If I Was an Upside Down Bag of Poop...

If I was a tampon, I would be totally fine with hanging out all day in a vagina, what I would hate, however, is being dragged out of the garbage and chewed on by a dog.

If I was a gas station, I would stop selling snacks and instead I would only sell shoes and matches.

If I was Paris Hilton I would hang out with a ten foot tall dehydrated vagina. Sometimes, I'd send the vagina on vacation to Africa and I'd hire interesting negro witch doctors to poke at it with pitchforks. I'd lay awake in bed trying to feel the pokes too because I always thought it would be freaky to have a twin.

If I was Sam Donaldson's eyebrows, I would so rule when I coined the freedom call: "Don't Be a Pushy, Dare to Be Bushy!" when I received the lifetime achievement award at the annual NAAPB (National Association for the Advancement of Push Brooms) awards banquet.

If I was an upside down bag of poop with pulsating face cancer and an ugly little red headed girl's voice, I would probably get my feelings hurt when people called me Aaron Neville because that guy dresses like a total fag.

If I was the mole on Aaron Neville's face I would donate all the real estate from my northern prairies to the cliffs and snow covered peaks in my southern most regions to Habitat for Humanity. The homeless would finally live in a land made entirely of blueish beef jerky and nobody would ever again notice that they smelled like pee. That's what we call a two-fer.

If I was a peanut and it was 1979, I would tell everybody that Jimmy Carter was my dad but that he never acknowledged me. Then, four years later I would find Amy and slip her a roofie. 9 months later a peanut bush would grow out of her vagina and then the word would be "incest". Suddenly people would stop looking all stink-eyed at Billy. Even the homeless would snicker at poor ol' Jimmy. HA HA, I said snicker -- get it? Peanuts? Holy shit I am topical.

If I was a really boring blog post I would ---- wait a minute --- what are you trying to say? Are you trying to get me to say that I am boring? merkley??? well take this - kljhhklju ajklrbsdh vksdghjv and THAT loihzsdffl!!! .asjkhvb ;akljhdsf vlkj!!! and take one of these too louifhgmspoierg onifsfdoisrrnocvao;i56p9834989yfbn!! HA!! That'll teach you to call a blog post boring. ------ Oh quit bawling you little queer, It's only a bloody nose. Why don't you just show everybody one of your fruitcake pictures of one of those pretty girls that you always pretend that you hang out with.

OK, maybe I will -- and I'm not pretending -- I actually know all of these girls.

Yeah -- OK, whatever you say you bloody nosed homo.

Don't believe him, I know all of these girls, and I'm not gay. Here is a picture I took of my friend Yana. I don't think she'd get in her underwear for just anybody -- I think it's obvious that I know her and that she trusts me and admires my talent.

Yeah -- whatever --- faggot.

You're the fag.

Wanna have sex?

Fine -- sure -- whatever --- get the grease.

That's all for now!
Don't get caught staring at a really old woman's shriveled up boobs! No -- wait --- DO get caught. Really old ladies love that shit. You might even hook up. SWEET!

Boring Is Worse Than Murder.

That's all really.

Except I'd rather hang out in a grave with that dead, brains-hanging-out, kooky indian kid who shot up the assholes at his school than hear your stupid recycled BORING political punditry one more time. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!! (all of my readers and friends exempted). Please -- for the love of god, go out and gang rape some nuns -- just don't bore me with your stupid arguments about how Michael Moore at least "get's people to think". If the nuns don't turn you on, you can even gang rape ME. Pour acid in my anus ----- In fact --- ANYTHING -- but please please please oh dear Jesus Christ in an easter basket please.... STOP BEING SO EXCRUCIATINGLY BORING!!! Ouch. That actually hurt my head.

And another thing, Death From Above 1979 tonight, around the corner at my pal Michael O'Connor's place, The Independent. All I'm saying is that it's too bad the rest of the band couldn't make it. The show would have probably rocked.

Now here is a lovely picture I took of my beautiful friend Maria. She is one of the nicest, sexiest, human ladies on the planet and she puts up with me more than any person ever should.

Holy crap she is hot.
Did I mention I am drunk? I'm sure Maria already guessed that.

Jesus Always Loved Me More Than Your Average Asshole

In 1979, when I was 13, Jesus once again proved his greater love for me over my very own sister.

Erika, my less loved sister, had been dialing the local radio station all day long --- like non-stop dialing, her fingers were broken and bleeding from so much dialing dialing -- to win a radio contest. They were giving away a record or something. I really was hoping that she would win, but she seemed so desperate I just didn't feel like it was going to happen. But still, dial she would. I mostly heard all of this from the other room. I had the inclination a few times to pick up one of the other phones and tell her she had won and then just mail her one of my mom's crappy Lettermen records.

My sister was pretty easily fooled.

I used to tell her airplanes were flying saucers. She would say;

"NUH UH, that's a plane, I'm not stupid."

Then I'd say,

"No seriously, the newer flying saucers all look like planes and they follow the same flight paths to stay undetected."

Then she'd get all nervous looking and say;

"What should we do? What should we do?"

Then I'd freak her out even more, maybe even convincing her to hide in the bathtub for a half an hour... She was older than me by 2 years, I did variations of this same trick bilions and bilions of times and it always worked.

Anyway, back to how Jesus loved me more than her.

So she's dialing like a crazy person dialing - hang up - dialing - hang up -- dial -- hang up.. finally in complete exasperation and defeat, she slammed the phone down.

I said;

"Dial one more time"

She said very frustratedly:

"NOOOUAH, somebody already won."

"What's the number?"

"976-KRSP"

I picked up the phone and dialed ---- and if you can't guess what happened by the title to this post well then you are a fucking idiot.

I WON! first try.

Anyway, you'd think my sister would have been mad, sad, jealous or pissed, but that's just because you don't understand what a wonderful, caring person my sister has always been. She got so excited and happy for me that she started to cry. It was like she won only better. And she really was happy for me. It wasn't fake.

That's the part of this story that proves that Jesus always loved me more than your average asshole. Because that little Easter Bunny motherfucker gave me the weirdest, most gullible and wonderful sister a brother could ever hope for. She won't even be mad at calling her gullible here on the internet. She'll just tell me how funny and talented I am and I'll scare her about UFOs. It's a beautiful relationship we have. I'm not joking.

Anyway, the record was "The Eagles -- The Long Run" -- my mom had to drive me to pick it up. That is when I learned that all DJ's are nerdy, booger eating, swamp dwelling trolls and all radio stations are located in a stinky, moldy, trailer in the very same swamp.

Now here's a picture I took of my wonderful sister Erika. -- She has 5 kids. The oldest is in college.

It is Possible That I Am A Dick

But they were walking too fucking slow. Learn from the Canadians already and pull over. LET ME BY!

There were two dudes carrying DJ record boxes, with two chicks in tow. I tried to pass them but they were hogging the whole fucking sidewalk. Finally, I got right behind them and said:

"Let me guess, (pointing at each one as I go) DJ, DJ's Bitch (the other dude) DJ's bitch's bitch, and bitch."

Anyway, they got a slightly frightened look on their collective face and let me by. I suppose I could have just said "excuse me", but then I wouldn't have written my new hit single; "It Is Possible That I Am A Dick."

Now here's a picture I took of my friend Sheri Sheridan.

We're The Closest Family Ever

This is how close we are.

I helped my dad set up his own blog. To see if it was working and was registering with Google, I googled his name, Ben Merkley. Yup there it is, right at the top. But wait, what is this? ---- Hmnnnnnn, it's my dad making some kind of comment in The Deseret News, that's Salt Lake City's biggest paper. Oh looky there, turns out my very own brother Dan and his wife were in the Malidive Islands when the tsunami hit.

Salt Lake City resident Ben Merkley said his son and daughter-in-law were on a small atoll in the Maldive Islands when the killer waves hit. Fortunately, Dan Merkley and his wife, Marshawn, escaped injury because their island happened to be sheltered by a larger island that took the brunt of the hit.
"They could see the water rising, and it came to the top of the beach," Ben Merkley said, after speaking Sunday by cell phone with his son, an actor who portrayed park ranger Tartan Jones in this summer's Mormon-theme movie, "Baptist At Our Barbecue."

Considering that the couple had considered Sri Lanka as a vacation destination and had also spent the previous day on Male, which "was inundated with water," Ben said he was grateful the couple was unharmed.
"I was astounded," he said. "It all missed them by only a hair's breadth."

Apparently this news is big enough to print in one of the nations big newspapers but not big enough to tell me, the coolest member of our family. I have to find it out from Google. THREE MONTHS LATER!

Granted, I have 17 siblings. But sheesh, one of them narrowly escaped death by the fucking god damn tsunami, THE BIGGEST NATURAL DISASTER OF MY LIFETIME! Make a frickin' phone call.

We're so close.

My vegetable. MINE!!

So I ran into Michael and Terry Schaivo in the produce section at Safeway.

???: Hey, nice retard ya got there, what's her name?

MS: Her name is Terry. She is not a retard. She has absolutely no thought and no feeling. She is a vegetable. She's my wife.

???: Hmmmn... Who is that other lady?

MS: Thats' my girlfriend.

???: Sweet... very progressive. I like. You three look happy together, Why is Terry smiling?

MS: That's not a smile. That's your basic vegetable expression.

I quickly scan the squash section looking for that same smile. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a pumpkin that seems to be grinning but then I realize that it is Terry Schaivo. I spot no smiling vegetables and definitely none with boobs or big yellow teeth.

???: Whatever you say I guess. Anyway, Why are you and the girlfriend smiling?

MS: Because Terry is about to get her wish.

???: Wish? What wish? I thought you just said she is a vegetable. Do all of these vegetables have wishes?

MS: Listen asshole. Don't you watch the news? My vegetable had a heart attack, that's what turned her into a vegetable. Before that, she told me that if she ever turned into a vegetable that she would rather die. Now the court's said that she can finally die. I can finally yank her feeding tube. No more vegetable.

???: Courts? Why courts? Did you guys really talk about that? I mean about what if you were a vegetable? I like to imagine what it would be like if I was a bicycle seat. I always talk about that with everybody.

MS: Geez, somebody ought to yank your feeding tube. Courts because her "PARENTS" are saying some bullshit about how they LOVE her and like her the way she is. They think they know her wishes and LOVE her better than I do. Bullshit.

???: Hmmmmmn, I am a little confused. Why is that automatically bullshit?

MS: Look asshole. She is MY vegetable now. See this marriage license? That says that she is MY VEGETABLE!! MINE!!!!

Michael's girlfriend pinches his arm really hard.

Girlfriend: (angrily whispering with a huge smile on her face) Ours Michael, ours.

Terry leaks out a long squeaky fart ssssqueeeeeaaaaaaaaaaap. It doesn't smell like a vegetable, in fact it smells an awful lot like ham.

???: All right everybody calm down. Look I don't understand marriage and property laws all that well, but that vegetable came out of her mothers thing, she is half of her fathers genes. Don't you think you could at least use a little nicer tone? You can understand where they might be a little anxious about your claim to her as YOUR vegetable. Owning a carrot is one thing, but your carrot is smiling and farting.

MS: Which is exactly why I don't want them anywhere near MY VEGETABLE!!

???: So you don't even let them visit Terry? -- I mean your vegetable?

MS: NO! They want to keep it alive.

???: And you want to kill it.

MS: Not kill it you jerk. Let it die.

???: And how do you do that?

MS: Remove the feeding tube.

???: Starvation? Whoa... that's brutal. How long does that take?

MS: About a week. Dude remember she is a vegetable. It's like leaving a piece of fruit on the counter for a week.

Terry lets loose a thunderous belch. BUUUUUUURRRRROOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAHHHHP! I think I detect her smile grow fractions of a millimeter wider. She definitely has a satisfied glint in her eye that I recognize from my best belches.

???: A piece of smiling, farting fruit with boobs, hair and a big slobbering, toothy belching mouth maybe. Wait. Isn't starvation illegal? Like I got a ticket once for not feeding my dogs for two weeks. I was trying to teach them how to feed themselves, I thought my tough love would encourage them to get a job or something but they never figured out how to work the can opener. Why can't you just shoot her in the head or throw her in a pot of boiling water? Wouldn't that be quicker? More humane?

MS: I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!

???: Dude, be patient with me, I'm not very smart. Let me recap to see if I understand.

Terry is your vegetable
because you married her
she told you to let her die
if she ever got vegetablish
her parents say that they think she wants to live and is happy
and they point to her
smile
and farts
and burps
as proof
and they want her to live
and they will feed her every day forever if needs be
but you don't want that
because Terry wouldn't want that
and she is your property
and the best way to grant Terry her wish is to
kill her
by starvation
because shooting her
or beating her to death with a hammer
would be barbaric
even though you claim that
despite her smile
she has absolutely no feeling
and wouldn't know the difference anyway.

Am I missing anything?

MS: Yes.

???: Are you gonna tell me?

MS: Only if you won't tell anybody else.

???: I wouldn't dream of it.

MS: The life insurance policy I have only pays if she dies naturally. If I killed her with a hammer, although that would be much more humane than slow death by starvation, I wouldn't get jack squat.

???: Ahhhhhhhhhh, Now I get it. Nigga gatta get paid WOOT WOOT! Starve her. Biaaatchh!

MS: That's' what I'm talkin' bout holmes!

We both do high fives. Michael's girlfriend giggles with glee. Terry keeps on a'smilin'.

"Snowballing" The Most Boring Game to Ever Sweep My Nuttsack

WARNING!

This entry is only for people who blog or are regular readers and commenters on multiple blogs. The rest of you will hate it so bad that you might actually murder me with fire.

WARNING!

The rest of you are bound to hate it too. Do Something else.

Making comments, both in real life and on the internet is a skill, whether you are being funny, smart, mean, idiotic, gay, informative, abusive, nice, asskisserish, clever, weird, or disturbing you are still really only saying one thing: PAY ATTENTION TO ME!

We are going to be dealing with internet life in this little experiment but if you are creative enough, the lessons taught here might translate into turning you from the boring witless jar of poop that you are into a boring witless jar of poop with no friends.

But more importantly, some people, by the graciousness of a non-existent God, will click on your name and have a peek into the miserable existence you call life. That is all that matters. PAY ATTENTION TO ME is all you are really saying. Remember that.

The game is called "Snowballing" and I invented it. It is a stupid game that is neither fun nor interesting. It does however pass the time in your boring, never ending existence. So stop thinking about your inevitable demise and cancerous death and PLAY ALONG!! Weeeee hooooooo!!

First, Make a list of your favorite blogs. These can be blogs that make you laugh, cry, vomit, want to kill yourself or even kill other people. It doesn't really matter that much, but you will actually have to read them a little so, take that into consideration. They must have an open comments section to which you can post whatever the fuck you want. You also must not have been previously banned from these sites for your quick wit and snappy comebacks.

Next: Start Clicking and reading.

Click your first link. Mine is Stephanie Klein. She is extremely sensitive. I imagine she spends most of her life in the fetal position sobbing and leaking snot. She would not understand the nonsense at the end of the snowball game so I picked her first. Besides, my humor is WAAAAY too advanced for her readers. Even if they did click they would just get mad at the word retard.

Her post is called "Open Your Mouth and Close Your Eyes" it's about a birthday party she attended for one of her yuppie friends. As usual she waxes nostalgic, includes little nuggets of pop Americana and remembers when she was a young, fat, horny slut -- I mean her entire childhood.

The board is wide open but make a comment that can evolve later.

Key topics: Nostalgia. Birthday. Slut.

When I turned eight. Donny Osmond was my hero. My birthday cake was purple. When my aunt cut the cake, I could see her nipples. What a slut.

post comment

Didn't work. Turns out she already banned me from commenting. Told you she was sensitive. Too bad Steph, we could have become great friends. So what, I'll just use WebWarper and post it anyway. If somebody bans you. Delete their link. They weren't that great anyway. They don't understand what a lonely suicidal loser you are. Fuck'em.

Next link is "Go Fug Yourself" the article is about how ugly and lame Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas and Kids Incorporated is.

Here is where the fun starts. Copy and paste the comment from the last website into the entry field for this one. This is where we begin rolling our "snowball".

Key Topics: Fergie. Black Eyed Peas. Kids Incorporated. I am in luck.

When I turned eight. Donny Osmond was my hero. My birthday cake was purple. When my aunt cut the cake, I could see her nipples. What a slut.

Years later, I ended up test screening for Kids Incorporated filmed at Osmond Studios in Provo Utah. I don't remember if I met Fergie then. But a few years ago I toured a bit with No Doubt. Black Eyed Peas were the opening act. Fergie wasn't yet in the band. So I didn't meet her then either. But, she looks just like my aunt who flashed me her nipples. I'm sure she must be a slut.

post comment

See how this works? You can tell that this won't be nearly as fun as Madlibs. But so far the only lie is about the slutty nipple flashing aunt.

WARNING!

It doesn't get any better, In fact it gets worse. Why would I lie about this? Your head is now in danger of cracking with boredom. Consider that a disclaimer. As consolation, enjoy this picture I took of Latrice yesterday,

Next stop will be my friend Alex Blagg's blogg. He got banned from Stephanie Klein's blog a long time ago. Now we can be reject losers together. Anyway, he has written an extremely heart warming story about a fat girl (I think it might be the young Stephanie Klein) who cries because she can't get a job at Abercrombie & Fitch but gets a way better job making corn dogs at the mall.

It starts getting a little more tricky with each stop. You can't really just keep getting longer and longer so you need to edit out anything but the Key Topics and shift things around a bit. You're basically, just wasting more time and staving off your own inevitable death by plastic hammer.

Key Topics: Rejection, Teenage Employment, Corn Dogs

When I turned eight, Donny Osmond was my hero. My birthday cake was purple. When my aunt cut it, I could see her nipples. It made my Corn Dog feel funny. What a slut.

Years later, I test screened for Kids Incorporated which was filmed at Osmond Studios in Provo Utah. (Later still I toured a bit with No Doubt when Black Eyed Peas were the opening act. Fergie looks like my aunt who flashed me her nipples so I'm sure she's slut. Corn Dog anyone?)

Anyway, I cried when I didn't get the job with Kids Incorporated. I was too old. Instead I got a job at an all you can eat joint in the mall. I got fired for sneaking corn dogs and sleeping. The manager was a slut.

post comment

See? Still only one lie. Except it wasn't corn dogs I was sneaking, It was chicken fried steak.

Holy shit this game sucks.

Next up is Andres DuBouchet. He is a complete stranger. I like him because I enjoy his posts and he hasn't banned me from commenting. His post is a continuation --- oh fuck it, just read it. It's about Mondays and it's like four words long.

Key Topics: Monday, Panda.

I turned eight on a Monday, Donny Osmond was my hero then so my birthday cake was purple. When my aunt cut it, I could see her nipples. It made my Corn Dog feel funny. What a slut.

Many Mondays later, I test screened for Kids Incorporated which was filmed at Osmond Studios in Provo Utah. (Coincidentally I toured a bit with No Doubt when Black Eyed Peas were the opening act. Fergie looks like my aunt who flashed me her nipples so I'm sure she's slut. Corn Dog Anyone?)

Anyway, I got the news that I didn't get the job with Kids Incorporated on a Monday. I was too old. Instead I got a job at an all you can eat joint in the mall. I got fired on a Monday for sneaking hot dogs and sleeping. The manager looked like a panda. She was a slut.

Happy Monday Andres!!

post comment

Admit that this is fun. OK don't admit it asshole. Who asked you. What else would you be doing right now? Oh yeah, masturbating. That is way better. You can stop reading if you want.

Next will be Adam Felber. Another stranger who writes funny things. His latest is a witty living will inspired by that retard Terri Schiavo in florida. His spin is that if he isn't a famous retard, he'd rather be a dead retard.

Key Topics: Dying Retards, and Feeding Tubes.

I wanted to be famous too. When I turned eight, Donny Osmond was my hero so my birthday cake was purple. When my aunt cut it, I could see her nipples. What a slut. She has been in a coma for 7 years. She likes her feeding tube

Many Mondays later, I test screened for "Kids Incorporated" which was filmed at Osmond Studios in Provo Utah. (Coincidentally I toured a bit with No Doubt when Black Eyed Peas were the opening act. Fergie, one of the stars of Kids Incorporated and also the singer in BEP looks like my comatose aunt who flashed me her nipples. She's a slut. I wish she was in a coma.)

Anyway, I didn't get the job with Kids Incorporated. I was too old. Instead I got a job at an all you can eat joint in the mall that should have been called "The Feeding Tube". I got my feeding tube yanked (fired) for sneaking hot dogs and sleeping. I told them I had Narcolepsy which is like a surprise temporary coma. The manager looked like Terri Schiavo or a retarded panda. She was a slut.

post comment

See how long and excruciatingly tedious these are getting? We'll only do two more. Then I will blow my brains out.

WARNING!

Even these warnings are boring. you'd think big red letters and exclamation points would help. You'd think WRONG. Here's another picture of Latrice. Catch her on tour with Handsome Boy Modeling School.

Next is Raymi The Minx. She is kinda hot (if not a total freak). I need to stop checking her blog. Anyway, Her latest post is about how she has a huge urge to eat a hamburger and if she doesn't do it she will cut off all of her hair. Although I'd rather not get banned from commenting on her site, this lame long comment might do it. At the very least it'll get me completely ignored. It might be for the best. Holy shit this game is terrible.

Key Topics: Hamburgers, and Empty Threats.

I wanted to be famous. When I turned eight, Donny Osmond was my hero so my birthday cake was purple. When my aunt cut it, I could see her nipples. What a slut. She has been in a coma for 7 years. She can only eat hamburgers through a feeding tube. No sign of any urges.

Many Mondays later, I test screened for "Kids Incorporated" which was filmed at Osmond Studios in Provo Utah. (Coincidentally I toured with No Doubt when Black Eyed Peas were the opening act. Fergie, one of the stars of Kids Incorporated and also the singer in BEP looks like my comatose aunt who flashed me her nipples. She's a slut. She smells like a Hamburger. I don't get hamburger urges anymore.)

Anyway, I didn't get the job with Kids Incorporated. I was too old. Instead I got a job at an all you can eat hamburger joint in the mall. I got fired for sneaking hot dogs and sleeping. I told them I had Narcolepsy and that I would sue them for discrimination. The manager looked like a retarded panda. She was a slut.

I know about empty threats. You won't cut your hair.

post comment

WARNING!

Aahhh fuck it. What do you want me to do? Stop writing in the middle of an entry? Time for a Latrice break.

Okay last one. I'm REALLY REALLY REALLY getting sick of this gay ass fucking game. Your complaining, moaning and whining isn't helping either. SHUT UP! I AM NOT A QUITTER!!

Let's visit My Blog is Poop He has one of the best blog names and usually has content to match. his latest post is about how MTV spring Break has turned into a giant SausageFest and that MTV needs to bring back the fun -- I mean titties.

Key topics: MTV, Spring Break, SausageFest, Tits.

Long before MTV, I wanted to be famous. When I turned eight in the spring of 1975, Donny Osmond was my hero so my birthday cake was purple. When my aunt cut it, I could see her nipples. What a slut. She was the first person I ever heard talk about Spring Break. She has been in a coma for 7 years. She can only eat hamburgers through a feeding tube. No more wet t-shirts for her.

Many Mondays later, I screen tested for "Kids Incorporated" which was filmed at Osmond Studios in Provo Utah. (Coincidentally I toured with No Doubt when Black Eyed Peas were the opening act. Their song, "Let's Get it Started" is the sound track to Spring Break this year. Fergie, one of the stars of Kids Incorporated and also the singer in BEP looks like my comatose aunt who flashed me her nipples. She's a slut. She smells like a SausageFest. I'd like to see her in a wet t-shirt.)

Anyway, I didn't get the job with Kids Incorporated. I was too old. Instead I got a job at an all you can eat hamburger joint in the mall. I got fired for sneaking corn dogs and sleeping. I told them I had Narcolepsy and that I would sue them for discrimination (I know about empty threats). The manager looked like a retarded panda. She was a slut.

Fuck jobs. I should have gone to Spring Break back when it was all titties.

post comment

So there you have it. A brand new way to completely waste your time and everybody elses. I apologize to anyone who came here because of my snowballing and had to read this piece of crap. I'm usually exactly twice this funny. I know, that's not saying much.

Nostalgia
Birthdays
Sluts
Fergie
Black Eyed Peas
Kids Incorporated
Rejection
Teenage Employment
Corn Dogs
Monday
Pandas
Dying Retards
Feeding Tubes
Urges
Hamburgers
Empty Threats
MTV
Spring Break
SausageFest
Tits

All wrapped up in one comment that is guaranteed to put any reader to sleep in complete contempt. When thousands of people drop dead from sheer boredom playing this game. Throw me in jail. I deserve it.

When will you people ever learn that reading my blog is a complete waste of time?

Have fun. Don't get banned.

WARNING!

Not even the last time... at the very end of this boring post could that warning thing be funny. I'm telling you, the whole thing was doomed from the start. Unlike Latrice. I should stick with taking pictures of hot rock stars.




WARNING!

You might be really fucked up if you actually read this far.

Haircare Secrets & George W. Bush is AWESOME!

Fletcher from Germany writes,

Dear merkley???,

I couldn't help but notice what fantastic hair you have! It bounces, it behaves, it's not too curly as to be frizzy, it shines and I don't think you suffer from dryness.....odor?

Can you please post your haircare regimen? I know this will be helpful to millions of readers worldwide. Please take us from the cleansing to the drying to the styling...just like Barry takes us from the dance floor to the bedroom. Thank you.

Sincerely yours,
A big fan in Berlin

Thank you for your question Fletcher.

The process is quite involved, but I'll break it down.

1. Quit your job. Most jobs require that you wash your hair too much.

2. Spend most of your life in bed. Laying in bed in your own filth for weeks at a time gives your hair time to really flourish. The nutrients contained in pillowcases that have not been washed since you bludgeoned your last girlfriend to death with a block of frozen ground beef will revitalize your hair and make it happy.

This is the pillow of a person who cares about their hair.

3. Cut it yourself. It doesn't matter if you know how. I close my eyes and measure by touch. Professional hair stylists have made a pact with evil. They have a tremendous conflict of interest. They want to make you look like an ass while slowly hypnotizing you into believing that you need them. Those boobs waving in your face are there for a reason. Any hairstylist will tell you (if you hold a knife to their eyeball) that they are trained to give you a hairstlye that will self destruct twenty minutes after you leave the den of lies and evil they call a salon. If you meet a hairstylist at a party and she tries to give you advice, tell her that her hair looks like shredded wheat. Then light a match. She will leave.

4. Only wash your hair if you think you might be making out with someone later. No sense in draining your hair of nutrients and organisms, making it smell good if you're the only one who gets to enjoy it. Unless you can rub your own penis through it, it's pointless.

5. Use cheap shampoo. Don't use a lot. I do it in two rounds. Round one is just to evict the bugs and plants that have settled in since last time. During this phase suds are uncommon. Make sure to smile as you see the flood of brown mud and dead animals flow down the drain. Round two gives nice suds. Don't over do it.

6. Use cheap conditioner. Leave it in for as much time as it takes to really clean your ass crack and nuttsack. I Like to take some of the conditioner in my hair and share it with my armpits and pubic hair too. I don't believe it does anything helpful, but I don't want anybody to feel left out. Besides, it's so slippery. This is a good time to masturbate.

7. Towel dry. Wrap your head in same towel.

Hates America. Loves soft hair.

Make it nice and tall just like your mother used to do.

Mommy.

This is your chance to really look like a fag. I suggest going out to get the mail or borrowing stuff from the neighbors. Taking out the trash like this is great. Find any robes or nightwear left over by one of the ladies, this is also the time to wear that. Don't act gay though. Act really tough. Good time to fart audibly and say nice things about George W. Bush.

8. DO NOT USE ANY PRODUCTS!! This means gels, leave in conditioners, oils, grease, poop etc.. Let fags, hipsters and all the people who spend zillions of dollars trying to make it look like they don't care about their hair do that. You actually do care and you want it to show because you are not a pussy like them.

9. Blow dry!! Yes, you heard me, get out that motherfucking blow dryer. Turn your head upside down, blow it all against the grain. You are really trying to fluff the fuck out of that shit. Do it how your sister used to do it back in the early eighties.

I hope that chick is a man. Check out those hands.

Don't use a brush until it is almost dry. Use the blow dryer on your nuttsack while you are at it. It feels awesome. This is also the time to see just how fluffy you can get your beard. Just for the hell of it.

10. Look in the mirror and tell yourself: "holy shit you are handsome" then say "No YOU are." then say "No YOU are." Keep doing this until you realize that it's not even the slightest bit funny. Love yourself even though you are a complete Gaybob Douche Machine.

11. Get out and let the ladies touch it. Brag to them about your superior skills with a blow dryer. Say BLOW DRYER really loud. People will admire that you are willing to admit that you use a BLOW DRYER!! Some will try to make fun of you. These are the ones who definitely want to fuck you. Make them wait. Let fag hairdressers touch your hair too. Just make sure to talk highly of George W. Bush while they do it.

Good luck.
Thanks for writing.

HOORAY!! ALL MY FRIENDS HATE ME!!

That's all for now.