and I work out just to make myself feel better.

2. My shirt- not only am I so insecure about myself that I need to flex whenever there is a mirror in front of me, but I also have to wear tight-fitting clothes to accentuate (I purposely used the gayest word I could think of to take a stab at myself) my build. But not only is it tight, it is also a baby blue Superman shirt, which makes it all 10 times worse. Since the shirt references a comic book character, I can either be a geek poser, or someone who actually believes that I am superman. Either way, I’m a douche. Next: the color. The only guys who wear baby blue are either gay or douchebags, and if this was another person, I would say that the person was both. So not only am I a douchebag, I am also a huge hypocrite, All because I am wearing this shirt. If only that shirt had a collar that I could pop, I could create a black hole of pure douchebag energy.

3. My fucking face- Look at it. I mean, really look at it.  The expression I am making is a cross between duckface and an overconfidant smirk.  Too bad my pasty white ass isn’t tanner, because the wrinkles on my face would have been much more noticable and funny for you guys. But the fact that I managed to not make a Jersey Shore Guido kissy face is the only thing I have done my entire life that I should actually be commended for.

4. The flowers- Where the fuck did I take this picture? A meadow?

5. My hat-Now, this is going to be difficult for me; I love that hat, but with everything that I am doing in this picture, it only adds to my overall douchebaggery. Also, look at the pins on it. Why in the hell do I need pieces of flair? Isn’t my hair and shirt flamboyant enough? Jesus Christ, am I like this all the time?

6. The picture itself- Of all the elements, the face, the hat, the shirt,  the bicep flex, the single most important symbol of  my douchiness is the fact that this picture exists. Don’t believe me? Fuck you. Also, look on Facebook. Facebook is littered with pics just like mine (I would have suggested that you Google Image search “doucebag” to prove my point, but all that comes up was pics of guidos).  What I’m feebly trying  argue is that when you see a picture like mine, you instinctively think that that person, the one standing in the bathroom mirror, taking a tilted picture of themselves with their camera phone, is a complete and utter douchebag. And despite my hating on them before, I have joined their douchey, douchey ranks.

7. The fact that I have pointed this all out to you- You may be thinking that I may be not as big of a douchebag since I see the signs in myself. Afterall, admitting that you have a problem is the first step to recovering from that problem, right? Well actually, wrong. With me, The fact that I am aware of my own douchery is the biggest factor of why I am a douchebag. It’s the fact that I know this about my self, but choose to do nothing about it which makes me a douche. I am content with it. I enjoy some of the douchey things I do, even this picture, which I took specifically to show all of you how much of a douche I am. I may write my blogs to entertain you all, but at the end of the day, I am still using it to get attention from you, just as every other douchebag uses their looks/ clothing/ personality/ car/ pictures of themselves/ bizarre STDs to get attention of the people around them.

So now I give you the the Douchebag Hall of Fame:

Douche of the flesh-colored beard

Douchebag of the Popped Collar

King Guido

Musical Douchebag

 

 

Douche That Can't Shut The Hell Up, Douche of the Retarded Sunglasses

Dead Douche

Historical Douche

Hipster Douche

Self-Aware Douche

Well, at least I have company. Too bad it’s a sausage fest though, but what can you do?

 

 

OK, that’s it for now. I will probably post something tomorrow, so stay tuned. For my facebook friends reading this, I gave up facebook for Lent, so this will be your only connection to me for the next 38 days. But more on that tomorrow.

 

Peas and lub, wurd.

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Awesomesquad Assemble! 4: Mark of the Oil Beast

Before I get started, I would like to let Chris Thorn know that he does not need to waste those precious few moments he has left in his sad, decrepit life by reading my blog. Chris, since I am giving you the option to go, I do not want to hear any shit from you about me wasting your life.  I hope you enjoy the time I am giving back to you and can only expect that you will use that time to facebook stalk me. Also, I would check my grammar, but fuck you.

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The hallway was dark, quiet, and deserted. On one end, a group of leaders of the terrorist organization known as” Murderhorn,” gathered together. They pointed their AK-47s into the black, shooting at whatever movement they hallucinate. One of the men was attempting to pick the lock and break into the room closest to them. On the other end of the hallway, around the corner, a group of badasses armed to the teeth with custom weaponry was planning their next move. A black-haired man wearing guy liner, a pair of tight fitting jeans, and a leather vest was standing up against the wall next to a woman in full body armor. She has more firepower on her than a fireworks shop owner with a score to settle. The terrorists broke through the doors and rushed in, closing the doors behind them. The terrorists left behind a group of five heavily armed thugs to buy some time.

Our two mysterious figures concealed in the dark looked to the opposing wall, where two of their team members are also concealed. The man in the front, wearing a white cloak and a camelback hydration system(product placement), turned to the man behind him and said, “Everett, you blind them, and I will run up and fuck their shit up.” he then continued to the rest of the team, “Once I have them distracted, you three will run up and engage them. They will show no mercy, so don’t expect or give any.”

He crouched down and quickly, but silently moved forward. When he was almost within sight of the group guarding the door, a small cube flew through the air, over the head of the cloaked man, and towards the thugs. They watched as the cube fell into the middle of them and exploded into a flash of blinding white light. The men stumbled around for a second or two before regaining the use of their eyes. When they did, the man in the white cloak was standing perfectly still in the center of the circle the bad guys had formed. The armed thugs pointed their fully automatic guns at the cloaked individual  and began to fire.

The cloaked man grabbed the barrel of one of the man’s guns, pulled it past him, and then grabbed onto the gun holder’s shoulder and firing hand from behind. The other thugs shot at the cloaked man, but the bullets merely hit their comrade. The cloaked man, used his human shield’s gun to shoot at the other thugs, taking out one of them. The other three members of the cloaked man’s team came forward and quickly dispatched of the remaining guards using their own style of combat. The woman using Tai Kwon Do, the man in the leather vest using magic(not the really gay magic, only the slightly gay kind), and Everett using wrist mounted flame throwers.

“OK,” Everett said with a breath of relief, “Now to get through the door.”

The man in the cloak looked to the woman and asked, “Would you mind doing the honor, Lady Caggiano?”

“Certainly,” Lady Caggiano stated as she walked up to the door. She landed one solid kick on the door knob, and the door exploded like something out of a Michael Bay movie, fire and all. The team ran through the gaping hole where the door used to be to see one terrorist, a woman in a black catsuit and wire rimmed glasses, standing guard at the door on the opposite end of the room, ready to kick some ass.

Sarah Palin?

The leader of the group took a sip from his camelback hydration system (product placement), and ran at the  woman. The woman instinctively shot at him. The bullets, although making their mark, only slowed the progress of the man in the cloak slightly. By the time he reached her, she had shot her last bullet, and was frantically attempting to reload. One swift roundhouse kick from the cloaked man knocked the gun from her hand, out of her reach and unloaded. She was basically fucked at this point.

She did a backflip or two to get away from the cloaked man, and then set herself in a defensive position (which is not a sexual position, but more of a fighting one). All the while, making those weird noises that one usually associates with a white person doing karate.

The man in the cloak strode towards her and said, “I am not afraid to hit a woman.” He then produced his pole arm that for some reason was unnoticeable until just then, and buried its blade in her stomach.

She looked at him as if he had just insulted her and said, “But I can see Russia from my house!”

The cloaked man replied, “I don’t care,” and forced the woman off of his pole arm with his foot. She fell to a crumpled and very dead heap on the floor.

His teammates walked up from behind him, Lady Caggiano glaring at him.

“What,” he asked.

“You’re not afraid to hit a woman?” Lady Caggiano snapped.

“Holyshit, that was actually Sarah Palin!” The man in the leather vest exclaimed, staring at the dead woman on the floor.

“ But I didn’t hit her,” the cloaked man pointed out, “I penetrated her with my justice stick.”

“No, seriously guys, this is actually Sarah Palin. Thunder, you killed her!” The man in the leather vest continued.

Lady Caggiano replied hotly, “First of all, I really think it is a bad idea to make domestic abuse jokes to the people who we know control the media. And secondly, that sounded so dirty.”

“Ok, you two, calm down,” Everett stated, “We need to get through these doors and apprehend these terrorists.”

“Am I the only one who finds it weird that there was just a joke, not even 400 words ago that pointed out her resemblance to Sarah Palin, and it actually turns out to be Sarah Palin? What the fuck?” the man asked.

“Shut up, Criss,” Thunder snapped, “You’re breaking the fourth wall again. I don’t care if you are magic, stop doing that, it creeps us all out. Oh, and what did I fucking say about that hair? Put your Goddamn fedora back on.”

Seriously, you look like an asshole.

Criss Angel silently obeyed, and the group moved closed in on the door. On the other side, they heard the frantic whisperings of the remaining terrorists.

“C’mon,” Thunder commanded, “We need to defeat these douchebags and save their hostage so that we can get back to base and get wasted!” Thunder then raised his fist to the air, and called out, “KAPLAH!!!”

“KAPLAH!!!” the other team members called out in unison.

They all stepped away from the door and Everett raised his fist at the door. There was the sound of a faint click, and a grappling hook shot from the reel on the back of his hand and embedded itself in the double doors. With a slight jerk back from Everett, the doors were ripped from their frame and flew over the teams heads. The door was followed by a hail of gunfire. The grappling hook released its grip from the door and Everett and the rest of the team took cover.

Thunder looked over to Criss. “You got this?” he asked in a whisper.

Criss simply nodded, sat quietly with his eyes closed for a second, and then moved to the door way. He raised both of his arms, and started walking forward. The bullets aggressively flew at him, but every single one that hit him passed through without leaving so much as a bruise. With a flick of the wrist, the bullets’ trajectories shifted, and now orbited Criss.  After moving a few feet closer to the shooters, he let both of his hands drop, and the bullet-satellites launched themselves at their former masters. The men dropped to the ground as lead-filled heaps of death. Criss turned to face his teammates, put a smirk on his face, and flicked them the devil horns.

“Oh, thank God you have arrived Awesomesquad!” a voice cried from the corner. A voice, which the entire group was disappointed to realize that belonged to a man and not an attractive brunette named Olivia Wilde. A blond man sporting a flesh colored beard and some soiled, expensive looking clothes came crawling out of a dark corner in a similar fashion to Gollum’s way of walking.

“Holy shit,” Criss cried out, “Is that Spencer Pratt?!?!”

what a douche

“Yea, I’m fucking Spencer Pratt,” the hostage snapped, “Who the fuck would I be, not the most important person on the face of the planet? Get with the game, retard.”

Lady Caggiano, whose mothering instinct suddenly kicked in, rushed over to the crawling douche-bag and asked, “Omigosh, are you OK?”

“Yea I’m fine,” Spencer replied, “They slapped me around and made me wear a dress, but other than that I’m ok”. “I am hungry though,” he continued, “Does anybody have anything to eat?” He looked at Lady Caggiano again, closer this time, and followed her form from her legs to her chest and back down again. “You got a nice set of legs on you, baby,” he added in what he thought was a seductive voice, “I wouldn’t mind chewing on them. PPPPPUUUUUURRRRRRRR!”

The look of caring melted from Lady Caggiano’s face, and she replied flatly, “Chew on this.” She raised her revolver, whom she calls “Ole Shooty Killy” and drove a bullet into Spencer’s brain. He drops back to the ground like the dead log that his personality has reflected for his entire life. “What?” She said as she looked to the rest of the group. That was not the feminist in me that did that, it was the part of me that hates Spencer Pratt, which is actually all of me.”

Thunder replied, “Hey, if we would have had the chance to kill him, we would have, so don’t sweat it.” He turned to the entire group as he continued, “See, this is why we had that catchy one-liner seminar. Good work, Lady Caggiano. Very catchy indeed.”

“Thank You, Thunder,I am pretty awesome, aren’t I?” Lady Caggiano replied. “But I think we should look around and see what these members of Murderhorn had with them,” she then suggested.

Thunder nodded, “Good idea, see if they have any cash on them. I like it.” The three men started to rummage through the pockets of the disceased, a flicker of greed in their eyes.”

“That’s not what I meant by seeing what they had with them,”  Lady Caggiano said in a mildly disgusted voice, “but since you guys seem so intent on stealing from the dead, I CALL DIBS ON SPENCER PRATT’S WALLET!!!”

This call was met by groans from the three men, but  groans quickly died and the four continued on. However, the groans resumed when Lady Caggiano pulled out $500 from the douchebag’s wallet. After several minutes, and collecting at least a thousand dollars worth of spoils, the group as a whole turned to a lone briefcase near one of the leader’s bodies. Thunder opened it, and its contents spilled to the floor. The papers, which all seemed to be important terroristy documents, shared a particular symbol on the top right corner of every page. Our group of heroes gasped unanimously, for they instantly recognized the symbol and the company it belonged to. They stared at the yellow and green symbol in amazement until the bottom of the briefcase, which Thunder was still holding, fell out, and revealed a digital clock counting down towards zero. 1:00, :59, :58…

The feeling that some serious shit was about to hit the fan dropped into Thunder’s stomach as he realized what it was. “BOMB! RUUUNNNNN!!!!”

The four teammates left the suitcase bomb and the crucial documents on the floor as the dashed out of the room and back through the other room and hallway. Thunder, who was bringing up the rear, grabbed one lone document with the symbol on it, lifted his wrist to right in front of his face, and commanded, “Jesse, get the Awesomeplane! started, and bring it around front. This place is going to blow!” :45, :44, :43…

A voice on the other end replied, “Ok, we will be waiting for you.”

The group picked up their pace, and lept over the dead bodies of all of the thugs they killed. As Thunder lept over one body, its hand reached up and attached itself to his ankle, bringing the leader crashing to the earth with an “AAARRRGGGGHHHH!”:22, :21…

His teammates stopped to help him, but Thunder cried, “Just go!”

With a slight hesitation,the group once again ran for their lives towards the exit. The man who was by all accounts not dead, climbed on top of Thunder, pinning Thunder’s hands against the floor,  pulled out his Baretta and aimed it at our hero’s head. “Prepare to die, you bloody wanker.” The man said in a British accent (duh). :15, :14…

Just as the man was about to pull the trigger, Thunder was able to free one of his hands as grabbed a hold of the gun and moved it away from his skull. Thunder pushed the British terrorist off of his person, and was back on his feat in a flash. The terrorist ran at the cloaked man while shooting like a deranged lunatic. Thunder then whipped out his Justice Stick again (all dick jokes aside, where the fuck does he hide that thing?) and stabbed the man in the heart. “Fuck you, your taxes, and your tea, you goddamn Brit,” Thunder growled as he twisted The Justice stick and pushed again, forcing the blade out of the man’s back. He then made a jerking motion  back to remove the pole arm from the once-thought-to-be-dead-but-now-actually-dead man  and once again sprinted to the exit.:05, :04…

Meanwhile, Everett, Criss, and Lady Caggiano climbed aboard the Awesomeplane! out of breath, and worried of what has become of their cloaked leader. Everett, climbed into the cockpit and called, “Minigan is still in there, we can’t leave yet!”

“I’ll give him as much time as I can, but that place is about to blow, and we have to be airborne when that happens, or else we are going to sink with the rest of this island!”

Meanwhile, back inside the building, thunder was racing towards the exit. He quickly turned the corner and saw the open door. He ran at the door, faster than even he thought was possible, while all noises were drowned out by the rushing of his blood to his brain. :02, :01, :00. He did, however, hear the explosion. Thunder sprinted harder. He feared to look back, but it didn’t matter; the the light of fireball rushing down the hallway was enough of an indication of what was behind him. He burst through the door to see the Awesomeplane! about to leave his ass behind. “What the Fuck?!?!” he cried out, still running at it.

Suddenly, the door to the aircraft opened, and his team members beckoned him in. [picture this next bit occurring in slow motion for maximum effect] Pumping his legs with all he’s got, Thunder launched himself off the edge of the concrete platform just at the said platform exploded. The shockwave from the explosion pushed Thunder enough so that he flew straight into the cabin of the Awesomeplane!. [end slow motion]

“Blamo!” Lady Caggiano exclaimed as she helped Thunder to his feet.

“It’s good to see you make it out of there  in one piece, Minigan,” Emily Kohlberg, the team psychologist, affirmed happily, “the party would have sucked tonight if we would have had to make it a vigil.”

“I’m glad to hear I didn’t ruin the party,” Thunder said jokingly, “It’s just too bad that Jimmy was so busy spending time with his girlfriend that he couldn’t join this team and be a part of this awesomeness.”

“Good work team,” a familiar voice eminated from the onboard TV.

“Thank’s Spottswoode,” Thunder said, “Sadly, we could not save the hostage.

“Who was it?” Emily asked.

Ashley replied, “Spencer Pratt.”

“Oh,” Spottswoode interjected, “So you killed him. That’s fine; I would have done the same.”

“We kind of figured that the world would be better off without him,” Thunder stated,”We did, however, learn something new about who funds Murderhorn while we were in there.” Thunder showed Emily and The camera feeding to Spottswoode the symbol on the upper right hand corner of the document he retrieved.

“Oh my God,” Spottswoode uttered, “We have a serious situation on our hands if that company is funding Murderhorn, but lets worry about that after the party.”

The entire group agreed, and proceeded on their way back to their base, making jokes about Jimmy Kohlberg all the while.

Well, see if I let you into my superhero club now, Jimmy. Fucking dick.

Outside the window, the Island that housed the Murderhorn organization sank down to the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, probably causing more damage to the already beaten ecosystem.

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If you have not read the first three Awesomesquad blogs, you can find them: right here, over here, and way over there.

Anyway, as with my other Awesomesquad Assemble! posts, I am going to update you on our progress. First off, I would like to say that I contacted many of the people that I want in my group, but I do not know personally. Only one had replied, but his reply was a “yes” so fuck yea! The problem is that he is a public figure (kinda), so we needed to figure out how to get him completely out of the public eye. Sadly, the only possible way to do this was to ruin his name.  Seeing that this was the only option, and he was surprisingly into this whole “superhero team” idea, he agreed to go through with it. I had him cheat on his wife, get caught, and let the media have a field day. Now, you may be saying to yourself that that is counterproductive if I want him to be out of the public eye, but I disagree. I call this tactic the “John Gosslin Ditch.” What it does is makes the person who does it despicable in the eyes of the public. For a while, the couple will be featured on the cover of every shitty gossip magazine in every grocery store, but eventually the media will only focus on the victim (aka the spouse) and the person who committed it will fall into obscurity, only to be brought up in passing. So far, my man has done an excellent job at employing the John Gosslin Ditch. I would like to applaud Jesse James in his determination, and in his desire to not break Sandra Bullock’s heart by being tortured and murdered, but instead by committing adultery. Kudos to you, good sir; your ancestors would be proud.

Pictured- American Hero

Secondly, I have acquired our headquarters! Seeing as though this blog is public, It would be unwise of me to tell you the location or post a picture of it, but then again, I did just specifically state that Jesse James is in my group, so fuck it.

Tada!

There is an industrial complex near my house, and one of them is sitting there, empty and ready to be sold. Once I figure out who is going to be the rich person who funds everything, I will have him acquire it. Then, we can get under way constructing the super secret tunnel that runs from our base to my house. That will make things convenient for me if no one else. It also adds the theme of trying to protect the ones you love, but you bring them closer to the danger. If you don’t know what I am talking about, it is the reason Peter Parker bitches out of getting in MJ’s pants at the end of the first Spiderman movie

I have begun work on creating the symbol for the group. I have an idea in mind, but I still need to draw it up first. Next time I update, I hope to have some of the choices up for some type of voting process. Yay Democracy!

Next item of business: new members. I actually only have one new member this time and he is going to be my genetic engineer. I work with the man at the WS, so not only do I know that he is smart, I also know that he is a good writer and a fairly decent worker. The person I am talking about is (of course) Sean McCormick! (Sorry Bill and Terry)

He even comes with his own costume and laser gun!

Sean is unfortunately focusing his work on seaweed or some strange shit, so if he would alter our genes,  we would look something like this:

Dudes, I think that weed was bad. I'm totally tripping balls.

-which I still have not decided whether this would be a good or a bad thing. Anyway, he would need to go through some extensive training before he would be allowed to modify anyone in Awesomesquad, but I think that our heightened reflexes/ heat vision would be well worth the wait. And with Danica McKellar looking at his equations, we can be sure that his math will be done correctly. See, there IS a good reason to have a math genius on the team.

I would love to see her lowest common denominator.

I have also decided on who is going to be the boxing instructer! After careful deliberation, and after weighing the pros and the cons of each candidate, I have decided that the title goes to…

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I forget what I was talking about. Fuck. Oh yea, that’s right, the fighting coach. Yea, the person who has that spot is Damien Walters. If that name sounds familiar to you, it is because you have probably read my Awesomesquad blogs before. He is also my gymnastics instructor. If you are wondering why I would let a gymnast also teach me how to fight, you are sane. I would have never chosen him as my fight coach if it wasn’t for this picture:

That is Mr. Walters in the Kickass costume. He was a stuntman in it. But not only was he the stuntman, he was also the assistant fight coordinator for the movie. That’s badass, and it makes him worthy of the second position. I also chose him because neither my brother nor the owner of my gym has mentioned the Awesomesquad blog posts to me other than when my brother accepted the challenge. And I am pretty sure that he has forgotten all about it since then. So yea, fuck those guys. Besides, one less team member means one less paycheck and one less person that could be shot/ killed/ captured/ tortured/ go rogue. A more elite team is probably in our best interest.

So as it stands, here who is in my team so far:

Me- Leader

Ashley Caggiano- Second in Command

Damien Walters- Gymnastics/ boxing trainer

Everett Bradford- Weapons tech

Criss Angel- Magician

Derren Brown- Mind hacker

DMZ-computer hacker

Jesse James- Vehicle builder

Emily Kohlberg- Psychologist

Sean McCormick- Genetic Biologist

Danica McKellar- Math Nerd

This asian dude- Ninja/ covert ops

That’s 11 people so far, but I still need the medic and the rich person to fund everything, so I still cannot complete this group and make sure everything is up and running yet. This disturbs me because our Rouges gallery is growing with every blog post. Our latest villain is the most diabolical yet. He rose to power of a major corporation specifically to make that company bring about the end of days. His soul purpose is to destroy America. He also wants Al Gore to feel the pain of unfathomable sadness, but Hell, we all want that now and again.

The man I speak of gets his power from the tears of environmentalists and from the blood of manatees. Currently, he resides in his volcano lair off the cost of Haiti, where his earthquake machine undoubtedly caused the devastation in that country earlier this year. He enjoys destroying the environment, raising the price of oil, and going on boat rides. The man I am talking about is Tony Hayward of BP.

The son of a bitch

As of this moment, he looks like your normal, everyday, British prick. But with his current power, and his minions who work for the U.S. Government (Texas Representative Joe Barton is still sucking Hayward’s dick), Hayward is quite possibly unstoppable. I have calculated that if his power continues to go unchecked, he could morph into a monster the likes of which have never been seen. Here is my estimate of what he is going to look like this time next year if no one stops him:

God help us

That shoddy photo-shopping is accurate; he will become a sentient mud-beast with shape shifting abilities. He must be brought down. This also means that the symbol on the upper right hand corner of the papers in the briefcase was… Oh my God

For now, I am calling all of the members who have already accepted my offer to join Awesomesquad to actually assemble so that we can defeat this monster. We even have Cracked.com behind us on this one. That basically gives us the go ahead to do something.

Give peace a chance, but only after you have exhausted all of the ways you can fight a war.

The News Has Never Been So Sexy, or Disturbing.

Have you noticed how depressing the news is anymore? It doesn’t matter what news station you watch, because after five minutes of any station, you will have a sneaking suspicion that someone is trying to kill you. Also, have you noticed how incredibly hot the Anchor ladies are becoming? Seriously, some of these women need to pose for playboy, or at least Maxim. Shit, I would settle for a Tijuana bible of some of them.

Breaking News: I am pitching a tent!

But it makes sense, you need incredibly attractive women reading the news or ranting incoherently like all pundits, because, lets be honest- the world is not headed to Hell, it is sprinting there, knocking over little old ladies that get in its way. We need hot anchor ladies just because boobs make men smile, and we need something to make us feel better after watching anything on Fox News or MSNBC. This does cause some problems however. For instance, it starts arguments between my dick and my brain about what we are going to watch. My brain doesn’t like to watch the news, because the news makes my brain cry. My dick loves watching the news because the anchor ladies makes my dick cry in a good way. This would lead to many a evening where I would have a headache and be left feeling very frustrated (if you know what I mean.)

This went on for several days before my dick and brain decided that their silly arguing was not getting us anywhere. The three of us decided to search for other means of entertainment. We started with (much to the chagrin of my brain) sticking my dick in random objects. This lead to some comedic and oftentimes tragic consequences, and I am sure one of said consequences ended up on youtube somewhere.

Anyway, from there I discovered a little invention called the internet. It was amazing! All of the most beautiful women in the San Fernando Valley were all in this one place, getting fucked 24/7. I was going to attempt to break into the internet and see if I could get in on the action, but then I discovered the true face of the internet. S&M,  Simpson anime porn, and most evil video of all: 2 girls 1 cup. I had to take three showers after watching that video, and I still felt unclean. And then there was this thing (I swear, Cracked.com showed me this.)

when photoshop goes horribly, horribly wrong...

After that, I decided to quit arm wrestling the Cyclops, and went out to look for some sweet panooch myself. As it turns out, I am incredibly awkward, do not know how to flirt, and second guess myself when I think a girl likes me. Oh, how I wish those were jokes.

The point I am trying to make is that I used up all of my other resources for arousal; I only had three options left: becoming a peeping tom, gay porn (there’s got to be some chicks in it, right?), or the news. Deciding that the former two were more illegal and contained waaay too much sodomy than I care for, I decided to go back to the news. My brain developed a plan to deal with all that noise that those pretty on air personalities produce. That plan was called “Operation: Mute That Bitch.” I would turn onto the news station with the sexiest anchor ladies, and press the mute button. I would then imagine what these women were saying to me. I will give you a brief example of our conversations.

Jillian Hottits- Thank you for watching Minigan Blackwood, I missed you. I missed you so hard.

don't speak, just look pretty for the camera.

Me- I missed you too baby. What do you want to do tonight? What the Hell is he doing here?

Douchebag Scallywag- Sorry Minigan, but I will be jumping in between you two to sporadically kill your erection.

what a douche

Jillian- Your huge, throbbing, man erection

Douchebag- Yes, I will be deflating that. By the end of this program you should feel like your dick is bipolar.

Me- Get off the Screen, Douchebag!

Jillian- Sorry Minigan, but you know the rules. Anyway, did you bring the whippedcream?

Me- I sure did!

Jillian- Good, now squirt it on my big fake boobs.

Me- But you are just a TV screen, I can’t put on your che-

Jillian- JUST DO IT!!!

Me- OK, OK, just calm down. [sprays the whipped cream on the TV, over Jillian’s chest]

Jillian- Oooohhh baby, yea just like that. Now lick it off.

Me- oh, yeah! [starts licking] mmm… you taste so good. Do you like the way I lick you, baby?

Me- Baby?  [looks up] Oh, what the fuck!

Douchebag- This just in: Minigan Blackwood is licking whipped cream off of my suit, proving once again that he is my bitch.

Me- Fuck you

Douchebag- No sir, fuck you.

Me-Put Jillian back on, you slimy, cock gobbling excuse for human placenta!

Jillian- What did you call me?

Me- I didn’t call you anything, baby. Now, where were we?

Jillian-  I was just about to tell you what I want you to do to me.

Me- What do you want me to do to you?

Jillian- I want you to-

Douchebag- suck my old hairy balls

Me- NEVER!!!!

Douchebag- and then I want-

Jillian- you to gently kiss me all over my body. Start at the neck, and slowly work your way down to my navel. Then, before you head down south, I want you to lick my belly button while you –

Douchebag- fondle my big, floppy man boobs. Then you should-

Random black buy that stands in front of a map of the US- DIE MOTHERFUCKER!!!

the most terrifying weatherman ever

Me- Oh, shit no! the racist stereotype is back! Please don’t shoot me, For the love of Yaweh!!!

Stereotype- IT’S GONNA RAIN, BITCH!!

Me- Please, I’ll do anything! Just don’t kill me!

Stereotype- Fine get down on your knees.

Me- Ok, Ok. [begins to sob like a little girl]

Jillian- seeing you cry like that makes me so hot. Mmmm yea, sooo hot!

Me- Thank God you’re back! That racist and inaccurate stereotype was going to kill me.

Jillian-  It’s ok, baby. I’ll make-

Douchebag- You toss my salad, then I’ll-

Stereotype- MAKE IT RAIN, MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!

Me- fuck it, I’m done with this shit. [turns off the TV, wipes away the remaining whippedcream. goes into the bathroom, turns on the shower, climbs in, and curls into a ball and weeps uncontrollably]

I may go to Hell for this post.  Hope you enjoyed it!

Reese’s Peaces are nothing but feces

pictured: a pile of shit

Jimmy, you’re welcome.

The Monsters We’ve Made, and How to Kill Them

A lot of interesting things happened this week. My older sister came out. No, not of the closet, out to my house. However that would have made my week much more interesting… Anyway, after my older sister came out of the closet, both of my sisters, my mom, and I played guitar hero. My mom confuses me sometimes. I’m not sure whether she is cool or not. For instance, last Friday she rented “Pineapple Express” and “I Love You Man” not for me to watch, but for her to watch. The entire weekend I kept thinking My mom is pretty damn cool. But then on Monday, we were playing “Santeria” GH World Tour, and she said, “Is this The Black Eyed Peas?” I was dumbfounded a little, but luckily my older sister was able to laugh and able to tell her that it was the band was Sublime. I did manage to get out “How could you mix Sublime and The Black eyed Peas up?” Now I am debating whether or not my mom is cool. I guess I am going to give her the benefit of the doubt and say she’s cool just because I don’t give a damn about Sublime or The Black Eyed Peas.

I may look unhappy, but i was actually having a blast.

I may look unhappy, but i was actually having a blast.

I also started to buy items for my Halloween costume. I’m not going to tell you what I am going to be, but lets just say, it is more work than I expected. I have 4 of the 6 major components in my possession now, but I still have to buy at least 10 more small things for it to be complete.

Today I spent 3 hours zip lining from tree to tree in the Hocking Hills. That was fun, and I was the fastest zip liner there. That’s right, take that women and 40 year old men! Who kicks ass? I KICK ASS!!! I did miss the OSU game, but oh well, I heard that we won, so that’s good enough for me.

I also almost died in a battle royale that occurred on the mean streets of Columbus, but you probably don’t want to hear about that.

Anyway on to this week’s ramble…

Our world is in a crisis of mythic proportions. And sadly, my superhero team is still in the planning stages. In lue of that fact, I will tell you, my faithful readers, how to fight this problem head on. Luckily for you, you will not need any type of artillery to defeat this current threat, only self-control and determination.

With the recent “Black Jesus” outburst at the MTV VMAs, there has been a lot of talk about the said celebrity on TV and the internets. You all know who I am talking about. But I’m not just talking about that sunglasses mannequin.  It seems like every week another celebrity is getting attention for doing dumb shit, and reaping the benefits of free publicity.

Here are some rules of how to make a celebrity not famous any more.

  1. Do not watch their TV show, read their book or blog, or listen to their music. Not even the older stuff. Not buying their stuff is not enough, you have to refuse to be influenced by their writing and music all together. Even if you borrow the CD or book off of a friend, the celebrity still wins.
  2. If there is some other type of item that is endorsed by the celebrity, do not use that item. For instance, if you think George Foreman is a douchebag that deserves a cancer/AIDS hybrid disease. Do not let a George Foreman Grill into your home, and make up a reason like you believe that a George Foreman grill was invented by the Devil to get Americans to eat healthier. Never give the real reason.
  3. DO NOT tell anyone to not watch the celebrity’s show, read their book, go to their blog, or buy their CD. When you make something forbidden, the forbidden object becomes more appealing. Why do you think Eve was tempted by an apple? Apples aren’t that tempting unless you’re me and the apple is a granny-smith. Mmmm, granny-smith apples.
  4. Do not make up fake rumors about them. They probably won’t be believed, and if they are, then they get media attention and so does the celebrity. Also, it will be eventually realized to be a lie.
  5. Keep that person out of your everyday conversations. If someone brings up that celebrity’s latest shenanigans, give that person a dirty look and change the topic.
  6. Stop mentioning them in you twitter and facebook status updates. Along that line, avoid anything on facebook, twitter, and myspace (who am I kidding? No one uses myspace anymore). No bumperstickers, no commenting or liking pictures or statuses that mention that celebrity, and no quizzes with the celebrity’s name in the title.
  7. Be strong. No matter how much you hate a certain celebrity, do not talk about them. That will only lead to a discussion about them and possible twitter and facebook status updates. This is bad.
  8. Remember: for a celebrity even bad publicity is good publicity. They want to be talked about; that is how they get jobs.

And if you were wondering if I am going to follow these rules with a particular celebrity; yes I am. I have actually formed a list of celebrities whose fame I will attempt to destroy via lack of publicity. Here they are:

  1. Kanye West ( I still cannot believe he did that to Tyler Swift’s vagina)kanye
  2. Glenn Beck
  3. Larry the Cable Guy
  4. Perez Hilton (whoever that is)questionmark
  5. Bono
  6. Sean Penn
  7. Jimmy Fallon ( I should have done before he got his own TV show)
  8. Tila Tequila
  9. Flava Flav
  10. Terrell Owens
  11. The Octomom aka Nadya Suleman aka the walking uterus
  12. Spencer Prattdouchebag
  13. Heidi Montag
  14. Rosie O’Donnell- this dude has been on TV long enough- I mean have you ever noticed that at times he sounds like a woman, and he plays female roles. What guy does that? That is stealing jobs from talented actresses, and I won’t stand for it.
  15. Robin Williams
  16. Amy Winehouse
  17. Michael Baymegatron
  18. T. Pain (the black guy from the “I’m on a Boat” video)
  19. Richard Simmons
  20. Barbara Streisandmecha-babs
  21. Kate Gosselin aka the walking uterus that bitches a lot

I will never talk about the celebrities listed above ever again. They are dead to me. Oh, and if you are wondering why I don’t have Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, or Nichole Ricci on this list, it’s because they haven’t been the public eye lately. For all I know, they might have matured. [Stifled laugh]

Alright, I’m done. I need to take a…

-Peace.

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