There's A Hole In My Face. Stop Laughing

To Whom it May Concern,

Last weekend I went on a hunting trip with some of my closest friends and contributors, when the unthinkable happened. My good and dear friend, Mr. Vice President Dick Cheney, accidentally shot me in the face.

I am assuming that this was an accident, however there are times, when I lie here in my hospital bed eating through a tube, that I have my doubts. A little earlier I had teased Mr. Cheney on his understanding of going ‘Quayle’ hunting. He had assumed that, much like the Kennedy hunt of 1963, we were hunting for political figureheads. Oh that crazy Cheney.

It was slightly after this that I made my first kill and coming up behind Dick, he fired a round straight into my noggin. Given, I was careless sneaking up on Mr. Cheney like this, but I assumed that it is general understanding that you look before you shoot. Oh well, serves me right.

Anyways, imagine my surprise when I turn on the news, and there’s my face, front and center. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to have been shot in the face by Dick fucking Cheney, now the whole world knows about it. Oh well, I think to myself, at least I will get support from the general public. Headlines such as “American Hero Shot in Face, Rallies for Moral Support” spring to mind. Parades, and visitors. Support and admiration. But no.

Liberalists, Conservatists, and Communists all take delight in the situation. “Dick Cheney Shoots Man in Face” the newspaper reads. MAN!?!?!?!?! That’s all I get? That’s the recognition I get for being shot in the face by the Vice-President of the United States of America? The fucking Cherry Tree that George Washington cut down gets more recognition than me. Granted I understand that the fact that a senile political figurehead such as the vice president screws up this royally is humorous for the ‘common folk,’ but for shits sake people I got shot. I got shot in the goddamm face!

Now I’ll be the first one to laugh at anothers misfortune, it’s the American way. But while you’re all laughing at Dick Cheney for his symbolic screw up and immediate turn towards shoot first ask later, you seem to forget one simple problem. I GOT SHOT IN THE FUCKING FACE!!!! Dick Cheney shot a 78 Year Old man in the face, but don’t’ worry about me, you just enjoy your newspaper and oatmeal.

Here, I’ve got a proposition for you. If you can tell me my name right now, I’ll stop complaining. What’s that? No? No clue? Oh okay, that’s cool. Thanks CNN, Thanks Fox News, Thanks local news broadcast. It’s Harry Whittington, my name is Harry Whittington.

Don’t for a second think I don’t see the implications of this coming. My name will forever be synonymous with accidental facial shootings. Next time your girlfriend or whatever is going down on you, and you lose control and shoot all over her face, you can now avoid those awkward confrontations, and in a moment of acceptance simply pronounce:

“Whoops, you’ve been Harry Whittington-ed!”

She’ll think you’re hilarious, and you’ll feel smart for including such a keen and obscure pop culture reference. That is, assuming anybody ever remembers my name.

Oh well, I guess I’ve got a good story to tell the grandkids one day. In fact, forget all this animosity, I’m not mad at Dick Cheney. I mean, how many people can claim that they’ve been shot in the face, let alone by the Vice President of the United States. Other than Mrs. Cheney, of course.

Please don’t tell anybody it was Quayle hunting, though. That’s just fucking embarrassing.

Anyways, the next time you and your friends are laughing at your stupid senile vice president, just remember me. Remember that Dick Cheney did in fact shoot a person. Me. A 78 year old man. In the face. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a colostomy bag to fill.

Sincerely,

Harry “ow my face” Whittington

Harmful Arms and Unhandy Hands

I hate hands. I hate the 4 fingers and the opposable thumb on each one, I hate fingernails, I hate the palm. I hate arms, forearms, and elbows. Life would not only be simpler, but better if nobody had arms or hands. Why you ask? Well I’m glad you did, because if you didn’t this would have been a much shorter article. Where do I began?

So there you are, casually strolling down the street, checking out members of the opposite sex, and if you’re a female then probably thinking about shoes or something, when you catch your reflection in the window of the nearest ‘Starbucks.’ There’s something about the way you look, the way you’re walking that just doesn’t feel right, and then it hits you. It hits you harder than a priest at a preschool, your arms are not swinging while you walk. The stares, the gazes, the pointing, and the children crying, it all makes sense now. They weren’t laughing with you, they were laughing at you. You, trying your hardest not to look like the Bride of Frankenstein, start methodically swinging your arms at the same pace as your legs, thus not allowing you to think about shoes, or tits. Your walk is ruined, and you feel like an idiot. As you walk by dogs bark, and children start crying. Fire hydrants explode with water and full grown men pass out at the sight of your forced walk. You begin to panic. Ashamed and embarrassed by your arm inspired stride you speed up, and take off running, trying to escape your audience, your shame. As your legs pump faster and harder, you focus and try your hardest to swing your arms at the same beat. Left leg, right arm, right leg, left arm, left leg right arm, left leg left-- You screw up. You stumple and hop again on one leg. Struggling to regain your balance, while continuing your monotonous arm/leg synchronization you run into a woman, and her stroller gets away from her and starts rolling straight towards the street. You look and a truck is coming straight for the baby, who has now begun to cry. You run towards the baby. Left leg, right arm, right leg, left arm. You can’t focus, you’re stumbling, you’re not gonna make it. Screw it, you think, and arms being sucked down by gravity, two straight pieces of wood by your side you charge full force to the babies rescue. But it’s too late. The truck squishes both you and the baby, and now you’re dead. Both you and an infants life are now gone all because you had to swing your arms while you walked. Now is that really worth it?

I hate arms.

Think about how much more peaceful the world would be if nobody had arms or hands. That opening scene from ‘Saving Private Ryan,’ where the soldier runs by and picks up his own arm… that whole fiasco could’ve been avoided. Seriously, how can somebody be expected to fire a gun if he doesn’t have a hand? Imagine what wars would be like, groups of people running full blast at each other screaming and kicking as hard as they can. So there’ll be a significant increase in head butts and bruised shins, but at least we’d all be alive dammit. I know what you’re gonna say.

“But Ving, if we couldn’t use guns, then there would probably be an increase in the use of missiles”

Then a stupid little smirk comes across your face and you reward yourself with that ice cream sandwich that has been teasing you all afternoon and go watch Anime Porn. Well guess what… WRONG ASSHOLE!!!!! Lemme ask you this. If you had no hands how would you press the ‘Launch’ button? Huh? With your nose? Ridiculous. Moving on.

Handshakes. We’ve all been there, the boss, girlfriends dad, doctor, or OB/GYN extends their hand out awaiting your response. Of course you have to shake back, but there’s a problem, your palms are sweating. Casually sliding your hand up your pant leg, wiping ferociously but secretively so nobody notices, you extend it to his. This is where the alpha male shows his place. Who grabs hold firmest, who shakes, who leads. How hard do you squeeze? You have to have a firm grip, but squeeze too hard and it’s awkward. How long do you shake for? Normal professional handshake, or harlem brothers slapping hands, snapping, spinning, and dunking, ghetto handshake. Careful to maintain eye contact, don’t look down at your hand. He just put his other hand on my wrist, what do I do? This is going well, I think I’ve got it, he’s letting go, thank you jesus, everything’s okay. And then, turning away from you to talk to somebody else, it happens. You watch him casually slide his hand against his thigh, wiping off the sweat from your disgusting clammy hands.

This is assuming all goes well and there is a predetermined handshake. What about those times you meet somebody new and both of you wait for the other one to extend his hand, and neither of you do, leaving nothing but a casual nod. What if you extend your hand and they don’t see? Do you casually put your arm down and ignore the other people laughing, or do you demand a handshake. Or god forbid it’s a woman. Women are the worst, sometimes they’ll open wide for a hug, which is awesome, as long as you can hide your erection, but this is not always the case. Older women tend to have more firm handshakes, just imagine she has a penis and shake hard (the hand, not the penis), but younger women, and very feminine women, who have generally married rich, shake like girls. I think the best way to handle the limp handshake is too squeeze tight, and shake confidently. Perhaps the woman will be so amazed with your handshaking technique that she’ll strip down and screw you right there in the hallway. Another approach is to use both arms and pretend to jack-off her arm. Hopefully she’ll get the message and strengthen that arm, but if she doesn’t I highly recommend running away. I guess there is one simple point that I am trying to get across here.

I hate hands.

I know the strongest argument against this, and I totally agree and understand. Without hands, we couldn’t masterbate. You’re right, it sucks, but with the good comes the bad. Without hands, we also get rid of the blowjobs retarded cousin, the hand job. Women not willing to have sex with us, but so desperate not to get dumped will be forced to skip a step and open wide. Besides, if Edward Scissorhands can do it, so can you. Regardless, masturbation will be unnecessary and be completely replaced by our favorite national past-time, rape. No more pounding on my chest, no more nails cutting my back, no more mace. She won’t be able to push you off, or punch or scratch you. No more tears or blood, only good ol’ fashioned nonconsensual sex.

So there you have it, hands bad, rape good. Oh, I almost forgot the best aspect of no hands or arms. Insensitive assholes like me would be totally incapable of writing, I’m off to get a chainsaw and some paper towels, I suggest you do the same.

This Was a Bad Idea

Here I am again, back at Duffy’s farm. Oh look, there’s the farmer’s house, and there’s the chicken pen. Oh man, all these memories, that was an awesome field trip. The 2 hour bus ride was well worth it to groom the horses, watch the chickens, and feed the pigs. Porky was my favorite, his cute little snout, and curly tail, he was so adorable. I’m so happy I’m back again to see him, I only wish it was under different circumstances.

Well, we’re approaching his pen now, opening the gate, and we’re in. The circle forms, me and my boys, and I’m standing directly in front of Porky. My heartbeat rises, and a beat of sweat dribbles down my forehead, I’m nervous now. This bestiality gangbang, was a bad idea.

We all look around at each other, then in a moment of acceptance, Todd unzips. A loud squeal and we’re under way. Moments pass, and everyone’s fully naked. This is getting really awkward, what was I thinking? Damn those pop-ups. Damn you curiosity. Everybody seems so intense, am I the only one not totally into this? I pet Porky, he looks so peaceful. Everybody looks at me, egging me on. Even Porky’s snout rises as his mouth opens wide. I casually slide over one spot, I’m just not ready.

Is Todd still going? Wow, come on man, finish up. There’s other people waiting. Oh crap, he caught me looking at him. Now he’s giving me a weird stare. Dammit, now Todd’s gonna think I’m some kind of weirdo, checking him out while he’s fucking the pig. Come on, get it together.

Oh shit, I’m going limp, come on man, focus. Big tits, lesbians, blowjobs. Getting harder, come on push. PUSH. UNGHHHHHHHHH…… uh oh. Did I just fart? Everybody’s looking at me, I must have let one rip. Oh my god, did I shit myself? Is there a turd behind me, that would explain the giggles. Oh my god, this cannot be happening, change the subject man, take everyone’s focus off of you. Say something!

“TAKE IT PORKY, YOU LITTLE BITCH!!!!”

Everybody’s gaze shifts back to the pig. Take it Porky, you little bitch? Sex talk with a pig? Really? Did I just make an ass out of myself in front of the guys? Well this is just gonna be awkward Monday at the office. “Take it Porky” they’ll tease me. I’ll be the butt of every joke. Oh my god, what have I done?

Somebody spanked porky, okay, I’m clear now. There you go, Todd is finally finishing up, is he gonna pull out? Nope, guess not. Come on Todd, common courtesy man! Nobody's gonna want that hole now… oh, never mind. We’re all rotating a spot over now. Uh oh, I’m next to the rear. Maybe if I finish myself off, I won’t have to do anything. What the hell? I’m limp again!! Have I been flaccid this whole time. Come on, focus. Goddammit, I can’t get it up. Maybe if I--

Did Greg just grab a chicken? So now it’s a pig and a chicken. That’s ridiculous, there’s no way you’ll be able to fit it inside a chick-- never mind. That’s just messy. Will somebody shut that chicken up. This is nothing like I imagined it would be.

Beastiality just isn’t for me.

What? It’s my turn now? Oh… okay. I guess, I’ll just move in behind Porky here. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I grab firm hold of Porky’s behind and-- I CAN’T DO IT!!! I turn around and take off running. Ow, shit, I tripped over the fence. Now everybody’s laughing at me, oh god, this is embarrassing. Shit, that really hurt, I’m limping away from a bestiality gangbang, with all my friends laughing at me. I should just go back. What am I saying, I can’t go back. Oh man, this bestiality gangbang was a bad idea, now I need to quit and get new friends. This was a terrible idea.

I’m going Vegan.

Fight the Power!

We live in a harsh and cruel world. A world full of pain and sorrow, hate and intolerance. People die, hearts are broken, and television shows are cancelled. Life is hard, and there’s nothing we can do about it. There is one element, one force of nature, that holds us all back. It limits our potential and is the cause of all pain in the world. Nothing bad that happens to us is our fault, we are perfect, we are flawless, we are divine. Yet pain still exists in our lives and you know what? I blame George W. Bush.

High gas prices? War in the middle east? Political corruption and conspiracies?

I blame Bush.

The American President is slow-witted, incoherent, and indecisive. He is industry focused, and economically inclined. He rigged the election…twice, and is riding high on his father’s name and reputation. I’m so smart, I am the first person to ever make this rationalization, I should be president. Boy oh boy do I ever regret hating on Clinton now, he was a good president, yet we ripped on him just because he had his knob polished… and then lied about it under oath in front of the entire world.

I blame Bush.

We don’t want a president who is concerned over the American economy. Democracy is bad, and we wanna pay high prices for our oil….. Wait-- never mind. But war is bad!!! We should treat each other as we want to be treated. Recycle and save the whales. For that matter, Where’s Osama? George Washington would’ve stopped those airplanes. Did you know he chopped down a cherry tree? A MOTHERFUCKING CHERRY TREE!! Now there’s a President. None of this ‘Axis-of-evil’ bullshit. I bet you Abraham Lincoln never mispronounced Nuclear. It’s nuclear, not nucular, dumbass. Nope, not Abe. Abe was a real man, he knew how to run a country. Sure he was assassinated by an actor/model and had many illegitimate children with unknown mistresses, but clearly this is not Mr. Lincoln’s fault.

I blame Bush.

What kind of President allows intolerance to exist in the world? Sure the public services are great, but taxes? What the fuck? Hockey Lockout, Euthenasia, and the Avian Flu. Get yer shit together Dubya. I watch 2 hours of Rocky Balboa train and he loses to Apollo Creed? Morale victory my ass, where’s the remake George? The world is at war, terrorism is at an all-time high, and that rash on my ass isn’t getting any better.

I blame Bush.

George Bush just sat idly by while King Kong destroyed New York. We don’t want that, we want a leader who will stand up and fight, a leader who will take control, a leader who will take down a 20 foot gorilla climbing the Empire State Building. And for that matter, he did absolutely nothing to save Jesus. Go watch Passion of the Christ, where’s George Bush? I’ll tell you where, he was in Auschwitz drowning puppies.

Our O-Zone layer is depleting, traffic lights take too long to change, and my computer is loading really slow.

I blame Bush.

How can we all be expected to continue living our lives when we are bombarded with problems arising from the presence of George W. Bush? We can’t! When will somebody put an end to his reign of terror? I don’t know! Am I going to continue answering my own rhetorical questions? Apparently so!

I'm sorry if this entry is below par, you’ll have to excuse me. It wasn’t my fault.

Gratuitous Oscar Entry

The Oscars are officially over and it’s time to move on with our lives. No, I’m just fucking with you, it’s time for me to go over some highlights and observations for you, and for you to keep procrastinating and keep reading this. So without any further ado, I present to you:

The Rest of This Article

-Jon Stewart was funny, he did a great job. However, for one reason or another the celebrity audience refused to laugh. They just sat there, motionless, staring at the stage. It was like they were watching their grandparents having anal sex. Did I actually just say that? I blame television, DAMN YOU MTV!!!

- I love George Clooney. I’m not gay or anything, but at times, I wish I was catholic and he was a priest.

- Rachel Weisz’s tits were HUGE. Granted she was pregnant, but that didn’t stop my imagination or my right hand. My fantasy was ruined however, when I was trying in vain to scream out her name, but was unable to pronounce it. It’s okay though, Natalie Portman and Carmen Electra showed up, then George Clooney came to help me finish the job. Scratch that, I’ve said too much.

- “Memoirs of a Geisha” cleaned house taking home 3 Academy Awards, yet in none of those acceptance speeches did they apologize for ’Pearl Harbour.’ Intolerant bastards, let’s nuke them again.

- I thought Dolly Parton was dead. She’s like the Bride of Frankenstein, just a bunch of fake parts and leftovers from other people’s bodies formed around what I can only assume are two fat midgets under her shirt. If you saw the Oscars you know what I mean, those were the biggest breasts I’ve seen since-- well… Rachel Weisz. When we saw her, everybody I was with went into shock. We were laughing and joking and then cut to Dolly, and the room goes silent. A moment of silence as we mourn our loss or respect for the elderly. Ladies, please heed this warning: Do not get more than 3 facelifts and tummy tucks in your life or you will end up looking like Ms. Dolly Parton. A Barbie Doll thrown into a fire, and then molded back to form. As you age let those breasts drag along the floor, don’t just roll them up and staple them into a ball. If Dolly Parton were on the Titanic, there would be no losses of life, just grab onto Ms. Parton, and float back to shore. Gross.

-3-6 Mafia’s performance of ‘Hard Out Here for a Pimp’ was topped only by their acceptance of the Oscar. Watching those guys bounce around on stage must have been traumatizing for the audience. I can only imagine Jack Nicholson trying his hardest to not run in fear, gripping his armchair, face turning red, sweat dribbling down his collar. Priceless. Those guys are crazy. Paul Haggis, writer/director of ’Crash’ had to excuse himself to go to the ’bathroom,’ hell even the black guy from ’Crash’ shat his pants. I wonder how long it took those guys to sell the Oscar. Actually, on second thought, they probably just stole a whole bunch of them to put on their gun-- I mean, awards rack.

- Dear Homosexuals of the World. Yes, Brokeback Mountain was a good movie, but it’s not as groundbreaking as you think. You’re here, you’re queer, we’re fucking used to it, shut the hell up. Oh, and go return that stupid cowboy hat, you look ridiculous.

- Wallace and Gromit won for Best Animated Feature and the two British men who accepted wore two gigantically oversized bowties. They were so cute, and loveable, and virgins. What ever happened to the British? Oh that’s right, Hugh Grant had sex with that Yeti of a hooker. You make me sick. Go brush your teeth and get back to what you do best, Blowing flaming fags. I’M TALKING ABOUT SMOKING CIGARETTES! Jeez, has Brokeback Mountain not taught us anything?

-Ang Lee wins best director for Brokeback Mountain. What an artist, what a genius, what a brillia-- what’s that you say? This is the same Ang Lee that directed ‘The Hulk?’ Ang, get the fuck out of my country you hack. The catchphrase was ‘Hulk Smash’ not ‘Eric Bana transforms into a large green thing that still loves a woman, but must fight evil doctors, and his own genetics to overcome the monster he has become.’ I could’ve made that movie so much better. Here we go: The Hulk falls in love with Godzilla while they cross paths destroying the world and ‘smashing’ stuff. The Hulk must then kill his old lover, The Marshmallow Man from ‘Ghostbusters’ because he is insanely jealous. Somewhere here in the middle there will be a gratuitous lesbian sex scene, followed by a high speed car chase. The film will close with a kung fu fight, that ends with the Hulk impaling Marshmallow Man with an American flag. Not that’s a movie!

-Finally, Crash wins best picture. I would love to be in the room when the Academy voted on this.

Old Executive: If you think Crash should win Best Picture, please write ‘Crash’ on your ballot and pass it forward, if you feel any other film should win, please write ‘I am a Racist’ on your ballot, and then raise your hand so we may all shun you.

Paul Haggis wrote and directed this movie. He has only written one other screen play and it was that of ‘Million Dollar Baby.’ I know what you’re thinking, “Million Dollar Baby was good,” and please believe me when I tell you that one day you’ll realize that your opinion is wrong, and you are, in fact, stupid. Million Dollar Baby was not well written. It’s a touching story of an underdog woman boxer and the companionship she finds in her elderly boxing coach, then BAM, Paul Haggis gets bored, and decides to kill the bitch. Oh yeah, Spoiler Alert. We go from an imaginary sports movie to Terri Schiavo. Boxing boxing boxing boxing boxing boxing EUTHANASIA! And Paul Haggis is laughing all the way to the bank.

Back to ‘Crash.’ MSNBC's Erik Lundegaard said it perfectly:

“Yes, we all bear some form of racism — that’s obvious. Yes, we
all “stereotype” other races in some fashion — that’s obvious.
(Particularly obvious in the Los Angeles of “Crash,” where so many
characters are stereotypes.) But, no, we don’t easily give voice to
our racist sentiments. And that’s why “Crash” rings so false

...The most potent form of racism in this country is no longer overt
but covert. Once upon a time, yes yes yes, it was overt, which is
another reason why “Crash” sucks. It’s doing what simple-minded
generals do: It’s fighting the last war.”

If you wanna see a well made movie that deals with racism see Spike Lee’s “Do the Right Thing,” or Jamie Kennedy’s “Malibu’s Most Wanted.”

There, I’m done, now you can move the fuck on. If anybody has a copy of the Batman with George Clooney, lemme know. Until then, I’m fantasizing about milking Rachel Weisz.

I Swear I'm Not Gay

Let me just begin by stating for the record that I am a heterosexual. I am as much a man as a man could possibly be. I am the epitome of masculinity and you can only aspire to acquire the levels of testosterone that flow through my body on a regular basis.

Now, with that being said, ‘The Notebook’ is a good movie. Yes, I’ve seen the notebook at least 7 times, and I get a little choked up when Ryan Gosling calls Rachel McAdams a bird, and they embrace.
“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird”
IT’S A GOOD FUCKING MOVIE. The cinematography is breathtaking, and it’s gut wrenching and heart warming to watch theset two lost souls find each other. Watching Ryan Gosling transform from a hopelessly in love teenage boy into a man so devoted to the woman he can’t have that his false illusions of having her run his life is beautiful.

I’m not gay.

Sure, every once in a while I like to take a hot bubble bath. It feels good, fuck you.

I’m not gay.

So every once in a while my roommate and I blast romantic love ballads and sing along. It’s Hard for Me To Say I’m Sorry, by Chicago, is a good song.
“After All that we’ve been through, I will make it up to you. I promise to.”
IT’S CATCHY.. Fuck you

I’m not gay.

I like to watch heterosexual porn. Nothing turns me on more than big titties. Female equality is bullshit.

See, I’m not gay.

So I shop at American Eagle, and I hate the taste of beer. IT TASTES BAD. Fuck you…

I’m not gay.

I wax my hair with Alberto Fibre Putty, and like the taste of coolers. That doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure lots of other people do… FUCK YOU!

I’m not gay.

I love lesbians. I don’t care that I have no chance with a woman that isn’t sexually interested in my gender, it’s not like I stand a chance with Jill Kelly, or Jenna Jameson, anyway. I just enjoy watching women go at it. Titties are good. Yeah. YEAH! BOOOOOBS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m not gay.

So I don’t watch Football, and I don’t go clubbing. Who the fuck are you to judge me?

I’m not gay.

I listen to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and have fantasies of sexual activities with my grade school teachers. I have masturbated to a picture of Tomb Raider’s Lara Croft. I AM A MAN!!!!

I burp in public and find nothing funnier than a loud fart during any type of emotional exchange. I read Tucker Max and own a plaid shirt. I enjoy playing video games, and when I lose I whip the controller into the ground as hard as I can.

I am delusional about my strength, and believe that everything I say is right, and everybody else’s opinion is wrong, especially if that person is a female. I am a very masculine man. I could beat up the Hulk.

I’m not gay.

There’s hair on my ass, and I don’t care. Once when I was younger I picked up a coal in the Sauna, then I laughed at the face of god. I do not understand the concept of pain. I go bungee jumping, and jump out of airplanes without a parachute. I have a water cooler full of vodka that I have to replace daily. I both play in a band, and whip beer bottles at them. I freestyle, and wear pants just above my knees.

I definitely am not gay.

I steal money from hobos, and beat up little girls who try to sell me girl scout cookies. I use garbage bags as condoms, and eat kittens. When I flex, worlds explode. I once had an arm-wrestle with Hulk Hogan. My strength and levels on manliness were too much too handle and his head immediately exploded. He now is nothing more than an elaborate CGI experiment.

When I play laser tag, people die. I once got into a fight with a Gorilla. Later that night, I had Gorilla stew. I eat steak raw, bench press school buses, and referee hobo fights. I am so much of a man. I make Chuck Norris look like Clay Aiken. I have died 17 times, but Satan’s too petrified to let me in. I invented the concept of pain.

Whatever I say, goes! And guess what? The Notebook was a good movie.

I swear I’m not gay.

The Baseball Bat of Justice

I’ll be the first person to admit that majority of the content you’ll find on television nowadays is total junk. However, from time to time there is a truly revolutionary, or groundbreaking concept or idea, and if you’re lucky enough to tune in at the right time to the right place you may just witness this rare event. Today, I was that lucky person. The program I got to see was a justice show called ‘An Eye for an Eye.’ However, this was no regular television justice show. Oh no, this particular show had a vision.

It began with a large officer of the court wearing his dark lensed Ray Bans announcing that the judge was ready to lay the beat down. The audience, which I assume were left overs from the Jerry Springer Show, then went wild, until the white judge, dressed in jeans and running shoes, came to his seat, after screaming “WHOOOO, WHOOOO.” He then introduced the Plaintiff and Defendant, who had signs indicating that they were the Plaintiff and Defendant, just in case the judge, fully equipped with his High School degree, forgot. The plaintiff and defendant then screamed at each other for 10 minutes, while the judged laughed, stalling for time in an attempt to sober up. While this show sounds like just another piece of trash, it had one special redeeming feature that transcended it from it’s genre. Instead of a gavel the judge had a baseball bat with the word “Justice” transcribed onto the side of it. I quickly changed the channel when I realized that Maury was starting, but I can only assume that the judge beat the loser to or at least close to death.

It was then that the genius struck me. How much easier would life be, if you had your very own Baseball Bat of Justice? Just imagine, you’re sitting at a red light, waiting for the light to turn green so you can floor it and embarrass the smart-ass beside you, who had the audacity to casually glance your way, when out of nowhere some homeless man offers to clean your window. “No,” you say, “that’s okay, please don’t,” but it’s too late. His dirty rag is on your windshield making little circles, dirtying up your already clean piece of plexi-glass, and on top of that, this asshole is expecting a tip. Well you’ve got a tip for him, you reach into the backseat and pull out your ‘Little Slugger’ baseball bat of justice. POW! One shot right to the side of the head. Judge, jury, and executioner all rolled up into one little piece of wood. You climb back into your car and slam it back into drive. You don’t put on your seatbelt because seatbelts are for pussies, and as soon as that light changes you SLAM that pedal to the metal, and pull out of there. That is, at least, until the next red light.

Or you could get a friend to share in the fun. You’re standing in line at McDonalds, and you finally make it to the front. “Can I have an Egg McMuffin?” You politely inquire. “I’m sorry, we stop serving breakfast at 10.” Moment of silence and reflection as your gaze moves from the 44 year old Philipino behind the counter, up to the clock which displays the time of ‘3:46,’ and then across to your friend, who stares back at you knowingly. “Say Chad,” I of course am assuming your friends name is Chad, and even if its not, the McDonald’s clerk doesn’t know that, so you might as well pretend his/her name is Chad, because that’s an awesome name. “Say Chad,” you calmly ask, “how do you find?” Smirk on “Chads” face he instinctively replies, “Your honor, I find the defendant, guilty on counts of being a bitch.” And before Ms. Ng knows what just transpired she’s unconscious on the floor, with her blood dripping down the side of your handy Baseball Bat of Justice.

This thing can be used pretty much anywhere. Children misbehaving? One whack should set ‘em straight. Wife/Mom overcook the turkey? WHAM!! Quick swing to the side of the face should teach’er her lesson. Police officer pull you over for speeding? CRACK! Right to the cranium, and floor it. A good ol’ fashioned baseball bat of justice is both fun and practical. Nothing says I love you like a wooden piece of wood across the face. SMASH!!! “Happy Anniversary Honey, now pick up your teeth and bake me a cake!”

They’d be easy to get too. You walk up to the cash register holding a Baseball Bat of Justice, nobody is stupid enough to ask for some money. That’s the first thing they’d teach you in training. If anybody asks you to pay for your BBOJ then you give them a quick shot to the side of the head. Nobody fucks with you when you’ve got a Baseball Bat of Justice. “Enjoy your complimentary Bat sir, have a wonderful day,” the cashier will say, and BAM you give him a warning pop to the temple just because you fucking can.

In my world the police system is more efficient. No more paper work, and organizing criminal records, it’s not necessary. First of all, with the availability of these bats, everybody’s a criminal, second of all, police Baseball Bat[on]s of Justice will have the word ‘Justice’ elevated, so when they pop you in the forehead, it’s imprinted and the world knows that you’re a criminal. Thieves and crooks have to wear this “JUSTICE” mark of shame for the world to see. The general public will be safer, we’ll know who’s a criminal, and we’ll have the opportunity to preemptively defend ourselves by beating these people with our Baseball Bats of Justice. The system is flawless. Bulletproof.

Come to think of it, there are some people I know that need to be taught a lesson or two. I’m going to prepare myself for this new wave of the future, and get the ball rolling. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a baseball bat and some paint to go buy.

Time Capsule of Awesome!

Today’s fads suck. Our celebrities are lame, our interests are uninteresting, and the music sucks. The cool funny people, the hip music, and the awesome-tastic fads of yesteryear have been replaced by sexual equality, environmental friendliness, and teen angst. As I write this I have yet to do any research, so if the results are not up to your comedic expectations please do not hesitate to get bent. With that being said, I ask you:

What the fuck happened to….

HANSON: You may recognize Hanson from such hits as ‘Mmmmbop,’ and if you recognize any other songs of theirs, than you’ll be glad to know that the Hanson brothers are still touring. Yup, they’re still at it producing hits like, well--’Mmmmbop.’ Unfortunately Taylor Hanson hit puberty causing his voice to drop 2 octaves, and their success as a “boy” band, well…. dwindled. Don’t be surprised if they decide to grow their hair back out and pose as a Girl Group unaware that that fad has indeed, ended. Oh well, at least they can live happy knowing that they produced such great hits as…..”Mmmmbop.”



COCAINE: Remember cocaine? Neither do I, I was born into Generation X (fuck you MTV), but I’m sure my parents do. Cocaine used to be the drug. Nowadays, all you ever hear about is Marijuana, I mean what kind of pussy ass shit is that? You’re smoking a plant!! For Christ’s sake, it’s legal in parts of Canada and….elsewhere. Hospitals give that shit out. You don’t see Cancer patients with catheters full of heroine, pumping through their bodies, or the sick doing lines of coke in the bathroom stalls. I say we replace medicinal marijuana with cocaine, sure it wouldn’t be practical of make any sense, but imagine how much fun it would be to be sick. Come on people, you saw ‘Patch Adams’ if that movie taught us anything it’s that as long as you die laughing, good riddance… and also that Robin Williams just isn’t as funny when he’s patronizing fatally ill children. What was I talking about? Oh right, cocaine. It’s still there, you just have to ask a hobo, or wall street broker.


MR. T: Who gives a shit? Move the fuck on!










BLACK PEOPLE ON TV: I’m not talking about these token black actors (see: Mr T) I’m talking about all-out black people with their own T.V shows. Family Matters, now that show was hilarious for several reasons (see: cocaine) but most of all, it was educational. Back when I was younger and living in my rich secluded white neighbourhood, I didn’t know anything about black people. NOBODY DID, not even black people. Family Matters showed us that some black families did have money, some black children did go to school and read and write, some African Americans were as intelligent or more intelligent than the white minority, and it showed us that a black man has the capability of not running out on his family. Fresh Prince of Bel-Air pretty much undid all the good Family Matters accomplished, but man oh man, Will Smith is one crazy nigga, ain’t he? What I miss the most is the old WB. Before this ‘I’m-rich-and-sexy-but-I-can’t-choose-between-my-teenage-model-girlfriend-or-
her-equally-sexy-and-more-experienced-mom’ television fad. I’m talking back in the good ol’ days, when they had a number of shows featuring predominantly black actors/characters who were constantly yelling and endorsing our preconceived stereotypes in the hopes that their careers will last just one more season. Back when they named the shows after their black celebrity stars. I miss such classics as ‘The Steve Harvey Show,’ ‘The Wayans Bros,’ and ‘The Jamie Foxx Show.’ I guess the racist WB presidents realized that the African community had an entire television station devoted to them, and this was, quite simply, too much exposure. In fact, If you make a backwards checkmark on your key board starting from the “W” on the left, down to the “B” then you finish on a “K,” as in KKK!!!! Damn you hate mongrels, BOYCOTT THE WB!















Sorry, Black History Month just ended, had to get it out of my system.

ROBERT VAN WINKLE: Who the fuck is Robert Van Winkle? Jinx! RVW is none other than Vanilla Ice. How can somebody write a ‘What the Fuck Happened To….” article and leave out the MVP, Vanilla Ice. So what the fuck happened to Vanilla Ice after his ‘Under Pressure’ rip-off success, “Ice Ice Baby”? Well, he appeared as himself in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze. He got married, and was later charged with Domestic Abuse after ripping some of her hair out. In 1999 he added another award to his trophy shelf, when he won the #9 lamest music video of all time. Most recently, however he appeared on Fox’s ‘Celebrity Boxing’ where he lost to Diff’rent Strokes star, Todd Bridges, by unanimous decision. He now sings Christian rock. There’s nothing funnier than laughing at ‘Vanilla Ices’s misfortune and failure… that is until you realize that he tried to kill himself in 1994. I hope you’re proud of yourself, you worthless scum.

THE PILL: What the fuck happened to the Pill? I’m not even attempting to offer an answer here, but wasn’t there a day when the onus fell on the woman not to get pregnant? I’m not saying the Pill isn’t around anymore, but there was a time (or so cable television has led me to believe) that the Birth Control pill was the first and last means of defense against Pregnantitis. Men spew millions of sperm from their penis’s on a daily basis, and with the exception of Courtney Love, Christina Aguilera and my hot neighbor, most woman can’t make the claim that that many things enter them that often. We can’t be responsible for making sure that the hundreds of millions of sperm we spew per year doesn’t penetrate your egg fortress, take some damn initiative ladies. Besides, if a guy knocks a girl up, he can always just move, woman have to carry, birth, then complain about how hard it is to raise the child, as if millions of people before her haven’t done it. The condom fad has passed; I say we bring the ‘Pill’ back to mainstream, and while we’re at it, what happened to the Sponge? That thing was awesome! Just imagine what today’s marketing departments could do with that bad boy? Shoving a little Spongebob Squarepants into your vagina, squished up against the cervix, getting pounded by some strange guys dick head. Awesome. Anyways, the day of the condom is done, so ladies, if you get pregnant, stop bitching about it, and put a cork in it! (That was by far the wittiest pun I’ve ever written.

I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that life moves quickly, and you should appreciate it while you still can. Enjoy and cherish the things around you. Be thankful for the things you have because they’ll become obsolete and uncool faster than you can say LaserDisk.