Google needs a rough ass raping from yours truely.

If I stop posting for a while it's because I'm in prison for traveling to California and going on a bloody rampage through the google headquarters killing everyone I see in the hopes of lucking out and offing the code monkey who is responsible for all the god damn mother fucking bull shit errors I ekeep getting with this ass raping retarded software! Fuck you Blogger, and fuck your stupid mom! Just let me load a fucking blogroll without giving me obscure and retarded errors that defy repair! Or at least let me ask for some god damn help from the help section without fucking me in my tight virgin ass with your razor sharp code failures of death! How does the best fucking search engine, the unofficial overlord of the mother furcking inter-fucking-net get a blog program with so many cock smoking problems? Why? What the fuck is wrong with those incompetent bastards? Seruiously? Gahhhhhhh! I'mm so pissed I can't even go jack off to calm down. I can't even drink to calm down. And this typing is just reminding me how their retarded software has it's salty unwashed cock halfway down this helpless blog authors throat! Fuck you with no lube on a hot day in the sun with nothing to drink but my manlicious jism!

And on top of all that I might not even get to go to the fucking Halloween party I've been preparing for for nine mother fucking months. God hates me. I hate Google. Google hates me back, but better. Sorry readers, today you get no laughs, only empty threats towards a faceless corporate monster. I'm gonna go cry for a while and maybe polish my gun and fantasize. Have a nice fucking evening, or morning or whatever. Fuck it.

My boss told me I would be allowed to come in an hour and a half late if I did so riding a donkey and dressed like Juan Valdez. One secretary showed me a picture on her phone which turned out to be a huge black cock. The other secretary brought in an Adam & Eve catalog and filled up a condom with water and milk duds to set on our lunch table. One sales man started a conversation about butt raping dead babies and throwing them in your attic, while looking at the autopsy photo's of dead celebrities. The other told a lengthy story about tripping on acid and setting off a fire cracker in a fancy steak joint, then asked me if I knew where to get any ecstasy. The district manager hung his head and went outside for a smoke. He tolerates us. When he was gone I told everyone about the dolphin porn.

That's what my job is like. And that's the office, not even the yard. In fact, the office fuckers are wilder than the power tool jockeys. On a side note I had my first run in with some of the locals in our yard. I now have three big ass fire ant stings on my right leg. I must be more sensitive than normal folks, cause the one on my inner thigh has a swollen red blotch around it almost three inches wide. Little bitches, I'm busting out the poison tomorrow and going hunting just for fun.

I'm almost finished with the last piece for my Halloween costume, the beard/mustache. I found that I suck at sewing. Go fig. I am still debating whether I really want to shave my head to match the character or not. I would like to go all the way and look really bad ass. But I have this girl is coming to town, and I've been talking to her for a few weeks, and she'll be with me at the parties I am going to be dressed up at. I think it might weird her out if I shave it all the way. Cause she's used to me with a buzz cut, but shaving your head changes your look a lot. And I'm trying to get my dick wet, you know? It's been a while, and good ol' Stroker Ace is getting restless. I don't want him pissed off at me. (he's my peen, if you didn't catch that)

I decided to switch his name. I named him Rod Thunder with my last serious woman, and I think it's time for a changing of the guard. I was gonna go with Thor Maximus or Brutus Von Goodmotion or Docor Swordley Longfellow or something like that, but Stroker Ace has the double whammy of being a character in a Charlie Daniels Band song, and sounding masturbatory, which is both comical and accurate. If any of you have a really good cock name, throw it out there and I'll take it into consideration.

Speaking of input, does anyone know how to get up a fucking blogroll. I think I know what I'm supposed to do, but blogger keeps giving me some sort of retarded page error whenever I try and add an element to my page layout. I was hoping there might be some sort of html code add on to do it, like they have for standalone players on myspace. (which represents the full extent of my experience with html code) it's pissing me off and I'm just about ready to switch my blog over to wordpress, cause they look cooler.

Anyway, I asked this biker dude at my AA class if having trouble sleeping was a common problem for people who were first trying to quit drinking. He gave me one of his deep gravelly chuckles and this is sort of how it all went:

Me: "Hey Mike, do lots of people have a hard time sleeping when they first quit drinking?"

Mike: (deep gravelly chuckle) "Yeah, it's nothing to worry about, most everyone does. I'll bet you've been having some pretty crazy dreams too. Lots of nightmares and dreams about drinking a lot?"

Me: (somewhat surprised at his entirely accurate prediction) "Uh ... yeah. They've been pretty gnarly lately. I hadn't really thought much of it, but they definitely are more frequent and way more intense."

Mike: "Take some Tylenol PM or whatever. Just make sure to follow the instructions. Don't take four and end up abusing them."

Me: (thinking about last night when I took four) "Yeah, no problem. I never take those things. I don't even take asprin when I'm sick."

And that last part was true. I hate taking medicine and going to doctors and most everything involved in not dieing from being a healt-o-phobe. But that's a different topic for a different post. Right now I have to go smoke one last cigarette before my old friend Tylenol PM kicks my ass. I can feel him sneaking up from behind.

Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Chew Your Food

Oh dear God, I'm exhausted. I had one of those Saturdays where your liver crawls out you ass and scurries away to hide under the bed. Eight thirty rolled around this morning and my brother woke me up. It was fair time. I was siked out. The catch? My wicked hangover was going to make this day challenging. I felt like thirty two flavors of ass.

So I pounded a couple down whilst I got ready, and we headed out to the fairgrounds. After we sit for seven or eight hours in fair traffic, we finally get a parking spot. We hired a sherpa to help us find our way back to civilized society, seeing as how the spot we got was somewhere near West Virginia. After we got to the gates, the first booth sported a sign I had been waiting a very long time to see: "FUNNEL CAKES".

Hell fuckin yeah, I thought, lets kick this fucker off with a classic. I ate a funnel cake and waited for our good friends Kato and Rach to get there. First order of business, ride the Zipper. No wait, I forgot, they talked me into going on this drop ride. Basically you sit in a chair facing away from this huge ass tower, they raise you, and you fall. It's cooler than it sounds. But I'm a total pussy for heights. Don't get me wrong, I have huge brass balls that are impervious to damage and shoot lasers out of them, but they are ground balls. Some people just aren't meant to leave the relative safety of the ground, and I'm one of them.

After that we hit up the Zipper, it blew my mind. I seriously love that thing. I want to marry the zipper and have little twirling carnie children that we'll feed deep fried cheerios for breakfast. Then we dicked around and rode some other bull shit. There was a "House of Rock" that disappointed. There was really no real rock theme, just a fun house for kids. There was a spinny thing with a pole, I liked that, but the rest was craptastic. Same deal with some little horror ride where you get in a child size mine cart and ride through a sort of dark area with animatronics that would make Walt Disney's head implode from the sheer suckitude. I wanted my moneys worth though, so I screamed like a girl every time anything moved or got illuminated.

I saw the amazing Snake girl, head of a beautiful woman, but the two hundred pound body of an ugly snake. It was only a dollar, and I would call that a bargain, because I actually got about ten dollars worth of frustration and hatred. First off, the snake body was nowhere near two hundred pounds. It wasn't even especially large for a constrictor. Second, they didn't even try to hide the door this dumb bitch was sticking her head through. Third, home girl had on sun glasses and headphones. Fuck me, just give it at least a little effort. We all know it's fake, but we're playing along for the sake of entertainment. Jeez.

Then I went and got some fried pickles. They were gross, but I hate pickles anyway. Just imagine taking a pickle spear and nuking it in the microwave until it burns the living shit out of your mouth. Now squirt some ranch sauce on your burns and you have a fried pickle. Then I went and got a fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was good, but not awesome. Then I got a fried cheeseburger. I wish I had paid five dollars for the foreign bastard who sold me this monstrosity to just go ahead and take a huge shit in my mouth, because that would have tasted better. I imagine if you took the cheapest meat substitute you could find, piss on it, coat it with enough salt to make it impossible to eat, and then heat it up to five billion degrees so people will be distracted by the pain and not round house kick the crap out of you for passing it off as food. Suck. I did stop by a place which offered "good old fashioned soda pop" on tap and it came in this bad ass metal mug that's got a prospector and the logo "Hillbilly Homebrew". So that was cool.

Round about this time the hangover is in full swing and I begin suspect that my overindulgence may have been a poor idea. So I went and rode the Zero Gravity ride that spins you so fast you overcome gravity and then they tilt the thing up on a ninety degree angle. That was cool as hell. After that we rode the Ring of Fire. That was cool.

At two they had a destruction derby. I don't know if you have ever seen one, but everything that begins with destruction is automatically bad ass. I'm not sure if it can get much more American than drinking Coke at the State Fair while listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd over a loudspeaker and waiting for a bunch of crazy red necks to jump in junked out cars with the sole intention of smashing the crap out of each other. They had Radiator Gladiator (pronounced rad with a short A, you know, so it rhymes with gladiator) t-shirts. I got one. It was wild as hell.

I saw more mullets in one day that I normally do in one month. Good lord. I don't know what it is about rednecks, but they just won't let go of a bad idea once it becomes popular. Jebus Krikes, people stopped wearing mullets some time around the early nineties. Because they look stupid. Fucking retarded. Stop continuing the abomination. And there was more fine asses than you could shake a stick at. I swear we got some fine women down here in the south. Mmmmmm ... tasty! I swear though, there was also some dangerous jail bait. If I ever have a daughter, I will never, ever, under any circumstances let her leave the house dressed like some of the little girls I saw today. I'll just as soon tan her fuckin hide. I'll put the fear of the Lord back in her little hoochie ass, cause I don't want her parading around like some mini slut and getting knocked up and making my spare time and money go towards taking care of her loose vagina and the bastards who pop out of it. Fuck that.

So anyway, after the derby was over and all the cars were totalled we went up to The Grill to say hey to my little brother LP. Then we went to the Village of Yesteryear to get a steaming hot cup of the worlds best damn apple cider ever.

And that was pretty much it. Nate and Sami got burnt to hell, but I was ok because I work in the sun a lot. I managed to keep the food in my stomach until I got home and barfed in the shower. I learned I need to chew my food better.

Well, it's fall(ish) and the State Fair is in town again. I am wildly excited and have found myself salivating at the prospect of another round of country fried festivities. Yes, I know I'm a dork.

Last year I went and conquered my childhood fear of the most bad ass carnie ride: The Zipper. The zipper is now my favorite ride, ever. If there are people out there who have never seen one, or ridden one, here is an excerpt from a site dedicated to carnival rides: "The Zipper is the standard measuring stick to which all other "scary" rides are measured - if your body can handle two and a half minutes on the Zipper, you can handle any other ride on a carnival midway (with possible exception of its cousin - Turbo) . The ride is lean, mean - and very rarely clean." Truer words have n'er been spoken. Oh Zipper, we love thee.

It's one of those things at the fair where you round a corner and a light beams down from heaven illuminating the hastily assembled death machine of glory. And a chorous of agngels starts singing Glory Glory Hallelujah and majesties shoot out in every direction.

I don't know if state fairs are basically the same across the nation or what, but we have the same old common folk entertainment every year. We have a fifteen foot shopping cart that is actually a car. We have crafts and nick-nacks for the old folks. There's a couple of destruction derbies. The Village of Yesteryear with it's O-so-delicious piping hot cider. There are freakishly large animals and freakishly small people. (I've seen the worlds shortest woman, have you? In your face!) There's a turkey shoot. There's the obviously rigged games that charge you a fortune to not win a crappy purple and blue bear stuffed with asbestos from China. You can't ever pass up on the Midway of course.

I will say there's a notable absence of beer and wet t-shirt contests. I guess it's supposed to be a "family" atmosphere or something. You would think the bible belt conservatives that apparently own this state would want their little boys to see as many tits as possible at a young age so they don't grow up to be gay. But I guess you can't get into heaven unless you are afraid of everyones body parts and never have any fun, ever. And you'd think they would want their daughters to see how slutty college chicks are now so that when they grow up they can try and be even sluttier. Because without a bunch of eighteen year old strippers running around handing out AIDS and popping forth babies like a potato cannon, who will they spend all their time wagging their holy fingers at? I digress.

Despite the non stripping and t-shirt soaking atmosphere, all you fellers, don't go with your ladies unless they have already cut your balls off and are keeping them in a jar in their closet so you can't get and erection without their permission. (I don't think balls really have much to do with erections, but you know what I mean) Trust me guys, there is so much fine southern ass walking around you won't know where to look. And it's still in the eighties this time of year, so they aren't covering up their goodies. In fact I love the entire crowd. Even the fat folks and the smelly folks and the GOD DAMN SCREAMING CHILDREN. (leave you hell spawn at home you worthless peasant bastards) You get such a huge slice of America (and Mexico) when you people-watch at the fair. And you know there are some crazy ass people in the deep south. At times I feel like I'm one microphone and a set of bouncers away from being on the Jerry Springer show. (which I love with a passion and will discuss at a later date)

But as a food lover (not literally) my favorite part of the fair is the wicked awesome food they have there. The fair has a wide selection of really bad ass food that you can never get any other time of the year. There's the giant turkey legs, fire roasted corn, cotton candy, candied apples, and all the usuals. But for the last few years our fair has been exploding with the coolest food trend ever. We deep fry everything. No shit, just pick something, and it's probably deep fried and for sale on the fair grounds. And my little brother works at the grand stand, so I get my fat ass hooked up! The grand stand is responsible in a big way for coming up with many of these concoctions, they keep trying new things and adding more every year. WOOT WOOT!

Last year was the first time I really dove into the fried goods phenomenon. The list of food I ate fried in five hours last year goes as follows:
one twinkie
one snickers bar
one milkyway bar
one three musketeers bar
four or five oreos
one funnel cake
one serving of fried Coke (yes as in the soda, they put the syrup into the funnel cake batter and pour it over the finished product. Don't waste your money, it tastes exactly like a regular funnel cake if you have a coke with it)

And that's not including the turkey leg I ate, the sandwich, or the multiple drinks. If I had had more money/room I could have also enjoyed the fried hamburger, cheese burger, or pickles. And this year they have all new delights. I hear they have bananas, banana pudding, cookie dough, and PB&J sandwiches! No shit, peanut butter and mother fucking jelly, but deep fried. How awesome is that? So because I'm always up for overindulgent self destructive behavior, I'm going to see how many different fried foods I can eat in one day. And then I'm going to ride the Zipper. I managed last year to hold down the grease fest compacted in my gullet.

Is he crazy? Will he make it a second year without barfing? Is there really so much poon tang at the Fair that I will get in trouble with my woman? Tune in next week to find out. Same fried time, same fried channel.

Tasty Tasty Murder

I never cease to be amazed by the decisions some people make in life. I may not be the shining beacon of moderation or forethought, but I can usually smell bull shit a mile away. And today that bull shit is vegetarians. Now I don't want to piss off any vegetarians, because I've met some really hot ones I'd like to convert, but seriously? No meat ever?

That's crazy on a level beyond me. I can't imagine giving up any type of food, let alone the best kind. Don't get me wrong, I love veggies and fruit and all that good healthy shit, but not nearly on the level I love meat. Meat is what we do here in North Carolina. No joke, we barbecue, and we are damn good at it. I would put up our Carolina style BBQ against any other kind, and I think ours would be the best.

There's a distinction to be made here for anyone travelling through the south sampling BBQ. Now NC boasts a vinegar based BBQ style, specializing in pulled pork. It's some damn good shit. But if you happen to be in South Carolina and see something called Carolina style BBQ, there's a good chance it is nothing of the kind. South Carolina has, for reasons unknown to the rest of the planet, decided to base their BBQ on mustard, not vinegar. I will say that it can be tasty, and on occasion can be enjoyed by the avid BBQ enthusiast, but vinegar is the good and proper way to season your BBQ, and anyone who tells you different needs a good swift kick to the nads. Or maybe just some schooling in what real BBQ tastes like. And the same goes for all of y'all tomato based BBQ saucers. You don't even know alright, trust me.

In fact I just read an article today about one of the new food attractions at our State Fair, which is going on as I type. They have a BBQ sundae. No shit. They take some pulled pork, throw on a layer of baked beans, and some good old country slaw, with vinegar sauce and various other fixins. Damn dude, that just sounds tasty. My mouth is watering up just thinking about it. Once again, BBQ down here is supposed to be eaten with baked beans and slaw. It doesn't hurt to have some hush puppies, biscuits, fried chicken, Lima beans, greens, corn, corn bread, mashed taters with gravy, hash browns, and of course sweet iced tea, but I don't think the cup they serve this dish in would fit all that.

I'm not trying to diss you people who have sworn off meat. Maybe you just really really respect the sanctity of our animal friends. An idea I find absurd, but you can do whatever you want. Or maybe, and this is my favorite excuse, you do it for health reasons. Despite the fact that every person in history has eaten meat and gone on to lead healthy lives. I actually dated a vegetarian once. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't a vegetarian when I dated her, I wouldn't put up with that shit. (Her: No we can't go eat there, they don't have any vegan dishes! Every dish they serve helped with the cruelty and torture of a living life! Me: Get out, we're through!) She converted some time after we broke up. I went to meet her for lunch a few months later at a local Chinese food joint. This is when she threw the vegan crap out there.

I think she had just enough money for one cabbage egg roll or something ridiculous like that. I offered to buy her lunch, but it had to something that bled when it died. She declined and I set about trying to rattle her ditzy hippie cage for a while. (I really didn't want to have to go out to lunch with her again) I told her the saga of two retarded hippies who were sent to prison for killing their six week old baby with a strict vegan diet of soy milk and organic apple juice. Whilst browsing the web for that previous link I found that these two jack asses weren't the only case. Another family, in New York, starved their child with a vegan diet, to the point that it had developmental problems. And adding insult to injury these bastards named their child "Ice". Who the fuck names a child Ice? Middle name Vanilla? So by my reasoning, if you are the sort of person who doesn't eat meat, you shouldn't be reproducing. Meat may be murder, but veganism kills babies. If you are currently on a vegetarian or vegan diet/lifestyle: please go eat an animal, you will do yourself and the world some good.

Sort of like Christmas

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I have a bit of a problem with the booze. Actually me and the booze get along great, it's just that as a team we don't get along so well with people or life. So I attended my very first AA meeting today. It was weird. There were chants and everyone was ridiculously friendly. I had to hold hands with two guys and pray. They gave me a one day sober key chain which will apparently gets exchanged for different color key chains the longer I attend their sobriety cult. I'm not really sure key chains are the best motivator, but I guess these folks really like them, and they are probably a better idea than the color coded bottle openers I suggested.



A fellow who shared my first name told his saga of addiction and recovery and everyone clapped. I personally found it almost as depressing as it was encouraging. But I clapped too because if there is one thing I have learned it's that you should never piss off a cult during one of their ritual story times. I'm going again on Friday because I was told IHOP is involved, and I am a total pancake and bacon whore. I might consider joining NAMBLA or Scientology if I had the promise of mapley goodness and hash browns with coffee. Plus I always wanted to be in a cult.



I jest of course, it was actually a very pleasant experience. If you think you want to try and quit I would suggest it highly.



And since I can scratch off the cult from my list of things to do before I die, and KY-jelly wrestling Brittany Spears still looks to be pretty far down the road, I'm working on my next life goal. I would like to make out with a zombie. I might get the chance this Halloween. I don't really know why I find this idea so attractive, but it turns me on. Of course it would have to be a really attractive zombie, but I got that covered. This Halloween is going to be so bad ass. And I'm going to have to learn how to apply make up, because I'm going to be Captain Spalding from the Devils Rejects, possibly the best horror movie ever created. It was some what lacking in zombies come to think of it. But none the less, it was a scary ass roller coaster of a mind fuck, from the first scene to the last. Anyway, enough with the Rob Zombie plugs, here's the bad mofo I'm gonna be:







Oddly enough this will not be the first time I have put on make up. In fact it will not even be the second or third. There have been a good handful of times in my life I was coerced into dolling up for the good of society. Hell I wore make up for my mom once.



That comment really needs an explanation. You see what happened was I was sitting around the house polishing off my third 40 oz. of Hurricane or some other equally gnarly beer-ish concoction, and had been watching Fight Club every day for the past two weeks. These two seemingly innocent yet borderline destructive activities came together with an evil synergy that resulted in me bouncing around the back yard bare knuckle boxing my completely sober and much larger roommate, whilst my other roommates stood around with lights and a camera to record the festivities. I should note for the sake of historic accuracy, just in case this ends up in my Wikipedia biography after I croak, We were not technically bare knuckled at this point. We had wrapped a sock around each hand and duct taped them in place, you know, because safety always comes first.



Well a minute or so into the ass kicking I received (I'm not even a very good fighter when I'm not wasted) My room mate, who never wanted to do this to begin with, popped me hard right square on the nose and broke the shit. I started bleeding everywhere and they stopped the fight. Well I got a black eye, and severe facial bruising from the broken nose. This was not really a problem because I sort of got a kick out of looking violent in public, but in a twist of timing that couldn't have gotten much worse, Mothers day was three days away.



You see, my family had not gotten a family portrait all together for somewhere around ten years. This was to be our present to our beloved matriarch. And now I looked like some dumb ass who had gotten the shit kicked out of him. So I manned up and out of love for my mother I put on make up. And I looked damn good. You couldn't even tell I was bruised all to hell. And the best part was that we went to this really ritzy joint over in the snooty rich section of town. Because there are no portrait marts over on our side of town. We like to use our own cameras for this sort of thing. So my brothers and I, who all hate upper class establishments with a passion, and tend to get rowdy when forced into them, were messing with the other patrons as much as we could without getting kicked out.



After the photos were photographed and the parental units were hemming and hawing over which prints to buy, i immediately went to the little boys room to wash the whore paint off my face, cause it was driving me nuts and I could almost feel my nuts shriveling from the sheer wussyness of wearing it in the first place. As far as anyone else knows I went into the bathroom with a regular face and came out looking like I just fought a bear. (another life goal for another blog) I actually made it all worth it because not only was my mom happy, but I got to scare little rich kids with my face, which made Mothers Day sort of like Christmas that year.