Category: Status Quo

Your sheep-like patterns observed.

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Editorial News Politics Society Status Quo World

A land called the Soviet Union

I started with “jerk off into a cup” – a natural launching point.

Holy dicks, what fucking day is it? Is it time for another? Yes it is.

I spent the day dealing with some very friendly people about a very unfriendly bill that has been sent to collections by way of some unpaid tuition at my money-grubbing University. Those bastards think they’re going to get $2,000 out of me, well they’ve got another thing coming. I’ll give them at least $12,000 more by the time I’m done with them! Those bastards will be swimming so deep in my hard-earned cash they won’t know what hit ’em. They’ll drown in US currency. They’ll have to buy up some more ghetto just to make room for the new cash I want to give them for a degree next year.

That’s where I’m at now – it’s time to buy my degree. I’ve worked at papers and written and photographed and traveled and interviewed and even kissed Jane Fonda’s ass, as every reporter does at some time, or must do on their deathbed, lest they enter the gates of Heaven unscathed by a tired old clash of grandfatherly ideals. So now I’m paying for it, because you see it’s not your experience the industry wants; it’s not your carisma, or your talent or your motivation or even your childish enthusiasm they’re after. No, they want to know that you, too, shelled out an amount of dough greater than or equal to the worth of their own degrees before they’ll even open a god damn portfolio. So be it. I’ll buy the fucking thing and I’ll do it the honest way: by taking money for my sperm downtown.

Sure, I can jerk off into a cup. Have I ever done it before? Not in a cup, no. In a receptacle, maybe, and into a cup indirectly, but never “squirt in the cup, put a lid on it, enjoy your James ma’am.” Five, ten, fifteen years down the road, there could be me: child to a lesbian couple, or perhaps a hardline feminist with filed-down teeth and big gums who wears heavy red flannel and treks out to middle-school-age little league games where she is a stranger. That’s what I want for myself, right now. That’s my goal.

Really, it’d be nice to get all doped up and go to the dentist. My teeth are holier than the bulletproof Pope-mobile. I’m more sensitive to them, too. You can’t see the Pope in his little squad-wagon anymore. They don’t show him. I wish they would. As a child I used to love witnessing the Pope-mobile. It was hilarious. That was before I knew how to jerk off, much less into a cup. And that brings me back to it. Would the pope jerk off into a cup (assuming he had the capacity to engage in a sexually taxing activity like physical masturbation) to save a dying woman’s legacy? How about his own?

I hear we are winning in Iraq so now we’re moving to Afghanistan. Hopefully we will see the same success over there and we can even replicate it in Iran. The UN Chief would like to see that. Sooner or later we’re going to have to go dick against balls with Russia and it’s going to be gritty and you will not see a fear more sinister, more urgent than that which will be pumped out of live television, radio and telegraph broadcasts in our lifetimes on that fateful day when Russian bombers imposing over our inland suburbs like chicken-hawks. The pilots have to use the bathroom, too. “Is that frozen piss-sleet hitting the roof, honey, or is that napalm? I’ll check it this time, you went out last time…”

More on this, as events unfold.

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Editorial Status Quo

Opinion: Just Because I Live At This Apartment Complex Doesn't Mean You Have The Right To Look At Me

Yeah, okay so I haven’t done this whole ear wax blog stuff yet because I don’t have to. But recently this Lebal Drocer company asked me to write something or they’d stop the nitrocious flow of cash that I’ve been getting for over 5 months now (its sweet, believe me loomwads). So I decided to write up a little opinion column for this little waxing elf enthusiast website (seriously what the hell kinda brokeback name is that anyway?)

So recently in the World of Nitro, I’ve began to notice a little trend that I’m not too keen about. It seems like ever since I moved from New Jersey (It’s Jerstrocious!) to this pitiful state, everyone just stares me down like a leper every time I step foot outside. What gives?!? Sometimes I’ll be simply grabbing a 48-pack of brews from the Nitromobile. Other times I’ll be just checking my mailbox, filtering out all the billz and wal-mart junk(the PITS!) and minding my own nitro business(as always). But no matter what, if the Nitrocity himself is outside, you better believe some complete noobody(noob+nobody, quote me!) will be staring me down like I was a TV set.

Now, you gotta realize the scale of noobwads that I get glares from. Its damn near everyone, dudes. The fat, single Tony Soprano-looking dude walking his yappy dog, the guys that believe they are in some kinda rap video at all hours, the fat ugly girls who just sit outside for no reason other than to be annoying, even the wastes of existence that live directly around me (“neighbors” as you call them). I realize you guys are just trying to live (very boringly), but c’mon, you don’t need to bring me down to your level. I got better fish to cook! I realize my hair is longer than yours, my wardrobe cooler than your nicest outfit, my lifestyle more nitrocious than your best night, but there’s no need to stare. Staring won’t get you any closer to being nitrocious. So next time, you happen to be outside, begging for attention with your disposable garbage music (play some Springsteen at least!), walking your dog in hopes of picking up college chicks, or drinking Budweiser Lights at the microscopic pool(seriously I’ve pissed bigger puddles), just ignore my presence because your not getting a free performance or a beer bong to the face out of it.

I’m starting to ramble so i’ll make my point simple: Just because we share the same apartment complex does not give you ANY right to look anywhere near my direction. There’s a million things to look at outside: the shitty cars, the shitty pool, the shitty other people who live here. Why must you choose me to point your vision-producing spheres at? Just because I am a renowned karaoke singer and all-around badass does not mean I’m your toy monkey banging cymbals. I perform for a minimum of 7 figures and unwarrantedly looking my direction just makes that figure rise as well as my inner-rage to shatter your face.

You don’t want to end up like this dude.


Whatever noobs, I’m gonna go get nitrocious. Jim Beam to da face!

Oh yeah, and coming soon, losers…
Just Because I Go To This University Does Not Mean You Have The Right To Look At Me.
Just Because I’m At This Drive-Thru Does Not Give You The Right to Take My Order.

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Editorial Law Local News Politics Society Status Quo Uncontrollable Patriotism

IGNORANCE FOR PRESIDENT

Two political candidates are fighting to be The One who gets your vote this November (that’s only a figure of speech, your votes aren’t actually counted).Of them, both are liars, and the third?What’s his name, Loser McCain (L), he wants war so nobody’s voting for him.If you don’t understand that, then look around you.We’re more at war with ourselves thanIraq.Iraq?TheIraq War?What a sham.

The whole point of it is to keepAmericain the throes of its State-Issued Nervous Breakdown of 2008, not too dissimilar from its counteraction to the Summer of Love forty years prior, except this time instead of Love there was Fear and nobody in particular is at the wheel of this negative driving force.

Of course, that means for you there is something like one hundred thousand reasons to hide from your own government because technology is being used against us as a means for control.The Feds don’t show up at your house for nothing, no they appear because they’ve been watching your activity.They know what you download and know more about what you upload, so watch yourself.Images, words, video, information, a war on knowledge itself is being waged against not only Americans but humanity and what is forbidden is a regional delicacy, much like snails in France and cats in China.It all tastes bitter, though.

Sometimes all I really want from you fuckers is the ability to piece together a reasoning thought, but you can’t really do that, can you?No, that’s why you voted for Bush the second time around—because you’re an unthinking peon of the servant masses who is so easily swayed by the messages mass media is shoving down your throats that maybe you think it tastes good to act in favor of what the “adults” are doing.Well, I’ve got news for you kids, bad fucking news (but what does that mean? Good news is news too, right? Yeah, get a grip you tool) and it’s about some shit you aren’t willing to understand; think about this election right now.Really think about what the candidates mean to you.What’s the difference in John McCain and Barack Obama, and why aren’t people making more jokes about these losers?Is it because the political machine has managed to elude even the highest form of humor?Is this the Bible Incarnate?Far from it, but it may still yet be a signal of the apocalypse, if you consider the implications of any of these political jokers and compare it to your own basis for reason, which may or may not hinge on the conditional truth of a Sunday Hour Fairy Tale, brought to you by the Southern Baptists and Pedophile Catholics.This just in, you’re a whore.

So what do they mean to us, Galloway?Enlighten your readers.Well, that choice is yours.Wal-Mart or K-Mart?Sheetz or the WaWa?Constriction, or the Illusion of Freedom?Forget the Republican.People are sick of the GOP.If he gets elected, well we can go ahead and prepare for the freezing over of the Old Testament realization of Hell and settle in for a long Nuclear Winter.Buy canned spinach.So now you have a choice between someone who’s going to baldly lie to your face because you expect a little “politicking” from your elected leader (that’s how you know they’re doing their damn jobs), or someone who is going to lead you down a dead-end path of contrived forced progressivism.The choice is yours.Most of you have already voted.My sources are telling me you voted as I knew you would, and for your own sake probably should, so at this point I can only offer my apologies on behalf of the system that has failed us all again.If I had anything to do with it, you can bet your ass I’d write a very loud-mouthed bill that would not even be considered for a legitimate proposal and subsequent vote before the House or Congress – but we all know that as an institution they too have failed us and the Executive, Legislative and Judicial branches are so out of whack that the poison is visibly oozing from them – internet porn rings, pedophilia, whorehouses, gay bathhouses – all part of the Washington Routine that you read about every week in the Post.But fuck pretending to be the president for your own crippled speculation. Oh, what the Hell, if I were president, I’d deactivate the nationally accredited police force and let the cannibals, thieves, dope fiends, degenerates, plane hijackers, murderers, rapists, junkies, and local state representatives pick your fucking bones clean because I despise you as a people, as a nation, as a fifty-year-old man sucking on his mother’s tits, because you’re a failure of an overweight Nation and you’re even a failure as a complacent people, and you’re a failure as a society, and you need to be brought down off that fucking high horse you’ve been trouncing around on since you discovered higher levels of consciousness behind the peel-off-and-win Burger King cup.

Getting back to my point:I loathe your existence.Your presence is poison.But here you’ll always be, populating this Fair Country, nodding in agreement to Dr. Phil and Judge Joe Brown, wishing more people were like Oprah, and guffawing at the atrocities CNN occasionally shows taking place in countries like Sudan and North Korea only to forget about it when your chunky butterball wife pulls another burned pot roast out of the oven in hopes that it makes your dick just hard enough to slide into her arid, sticky vagina long enough to deposit your Pepsi-ridden seed before falling flaccid at the sudden awareness of what you truly are in that orgasmic moment of painful, anus-itching realization that life, and indeed control over your life snuck away when you weren’t looking.

But either candidate can and indefinitely will ensure continuance of the aforementioned lifestyle.So go on.Fear and Ignorance is on the ticket. Vote for it.