Monday, December 19, 2011

10 Ways to Make a Splash at the Christmas Party

1. Viciously network with everyone. Enter contact info of all the folks you encounter at the party. It's good to get this done as soon as possible so you can start emailing and texting them during the party. In this lightening fast world everyone at the party needs to know your views. Enlighten them about your thought-provoking blog, send them a link to a cat video and complain in real-time about the decor, host and lackluster food presented at the party. Your opinion matters.

2. During step 1 ,the networking phase, make it known you're a recovering alcoholic as you drink a double Cape Cod (vodka/cranberry juice). Make sure to say "This is our little secret," as you point at the glass. Feel free to down the drink as you walk off.

3. If you've got a scar, show it off! If you don't have proof you've lived a remarkable life, keep showing people your belly button. Either way, tell a different yarn every time you get an audience. Continuity of a story is only important if you're asking for donations.

4. Commandeer the sound system. Proclaim any seasonal music is "tarded" and put on Paper Planes by MIA. The perfectly modulated gunshots often distract from a lack of dancing skills. The song is around 5 minutes long, so everyone at the party will be sure to see your act of representation.

5. Be gracious, use a napkin and ask any Jewish person present "Why are you here?"

6. Carry the board game Pictionary around the party. If anyone shows interest in wanting to play, scream at them "I don't play games!!!"

7. Walk around handing people Tylenol. Be mysterious and aloof about it. "Every one's going to take their Ecstasy at Midnight so we can all trip together," as you pull your collar down to reveal a baby pacifier on a candy necklace.

8. If you have a pet or pets bring them, but make sure they're dressed festive.

9. Wear a hat that proclaims your personal belief about abortion. Perhaps a fetus on a baseball cap like a mascot of a sport team. What the fetus is doing is your constitutional choice.

10. Tap a glass with some flatware to arouse attention. Announce it's time to move the party outside. Now you are the Shepard. Lead the sheeple to the veranda. As soon as this is achieved, explain the plot of your favorite Christmas movie Die Hard. Then quickly move them back inside. To hell with the host, some people ,such as yourself, are born leaders. Taming one's charisma is only cool if you're Asian. 



Friday, December 16, 2011

Bert Branches Out


Dating Profile

Name:
Burt

Location:
Sesame Street

Sex:
Male?

Favorite Color: Limes!

Occupation:
Teaching kids how to clean up after themselves and being angry.

Favorite Movies:
Reservoir Dogs, A Fist Full of Dollars, Thelma and Louise

Hobbies: Discussions about minorities, amateur aviation and depression.

What I do for fun: I like to stand under the shower when you turn it off. As the water pressure lessens the remaining water dribbles out like your being pissed on by a giant or a horse. It makes me feel like I'm somebody.

About Me: Greetings, my name is Burt. I'm new to the dating scene and was looking for a caring lady that can keep up with my unique lifestyle. Most of my time is spent shaving my head to look like a felt tip marker. Despite my shaving regiment, I do have a monumental
uni brow, I think it makes me mysterious. I'm very close to my roommate Ernie. We share a room with matching twin beds and I'm often annoyed at everything he does, yet I stick around. I stay out of pity, since I think he might be mentally disabled. I promise I will keep him in the closet when you come over.




Friday, December 2, 2011

Air Horns

I love air horns. My little brother just upgraded the horn on his K-5 Blazer. It's almost 3 times  louder than the legal decibel limit allowed on our highways and byways. Needless to say, the middle finger of opposing motorist has diminished in its effectiveness when the retort is undeniable audible power. The deaf community is his only worthy adversary.

I buy an air horn at least once a month. Not once have I ever used it for its intended purpose. No where on the packaging does it illustrate how well it can scare your pets.


The air horn is also a fantastic way to end a conversation. It eliminates that moment of purgatory when both parties run out of things to say to one another. As you say the last word make the period be heard with a ferocious air horn blast and simply walk away.


One of the best uses of an air horn is to announce when it's time to go to bed. Wait till everyone's in their beds for about 15 minutes, then fire off a blast. Everyone under your roof will sleep soundly knowing it's officially time to go to sleep.


In many cases an air horn replaces a fart that just isn't there. We're only human, but the air horn isn't.  

Why should we restrict ourselves to only having a horn while operating a vehicle? The technology is there for the taking and I say take advantage of it as much as possible. A portable horn let's everyone know what you're all about. It tells people "I'm here and I got this whole scene under control." 

I once had a dream about an air horn. Would you like to hear it? (Mat blasts an air horn at his computer monitor.) That was a really deep joke wasn't it? 

Anyways, in my dream I was at a Texas Ranger game. They're the professional baseball team that came in second in the World Series twice, back to back, perhaps you've heard of their dormant greatness. I know there greatness and in my dream I was in the stands holding a rally sign and brandishing an ungodly loud air horn. The whole scene was totally tits. My sign read in big letters, "I've Got an Air Horn!!!" 

Is it too stupid to make this dream reality? Is too stupid to get on Sport Center or is it just stupid enough? Only time will tell. I already own an air horn, making the sign shouldn't take too much work. I might add some Lisa Frank stickers for flair. The next step is to wait until the first pitch of the upcoming season. Then no longer will I be a dreamer, but a doer. 

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

A Letter to a Post 2012 World

If you are reading this the world must of ended. Either you're an alien-being colonizing the charred remains of our planet, a mutant-zombie or I'm your ancestor. We sort of scoffed at the whole Aztec calendar thing. Honestly, we were too busy and their attire was too ridiculous for us to take them seriously. As a general rule ,we humans, are a reactionary species that tends to be a bit self involved.

The planet Earth was an okay place when we were alive. Some us did great things. We cured diseases, built things beyond our own comprehension and we were the master of all species. We even enslaved each other at different times in our history. It was an effective way to get things done, but not practical. Slaves always seem to get pissed and revolt.

Sometimes we killed each other, sometimes we loved one another and the rest of the time we watched reality TV shows. TV is short for television. We used it for entertainment and to dilute our minds. Which reminds me, if you see any relics from our culture with the words "Jersey Shore" on it, feel free to burn it for warmth.

We also had a lot of gods we prayed to for salvation and enlightenment. Then we would fight over who was right. Some people even felt there wasn't a celestial plain, they merely existed. Needless to say there was friction between the factions. Do your best to get everyone on the same page. It will speed up the progress of your fledgling civilization greatly.

Whatever you see is your's I guess. It really doesn't matter who's is what anymore. Do your best to keep that thought in mind. Our culture often got caught up in territorial pissing matches over the dirt your standing on and everything that had any conceivable value. We loved to act smart and take pride in our ignorance.

The other thing you should know about us is we were the best and worst species on this planet. For every great conquest a thousand atrocities followed. A great deal of the bad things just happened, others we knowingly caused. It's not an admission of guilt just a statement of fact.

There's something else you should know. I'd recommend using whatever advanced technologies you might have to cure what our kind referred to as "Cancer." It killed us from the beginning of time till the end of our present.

Other than that, here's the keys to what's left of our planet. Armed with this knowledge you should be able to build a utopia. Of course, I'm dead so you'll probably ignore my warnings. I know that's what I'd do.

So with that said, I pass on to you the arrogance my generation left me. Sometimes it will get you into trouble, sometimes it will make you look foolish and on rare occasions it's the only thing that matters. When arrogance worked in your favor we called it "pride."

We were kings of our world, but we willingly retarded our progress. Nothing we did was totally perfect, but we did it our way. Fail to plan, plan to fail I guess.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Thanksgiving and the Missing Deer Testicle

Respect and love keep you steadfast like an old dog tied to the porch. The story involves a person you've never met, yet it's critical you know the name of the man that grew the biggest watermelons in Lampasas county. In the distance you can hear another conversation between a toddler and another elder about the financial benefits of purchasing the generic version of Lipitor.

Despite your efforts to eat healthy over the past few years, you're wrong. The decision to not eat trans-fats means nothing. You often wonder if between baking margarine-laden treats, members of the family moonlight as drug dealers. They even talk like a pusher, "If you just try it once I know you'll like it." All they see is a harmless little cookie. I see a synthetic polymer that causes the hardening of arteries.
 
Of course, if you let them know about your fear of high blood pressure, that opens another door. In some cases you might see some of the extended family only a few times a year and that time is spent talking ,in depth, about hypertension. They don't want to prevent it or listen to your theory on Spam being worse than cigarettes. They just want to talk about anything to anyone. It's better just to nod up and down.

The oddest part of the whole day is supervising the television. For most folks the selected background noise is either a parade or a football game. Then one of the olds grabs the controller to watch the weather channel and ends up on the Maury Show. As I hear bleeping and a discussion about adultery I walk in to see all the old folks looking at the TV with judgmental faces.. " We were looking for the weather channel and "your" TV landed on this channel," says an aunt in an accusatory manner.

As the announcement is made that the feast is ready, the children's discussion on "What is a Lipitor?" ceases. The young and old migrate to the chow line. The big moment is upon us and all the generations are finally on the same page.

All the food is assembled into breathtaking entrees. The turkey, the stuffing and something that you mistook for a centerpiece is now on the menu. "Sure I'd like some of...uh...that," you say, as a giant spoon is pointed at you like a weapon.

As the first few bites are taken, the compliments flutter about. All the hard work of the chefs comes full circle as they are showered with accolades. Then, like a sniper with a perfectly aimed bullet, one family member will ask why there isn't any marshmallows on the sweet potatoes and the love-fest is over.


The Liposaurus
The next 4o seconds of awkward silence is all the peace and quiet you're going to get all day. Cherish it. Then wait for the next comment to break the tension. It will be random. It will be awesome. "That buck I tagged this year only had one testicle," says one uncle. Yeah, there you go.

"Is this what they were talking about?" asks a child as they hand me their phone. "They were talking about a pill people take when they're sick, but what you've found is far more interesting," I reply.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Hey Guys, Rick Ross Here...

Hi, my name is Rick Ross. I have a cell a phone. I use it to sell drugs. I talk about breaking and entering properties illegally. I realize I'm far too obese to even climb through a window.

Thanks again for recognizing I wear red bottom shoes. I poop a lot and it takes a whole bar of Dove soap to clean me.

I am very gansta and I make a great deal of money illegally. Then I tell millions how I do it. I once had a seizure like an inbred tea-cup poodle on an airplane.

I also like to promote drugging people and molesting them while they sleep. In my mind the difference between rap and rape is just one letter.

It hurts when I go number two. My booty is mad at me 'cause I go boom-boom too much.

Please continue to mortgage what remains of your life as you purchase what I call music. I will take your money and buy things I don't need. I hope to buy enough things to fill the hole in my soul where the talent used to be. I'd like to remind everyone that I have a cell phone and shoes with red bottoms.

I'm pointless,

Rick Ross

P.S. - I desperately need to be milked. Please embrace me from behind and cup my melons. You may keep the salty excretion as a souvenir. Try me in coffee or as a substitute for buttermilk when you make biscuits.  

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

A Clown Story

Tuesday night the sky filled with the smell of burnt rubber and wigs. The wind swept the undeniable smell all about. The town folk rushed to the scene hoping to lend aid. For you see, everyone in the town already knew the accident would be messy.
The clowns left town around 9:30 in the morning. They were leaving Manitoba Canada to get to a gig in Salem Mass. So they packed up their GEO Metro and began the journey. This was their passion and profession.
The group of 4 clowns never made it. They're plush rubbery clown noses were their down fall. Not a single one could smell the danger. A pickle bucket full of gasoline lay in wait in the back of the hatchback. Needless to say, this wasn't an accident. It was murder. The assailant knew these clowns were chain-smokers. It was only a matter of time.
Four clowns dead. As Molesto "The Scary Clown" lit his cig the whole car erupted in flames. These clowns were stars, now they were "literally" stars. Like mini-supernovas with flaming appendages covered in melting rubber hoping for death, none of the deaths were quick.
As the gathered mass watched on, they all began to smile. Then to laugh out loud. They knew the clowns would want it that way. To go out with a laugh.
Of course the other half of the town was laughing because these clowns , a staple of the community for years, were bad. The other group of people were members of a generation of adults that had been repeatedly fondled by the clowns at an early age. The memory remains and now Karma and perhaps vengeance has taken over.
So the moral of the story is, if a clown dies just think of them as a child molester. It's just easier on you.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Unoccupied Minds

I'm not a Republican or Democrat. I feel aligning with anything limits personal freedom. With that said, the members of Occupy are unsuspecting pawns. The people taking part in the protest should be paid by the Democratic party, because they're working for free. Occupier's are victims of the basic war tactic, divide and conquer.

I went to college, graduated and began my career path. The most money I ever made in one year is $25,000. That was about 5 years ago. Now fast-forward to the present and I've been laid-off 5 times and I work on a dock for $9 an hour.

I hope I've established my street cred as a down trodden member of the "Shat-Upon." I feel the same emotions and depression. I desperately want to have a purpose and be paid handsomely for it. Everyday that greed turns on its owner is a victory. I understand the hatred. We are brothers in this hate.

But before joining this gathering, why didn't more people ask questions?

Such as, where does the money come from to fund such a movement? Donations are part of it , but how did it get off the ground. National presence just doesn't happen. It takes money, lots of it. Someone took a risk with their money. Someone who can afford to lose what they invested.

The rich stay rich for a reason, most of their decisions are prudent and decisive. All the while, never questioning the ethics and morality of the path to more power. That's the quality that the general public lacks when it comes to mixing politics with commerce.

The same people that caused the fall of Wall Street are the same people making this possible. Why doesn't anyone else see this? People complain about government bail-outs then want themselves to be an exception.

No one should be bailed out, financial death is a critical part of free enterprise. The fear of failure is the greatest motivator and failure is the only motivation for some. Why deprive a person ,or company, of this critical aspect of reality? Without failure and unbridled success we are a Socialist country trending towards Communism.

Millionaires and billionaires are employing the people that hate them the most. By dividing a society down undefinable lines, the diversion allows for legal money laundering to fund elections, special interests and personal agendas.

The money will move back and forth until the focus becomes secondary. The money will end up somewhere after the cause dies and the buzzards will patiently be in the trees waiting to feast.

The powerful have discovered how to control people without paying them. It's like a new religion without a God, afterlife or discipline of study.

Once the race for Presidential Office begins these people will be forgotten and discarded. They've served their purpose. The War Chests are full and the jobless, hopeless and broke have been exploited as if they had a job, but never got paid for it. It's not a crime when the victim is a volunteer.

The powerful know it is impossible to protest Capitalistic greed. In order to do so, you must exist outside the grid or you're a hypocrite. You can't be a pimp and a prostitute. You can't be a consumer then complain about the profit made on your purchase.

I asked an Occupy member a few questions about the cause. He seemed well informed and smart. I agreed with a lot of his reasoning. That is until he compared Occupy to the The March on Washington led by Martin Luther King in 1963.

There it is, a total lack of understanding about anything.

The March on Washington on August 28, 1963 had a plan with an end. The participants were fighting for the total and utter eradication of racial intolerance. They knew if they didn't take to the street it would be the job of future generations. Today we look back at this event as a turning point and advancement in our humanity.

Occupy is a misguided act of desperate self preservation or the peak of the rich exploiting the poor and ignorant. There's very little nobility or substance.

Their thirst for change gives me hope, but every attempt at progress must have a direction. One must also have some sort of leverage to induce the other side to be taken seriously. Hanging out pretending to be a vagrant isn't leverage.

Oh and just for the record, the government is killing our future, not millionaires.


 Update:  A bunch of them got arrested in Dallas this weekend blocking an entrance to a Chase bank. All that was proven was their ignorance of the law. The rest fled back to the sanctuary of the park where they loaf around and tweet on their iPhones and macBooks. 

Apple is a world super power and a corporate Juggernaut. Hypocrisy much? Speaking of the "H" word, the only people they seem to be punishing are the people that have to clean the city parks they trash and I doubt the guy that cleans the chemical toilet is a millionaire either. 

From the street sweeper, to the suit that looks down on them from his corner office, everybody is making money off these radicals. Oh wait, a radical actually has a definable idea. They're so disillusioned I can't even come up with a name to diss them.

All this could be ended with my 4 step plan. 
1: Toby Keith plays a concert at every Occupy Location 
2: Freeze all Trust Funds 
3: Then release the new iPhone 5. They'll all migrate to the Apple store 
4: Make me President

If they succeed at anything I will be the first to eat crow. I just don't buy into it. They all need to talk to their grandparents and learn from a greater generation. I suck it up and work. I use my college degree as a beer coaster and go to work on a dock everyday. I used to write things for a living, now I'm an ant moving cheap crap imported from China. As every $9 hour ticks by I die a little, but my pride keeps me going. Adapt or die.

Monday, October 3, 2011

The Ramifications of Facial Hair

Most of us are not very good looking. That's why there's facial hair. It's like a ficus tree or a poster that covers up the hole in the sheet-rock. Everyone knows there's a hole in the wall, but folks try their best to not ask questions about the origin.

Everyone knows the hole is from when you got pissed at the dog for pooping in the clothes hamper. Friends and family would prefer ignore fits of volcanic anger at an innocent animal. Besides, psychiatric inquiry ,by loved ones, is an activity best-suited for winter holiday gatherings.

I guess, if a hole in the wall prevents animal cruelty I fully endorse it. The end justifies the means, just like facial hair.

Besides, if mustaches didn't exist Tom Selleck ,nor Burt Reynolds, would have acting careers. I'd hate to live in a world absent of The Bandit or Magnum P.I. When I see these guys facially nude they might as well be old ladies.

People laugh at my recently grown mustache. It's cool, I realize I look ridiculous. It's all good in the metaphorical "hood." I'm not important enough that I have to look respectable, but in an odd turn of events I gained respect.

When I encountered douche'rs and press-shirts at the bar they thought I was law enforcement. They talked shit behind my back instead of to my face. I do look a bit like Farva.

When I floated the river the underage hid their booze, when I left Crap-Mart the geriatric greeter didn't obtrusively ask to check my receipt and the guy at 7-11 seemed almost scared when I asked him why they were out of Vanilla Crisp PowerBars.

Sideburns followed, I felt the power and I wanted more. So I upgraded my simple mustache to a Fu Manchu in hopes that the day I brandish a sword I would be taken seriously. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

I found out a Fu Manchu scares little kids and dogs bark at you. I knew then I went to far. If a samurai becomes obsessed with sharpening his sword it inevitably becomes dull. Facial hair is similar in this respect and like a Japanese warrior it takes a razor sharp edge to solve the problem.

As I began to dial back my facial statement I had an epiphany, with a quick shave you get another chance to make a first impression. In the eyes of strangers you're a totally different person.

Knock over the wedding cake? Shave that shit off. Carry a razor in your pocket. Practice speed-shaving on stray cats in your downtime. Master the skills, your speed and precision will make or break your dramatic transformation.

As soon as you're cleanly shaved make yourself seen, as you scream "The dude with the mustache did it!" As the offended party searches for the furry-lipped villain, steal bottles of booze far beyond the price range of your wallet.

The wedding isn't ruined, it's now far more memorable. The mysterious mustached man will become legend and the Johnny Walker Blue Label now resides in your liquor cabinet. You'll need that booze to get through the awkwardness as you transition back into another facial hair commitment.

But now, knowledge has entered the equation. This time it's different. Now you know a Fu Manchu resides on the edge of a slippery slope. People will perceive you as the type of dude that would eat a sandwich he found in the street. Now you know the mustache grows thicker, bigger and more powerful as everyday passes. For some reason it's easier to start a fire when camping. Now you know a bearded hipster is simply someone that went too far.

They  got blinded by the bright lights of follicle fame. A mistake I will never make again.   

Friday, September 23, 2011

Euphemism


eu·phe·mism

 [yoo-fuh-miz-uhm] 
noun
1.
the substitution of a mild, indirect, or vague expression for one thought to be offensive, harsh, or blunt.
2.
the expression so substituted: “To pass away” is euphemism for “to die.” or perhaps the following:

"super-candy" is euphemism for "crack"
"them" or "You People"  is euphemism for "Minorities"
"super-water" is euphemism for " Gin" or "Vodka"
"Sleeping" is euphemism for "Blacking out."
"I'm tired." is euphemism for "I'm on my second box of wine."
"That movie was awesome." is euphemism for "The drugs are working."
"I fell." is a euphemism for "My husband taught me lesson."
"I'm not attending the event." is a euphemism for "I'm drinking alone."
"Let's watch Monday Night Football." is a euphemism for " Let's get "weekend-drunk" during the week."

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Tote Bags: The Slacker Briefcase

I don't want the tote bag. Who the hell wants the TOTE BAG!?! The tote bag is the "thanks for showing up prize." No thank you sir. The last guy I saw that had a tote bag ,in public, was carrying a little dog in it. And I think he was French as well.

I'm too good for that. You keep your damn tote bag, but know this, by not accepting said tote bag, I leave here a better person none the less.

I know I'm taking a chance. It's free, and someday I might need an extra bag to put things in. The future is uncertain and who knows what I may acquire down the road that would warrant such a tote bag.

I've realized these free tote bags are getting smaller. It would be smart ,on the part of the tote bag manufacturers, to at least make them big enough to hold something significant, at least big enough to carry an infant.

Don't think I don't know the potential of a tote bag. I know the tote and how to use it. When I was a child I had a tote bag with pictures of frogs on it. I must admit, it was nice and it kept the pine cones and dirt, I placed in it, safe and secure.

I also transported a stolen frozen turkey via tote bag. See when you buy a smoker it doesn't come with meat. Also, the budget for meat does suffer when you realize you have to buy wood. With minimal wiggle room, I knew a tote bag was the tool for the job. A 14 lb. turkey under your shirt is stupid, a 14 lb. turkey in a tote bag is business savvy.

I wonder if tote bags have ever killed someone, because I felt pretty damn powerful with a turkey in a tote bag. I'm not a violent person, but if shit got crazy, I'm not above a spinning-turkey-in-a-tote-bag Helicopter Attack. Damn, that'd be cold-blooded.

Look at me, all these great memories about tote bags. Boy, I sure sounded like a goofy goof a few moments ago. Who wants a tote bag? Let me tell you who wants a tote bag, me. I do want a tote bag. Because its free and the world holds limitless things that I may put in it. Such as bees, yard clippings or wet cement.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Russ Martin Off Air

The Russ Martin Show will return to the air in about a week. A yelling match started between Russ and an unnamed black male and a scuffle ensued. The reason for the altercation is still under investigation. The time off-air is a self-mandated punishment imposed by his employer. More details to come.


Update: The location of the altercation took place at Cool River in Irving Texas. Employees broke up the fight and Russ left. The other participant in the fight is thought to be ex-Dallas Cowboy Micheal Irvin. As Russ left the scene, Irvin followed him to the Golden Corral restaurant located on Belt line Road also in Irving. As Russ got out of his car Irvin confronted him again and police were called to control the situation. There were no serious injuries.


Update: An unconfirmed rumor claims the television show COPS was present during the entire altercation. The existence of the video isn't in question, but it's availability to the public is far from certain. Both camps are expected to not decline their rights to anonymity. As it stands they can still show it, but it must be fully censored. The network is expected to make an offer to both parties. 


Uptaint 9/26/2011 : This was a joke that snow-balled out of control. Most folks read it and deemed it ridiculous, yet still spread the rumor. Over the past few days my audience bloomed into the thousands and it was pretty cool. 


Russ and the crew pulled some great pranks over the years and I'm certain most of his gun-shy listeners wear high-fidelity bullshit filters. I didn't fool anyone. Either way, hearing my stupid story read on The Russ Martin Show today was sweet. 


They were right about almost everything. The blog did get posted on radio forums by people desperate to appear interesting to folks that matter less than they do. I only linked to Facebook to screw with my friends and fellow listeners.  


We must all strive to "make the stupid" as we stumble through our day like narcotized Grand Canyon Donkeys following the ass in front of us. 


RMS fan out.



Tuesday, September 13, 2011

On This Day Tupac Died...

...ironically, it's also Tyler Perry's birthday. I wish the names were transposed in the previous sentence. 

Genius dies and a transvestite hack is born. The world is unfair.   

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Kindergarten Junkies

Meeting strangers is always a test of nerve. No matter who it is, my anxiety shines through the armor. I try to maintain eye contact even though my insecurities force my eyes to the floor and the sky. I think everyone suffers from this affliction. Some hide it better than others, but no one is immune.

Rarely do these societal interactions completely lock me down, take away my wit and paralyze my vocals. That is, until the other day.

As I walked into the Kindergarten class I could feel my back tighten. My eyes dart around the room, their eyes all looking at me. As I take inventory of the situation I see the toothless smiles of children that could be no more than around 5 or 6 years old. The same toothless smiles I've seen in the mouths of hopeless heroine addicts, meth junkies and crackheads.

It's shocking to see such young minds already under the grips of addiction. I gotta help these kids kick their habit. Tough love, a dash of shame and a letter to their junkie parents should get the ball rolling. After that, it's up to these kids to accept the parameters of a quality rehab program. The mass intervention will take place at Chuck E. Cheese...where a kid can simply be a kid.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Ranch is King

My feelings about ranch dressing are indifferent. I can take it or leave it, ketchup is king if you ask me.

As for fat bitches, it is a life-force that defines their being. A large woman or a small planet stepped on my foot as she grasped for ranch. I addressed the people in the crowded restaurant.

" Ladies and gentlemen. I fear my foot is broken. Beware when around this gigantic person. At this rate she will be dead soon, so we got that going for us...which is nice."


Monday, July 25, 2011

Retarded Bill Boards

As I was hanging out in the park smoking crack* and listening to sports-talk radio, I often watch the people. 

There's mad-black-rapper-guy walking to work, old people feeding the ducks complaining about people smoking crack in the park and Mexicans working out in blue jeans. Then there's the Adult Daycare bus that unloads a gaggle of mentally disabled people. 

I wouldn't dare make fun of the "specials." I connect with the mentally dissed. When they're all running around it takes me back to recess in grade school. It's sort of nostalgic. Besides, at the end of the day, I too love chasing ducks. 

As I just chilled and dreaded the end of my lunch break, I noticed a reoccurring theme. More than a stereo-type, but an undeniable truth I could see with my very own eyes. The mentally disabled are unknowing pawns in the advertising game. 

One guy had on a Kool cigarette t-shirt, another was wearing Miller Lite pajama bottoms. Corona hats, Guiness Flip-flops and all kinds of swag that promo chicks give you at bars. How did these people get their hands on this stuff? I realize you can get some of these clothes at stores, but I would think the handlers/parents of these special folks wouldn't buy them promo sin swag. The park was full of retarded Duff Men.

I want to open an Ad Agency that pays the retarded part of our population to be walking billboards. When you pay folks the word "exploited" changes to "employed." Everyone takes notice when a special person enters the room. I think it would be a roaring success.

Or maybe they just like to party. If they asked me to go with them on their bus and do some mid-day drink'in and duck chase'in I'd probably be down. A large group of retarded folks drunk would have to be a new level of crazy. 

That Black-Eye Pea song makes sense to me now. The party would literally be retarded.  

* I don't smoke crack. I lack the networking skills to make it happen.