If I Was a Badass Finger Pulling Mormon Duck Nurse's Abused Sister From Squaresville U.S.A.

If I was a Slightly Unattractive Duck and some smartass step-dad farted and said "Hey did you guys hear that duck?" I don't know, I'd probably be really bummed having my language compared to the stinky air coming out of some dickhead's anus, but what would be really shitty is if the smartass dad's fart actually said something in duck language that I could actually understand, especially if it was something like "You're UGLY".

JennyBananasChrist

If I was a Smartass Step-Dad Who Liked to Tell His Kids To Pull His Finger, every once in a while I'd give the kid who pulled it 10 bucks thus insuring that my joke would always work and also because it would be cool to see the kids face when he/she didn't get the 10 bucks but only a fart. Ha ha -- dumb kid.

JennySofaShoe

If I was a So Called "Dumb" Kid Who Just Pulled a Fart Finger and Didn't Get 10 Bucks From My Dad When He Just Barely Gave 10 Bucks To My Sister For The Same Thing, I'd act like I didn't give a crap because I would just threaten or pound my dumb sister out of her 10 bucks and fart in her face with no finger pullin' or nothin'. Soon I'd be the only finger puller for miles and then I could be all raising the finger pulling fee through the roof. Who's dumb now bitch?

JennyOnHerBack

If I was Some Badass's Poor Little Sister Who Was Constantly Beaten, Robbed and Forced To Smell His Close Range Farts, I'd probably grow up to be an apparently well adjusted John Kerry Mormon nurse with three beautiful kids and a doctor husband and we'd live in Colorado somewhere but I'd probably never talk about my childhood. Don't believe me? Ask my sister, she probably won't talk about it though.

JennyBedSpread

If I was Colorado or Wyoming Being Mocked By The Other States For Being "SQUARE", I'd try to shift the focus off me and I'd be all "Oh yeah? Well you can't even buy alcohol at the store in Mormonland Utah and we sell fireworks and our beer has more alcohol in it so who's really "SQUARE"? But what would suck is if Florida came back with: "Dude, we're making fun of your SHAPE, this isn't high school, we don't care if you drink or have hookers, you're just boring looking -- you're ugly -- that's all." Yeah, that would be lame, but then again I could always pull out the limp dick jokes, I mean Florida really shouldn't be making fun of shapes.

The End

JennyOnHerBack2

That's all for now.
Don't get caught telling your awesome younger brother Dan's story of his awesomely relentless beating of your sister Erin and trying to pass it off like you were some kind of badass when you were really just a clown making gaywad jokes all the time.
Your Favorite First Grade Teacher,
Nuttsack Ballface

PS...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RAYMI!!!

If I Was A Poisonous Heavy Metal Negro Jello Genius Stuck In a Transgender Racist Chemical Toaster

If I was That Singer From AC/DC and some homo negro drag queen was acting all gay, sayin stuff like "once you go black you'll never go back" I'd have some snappy comeback that involved my song "Back In Black" although it might not be TOO snappy because when you start to think about it, the mathematics get really super complicated and you wanna be super careful what you say to a homo negro drag queen especially if he/she is holding your big balls.



If I was That Big Tall Negro Drag Queen RuPaul, I would schedule some publicity stunt in Bopal India to commemorate The DuPont Chemical Plant Disaster that killed thousands and thousands of indians. I'm not sure exactly what the stunt would entail, but imagine the possibilities, DuPaul, RuPont, RuPol, BoPaul etc... combine that with "Black Cloud of Death" or something along those lines... I mean, can you smell a comeback?... holy shit, he could even say THAT.


If I was The Main PR Dude For Dow Chemical, The Company Actually Responsible For The Bopal Disaster, I would sit back and giggle maniacally about my plan to gradually shift blame to DuPont by getting RuPaul to do the big Bopal Disaster Anniversary TV Special. Once again a negro in drag doing the white man's bidding. Genius.



If I was An Actual Genius, I'd get pretty sick of reading the word "genius" here on this moronic blog. But then again, I'd have bigger problems like chronic painful back acne and trying to get Linux to run on my toaster, so I'd probably just let it fly.



If I was a Regular Toaster, I think it'd be cool to burn the fuck out of toast even on the lightest beige setting and then when the "genius" was trying to get the toast out with a fork, I'd shock the crap out of him and shoot the flaming toast out into his face and then I'd blast that AC/DC song "Back in Black" at a billion decibels into his ugly ear. Of course the coffee maker would try to blast the same song about black coffee, but I did it first and how is the coffee maker gonna shock somebody or make flames? Although scalding black coffee is pretty cool. Whatever, we could team up.




P.S. Racist toasters don't burn toast.

P.S.S. Come to think of it, they don't even work.

P.S.S.S. Just when you thought racism was awesome too.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught smacking your Jell-o to teach it a lesson about staying still.
Your Loving Sister,
Saddam Hussein

The First Time I Ever Left The Cake Out In The Rain and She Couldn't Take It Cuz It Took Super Long To Bake It and She Lost The Recipe or Some Shit

18. Who was your first celebrity crush?

I thought Marsha Brady was kinda hot but I didn't want to kiss her or anything.

My kindergarten teacher was pretty famous in the school, she made my pants feel zingy and weird.

But Donna Summer, WOW. Now there was a WOMAN.

Donna Summer was the subject of my first boner dream. I was like what, 8 or 9? I don't know, but I had a dream that she was hugging me and rubbing my back and her boobs were right next to my eyeball and she smelled like roses and skin and I totally had a dreamboner and I was worried that she would notice and she did notice but since I was too young and naive to even know that you were actually supposed to DO something with the boner and she knew that too or was just being a lady, she just smiled at me with her perfectly white teeth and big red shiny lips.

Toot toot hey beep beep indeed.

Oh yeah, I also wanted to nibble on Andy Rooney's ass moles.

Kids.

Ruth Buzzi slapped my ass when I was 14.

The End

Now here are some more pictures of pretty girls.

kelly tunstall



christina



lindsay & kiley

That's all for now.
Don't get caught gettin all bonery for Mrs. Howell instead of Ginger or Mary Ann.
Your Antiques Load Show,
Billy Ocean

The First Time I Ever Got Paid Big $$$ To Nap and Eat Chicken Fried Steaks In The Crapper

4. What was your first job?

I was a slave. I had to weed the garden for my slave driving mom. The scorching sun would beat down upon my toes turning them neon pink so I would cover them with cold dirt as I cursed god, mothers and vegetables in general.

Ok, that wasn't really a job because I didn't get paid shit.

The first job I had that paid money was babysitting the neighbor kids. I would make the kids go to bed early then I'd snoop through all their parents stuff, looking for condoms or dildos or porn or anything the devil thought was rad. One time I found pot in my sunday school teachers closet. I liked him better after that. Oh yeah, I would also eat all their cereal and pudding.

Ok, babysitting isn't really a job either.

My first paid job that actually required me showing up was picking corn at 5am on my best friends farm. He was fat and had puberty fat dude pointy boobs but that's another story. I was 14 years old and my coworkers were all the farm wives who would non-stop talk about episiotomies and stretched out ripped vaginas and the basic pumping out of babies. I got paid in corn and I killed the boss with a pitchfork.

Ok that wasn't really a job either since I quit after 3 days.

The first REAL job where I had to fill out an application and wear a uniform and everything was at an all you can eat buffet called Duff's Smorgasbord.

I wasn't cut out for work. I would sneak chicken fried steaks and eat them in the bathroom. I also took naps in the bathroom. The managers name was Randy, he didn't have a head, just a long neck with ten adam's apples and hair on top with a mangled looking mouth with backwards teeth and glasses that sat atop his cowboy boot sized beak which enlarged his two beady eyes to the size of, ... uhhh ---- ummmm --hmmmmmnnn, ------- oh!, those chicken fried steaks I would eat in the bathroom.

Randy liked to give pink slips.

Three pink slips from Randy meant you were fired.

Randy gave me pink slip #1 for stealing chicken fried steaks and eating them in the bathroom, Randy gave me pink slip #2 for sleeping in the bathroom.

Randy liked to teach me how to keep the little slice of stainless steel between the mashed potatoes and gravy shiny and gravy free. I wasn't so adamant about it. You wouldn't believe how fast that gravy turns into solid brown glue. My wiping skills were sub-par at best but my gravy skin breaking skills were top notch.

Randy could only see my faults.

Randy didn't care about gravy skin breaking prowess.

Randy seethed with rage.

Sensing Randy's bony fingers itching to give me my final pink slip, I went into the washing machine room and dumped the whole box of detergent into the washing machine, turned it on, waited for the bubbles to overflow, went to the main office, called Randy a runt and high tailed it out of that grimy slophouse.

I was not about to be fired by the likes of Randy.

I saw one of the dishwashing mexicans about a week later, he said my soap trick worked and filled the whole room "weeth babbles" and that I was a hero and legend for doing it and calling Randy a runt. Now everybody calls him "Runty"

Oh yeah, once, my shift started at noon on a sunday, when I got there I followed a 400 pound blobman into the place, when I left 5 hours later, I followed him out. He ate the whole time, mostly chicken fried steaks and pudding.

Oh yeah, one other time I caught a dude filling his pockets with meat. This wasn't uncommon but very much against the rules. I didn't turn him in but I gave him major stinkeye because I had AUTHORITY.

The End

Now here are some new pictures of Yana.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught dumping all the leftover desserts into a big mixing vat, adding a bunch of chocolate syrup, mixing it up, cooking it and calling it brownies.
Your Next In Line For The Throne (crapper),
Marie Osmond

Boy George Dood, Boy Fucking Gad Damn George.

The other night I was was trying really hard to go home early because I was tired as your H&M outfit. Problem was I knew I only had a hundred dollar beak in my pocket and I know cab drivers get all wrinkled and stinky about that crap. I thought about having another 2 dollar drink to break it but one doesn't look like a high roller breaking a hundred on a 2 dollar drink, one looks like somebody who is spending their rent money chasing a magic pony.

Anyway, I snuck out of the bar passing many outstretched pleasedon'tleaveme arms along the way. I considered for a second going to the liquor store and buying some dog food and toilet paper to break the 100 but dog food and toilet paper is best bought with a yogurt carton full of pennies and mexican pay phone tokens so that was a no-go.

Crap.

I knew this was just gonna be an issue when I left the house. If I got into a cab and didn't say anything about the 100 til Cabtime rolled up to my steps, guaranteed, Osama Bin CabDude would jihad all over the place and crap his diaper about it.

I hailed the first cab. He stopped and I opened the back door.

"I only have a hundred, can you break it?"

"Wheh yoo go?"

"Alamo Square"

"Aballabbalooba ding dong boop boop boop"

And he sped off.

The nerve.

It's not like it's a Canadian Thousand Dollar Dudley Dooright Commemorative coin or some shit. I mean aren't 100s the new 20s?

I do **NEED** dog food and toilet paper.... I'll try one more cab.

I stand there for a few seconds and watch AllaballaDingDong who sped off do a fast spazzdick U-Turn to pick up some wasted drunken douchebag in a Miami Vice suit halfway down the block.

Without even hailing it, almost Immediately, a new cab rolls up. Maybe I hailed it but I don't remember on account of bein tired as your jokes. Some cab drivers can just tell who needs a cab I guess.

I open the back door and as soon as the interior light goes on I spot a big old wad of cash right there in a little puddle on the floor.

Did I mention it was raining?

I quickly got in and closed the door to extinguish the god damn rainbow that was pointing straight at my fucking pot of gold.

"Act normal. You didn't just find a wad of cash. You are bending over to scratch the chicken pox on your ankle, not to pick up a free wad of cash. Easy fucking does it." I said to myself in my head.

"How's things? Rain's good fer business right -- right?" I said aloud.

"Oh tonight has been quite a trial." he said. "I made the mistake of picking up a drunk who didn't know where he wanted to go so he told me to just drive."

"Uh huh, uh huh -- yeah, whoa, that sucks.." I say and nod as I covertly count my prize.

"So 10 minutes later he looks like he's gonna barf so I stop and drop him right back there a half a block from where I picked you up.."

"Was he wearing a beigeish suit?"

"Why, I reckon he was, how'd y'know?

"I don't know, I was just looking in that direction and I saw some stumbling, drunken Don Johnson lookin douchebag hailin' a cab." I said.

"Whaddaya know, I guess y'never know who's watchin." He laughs.

"Ho man, there's like 75 bucks here." I said to myself in my head. "This is awesome."

"And of course the bastard stiffs me." Cabbie said.

"Huh? What?"

"Yeah, the bastard completely stiffs me on a 20 dollar fare."

Buzzkill?
Yeah.

Long story awesome, I decide to turn into fuckin' Kris Kringle. I mean I may as well , I look like him anyway and it's not like I had that money to begin with. He pulls up to my joint and I notice he looks exactly like a cab driver Norman Rockwell would have painted.

"Thanks bud-- stay safe. Don't take anyone to Hunters Point" I said as I handed him the entire 75 dollar wad and quickly cab-slam the door.

I don't believe in karma or crap like that, but that was like double, triple or quadriple karma right there.

1. I got a free cab ride without bustin a Hunnie.

2. AllaballaDingDong probably got barfed upon and stiffed by Don Johnson.

3. Don Johnson probably got beheaded by AllaballadingDong when he was unable to produce any cash.

4. Norm Rockwell Cabbie gets his 75 bucks.

5. I get credit for tipping Marlon Brando style.

6. On second thought, maybe I was on nightline NBC or something to test my goodness factor or some shit because what was with the cab driver sayin "Guess ya never know who's watchin" -- maybe that just creeped me out and I'm still just a dude who doesn't wanna get caught bein an asshole.

But whatever.

Sometimes shit is rad.

Boy George dude, Boy George.

The End

Now here are some New/Old pictures of Yana, Butterface, and the Late beloved Senator Ron "Chico" Lopez. Oh yeah and ME.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught singing Karma Chameleon with a russian accent to your dogs non-stop for three days.
Your Least Favorite Bus Driver,
Big Bird

The First Time I Ever Didn't Kill An Uncircumsised Unconcealing Floppy Boner Having Pants Pisser.

2. Who was your first roommate?

I moved out of my house when I was a wee lad of 19 years old because I was raised in a gigantic cult called The Mormon Church and since I was a wee wee wee lad of 0 years old they had me singing (chanting) a song (brainwashing mantra) called "I Hope The Call Me On a Mission". I didn't really hope it and it wouldn't matter if I did because EVERY 19 year old Mormon boy is called (commanded to go) on a mission. So I went on a mission -- to Brazil.

My first real roommates were three dudes at The Missionary Training Center in Provo Utah. Two fat ones and one skinny zitty one who went to the shower every morning with a floppy boner he refused to conceal (fag). I spent 2 months there learning rudimentary Portuguese in a fashion which I would be able to convince poverty stricken Brazilians to come unto Jesus for no particular reason, there were crillions of other dumb dudes there too learnin the same line of bull so it didn't really seem like they were really roommates. So, that's just a long way of saying, fuck those dudes, they don't count.

It was when I arrived in Brazil that I had my first real roommate experience. He was a somewhat greasy, pigeon-like fuckwad named Elder Osmario. It was my own fucking fault I got stuck with him because when I arrived in Brazil and had my initial interview with the mission president he asked me what type of companion I'd like.

"Just put me with anyone, even if nobody likes him. I'm good with people, I can usually crack even the unlikeable ones." I boasted.

This wasn't the first nor the last time my Savior Complex ever fucked me over.

The mission president heard me loud and clear. He put me with the most unlikeable dickhead of all time. There are five billion examples even though we were only together for three weeks, but this one pretty much sums it up.

One day, while walking home over quite a long distance, he kept complaining that he needed to pee.

"Let's stop at this little grocery store and you can use their toilet." I told him.

"Servants of the lord don't use strange toilets" (exact translation) he replied.

More walking, more whining about needing to pee. He even cried.

Did I mention he was a total fucking pussy?

Yeah well on the way home we had to cross what was essentially a freeway. I got across in no time flat, he had to wait for a space the size of Canada before he'd cross. After two centuries he finally made it halfway across and was standing up on the median in the middle of the freeway looking like a cuntbag babyhole fag, Something glorious happened. He was wearing Khaki pants, a perfect model of dickheadery.

Yes, you guessed it, he peed his pants right there in the middle of the freeway.

I watched the dark spot grow and grow and make it's way all the way down his leg and into ---- drumroll please, ------- MY SOCKS!! Yes, the fucking pants pisser begged me to loan him some of my awesome thick American socks that day instead of his stupid thin brazilian kind and like an idiot I did even though I hated his fucking guts. When we finally got home he refused to rinse the socks out, instead he put them in a plastic bag to give to the laundry lady which we would only see THE FOLLOWING WEEK.

Seriously, why didn't I kill him in his sleep?

wow. boring.

the end

Now here are some more pictures of Emily from New Years Eve.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught flicking boogers at the elderly.
Your Sweet Sweet Sweet Little Boy,
Gummo

The First Time I Ever Thonked My Boner on The Pillsbury Cookie Dough Girl's Leg

So I got this MySpace survey deal which actually had some good questions in it. Originally I answered them all with real short answers, but hell, all the questions were about first times doing stuff, so I figured the twenty questions would get me through the next twenty blog posts, so bite me faggots.

1. Who was your first prom date?

My first prom date was a white girl named Margaret Somethingerother. She wasn't even close to being fat but she had really squishy white arms and lots of moles, and although I never got a chance to maw on her wobbly non-biceps or any other part of her gooey body, there is a very good chance that she was made entirely out of chocolate chip cookie dough.

She was a senior, I was a sophomore. I didn't ask her to prom, she asked me to prom. That makes me freeeking RAD. I thought I was the coolest fucking sophomore dude in the whole school. I mean I was asked by a SENIOR chick to HER prom and she was made out of COOKIE FUCKING DOUGH! Sure, now that I look back, everyone was probably thinking, "oh that pathetic Cookie Dough Margaret", but fuck off assholes, I was MILFing all over the god damn place long before MILFing was god damn COOL.

We went in her yellow Jeep with a torn rag top. She drove. It was fucking freezing and the ride was very bumpy. The drive up seemed to take forfuckingever. I haven't the slightest idea what we talked about, I was just amazed that I was on a date with a senior chick. As she steered that bouncy Jeep her arms jiggled like hell. It was pretty cool.

She wore a beige colored dress which was basically the same exact color as her skin (sans the chocolate chips) so if you squinted just so, she may as well have been completely naked, you know, like one of those formerly fat people who has all that extra skin flapping around, yeah, like that. I didn't do the squinting trick then but I can certainly imagine it very clearly in my mind right now.

Whoa, I'm still imagining it.

Now I'm imagining her twirling around and all her loose skin is flapping out to the sides and chocolate chips are flying off everywhere and people and small animals are running up to lick her and Maury Povich is trying to get her number to be on his show because he loves the babes with enough skin to cover ten sofas -- mann, my imagination is fucking kicking my ass right now --- HOLY SHIT!!, some of her skin flaps just flew off and hit the principal in the face like a big pizza dough thing. Everyone is laughing and pointing, THIS IS AWESOME!!.

Ok -- sorry, back to the story,

The prom was at he state capitol building in SLC -- total echo chamber. Why the fuck do people throw dances in places like this? It was like throwing a dance in a giant toilet stall. Everything was all marble and freezing cold. Dumb I tell ya. Dumb. Nobody could tell what fucking song was playing because it was so forking muddy and ECHOEY. The place was huge though so you didn't need to worry about farting, you could totally fart out loud while crop dusting and nobody would know due to the loud echoing and the drafty type layout of the place, so that part was good. Holding in date farts sucks. Literally.

We slow danced and I probably had a boner because when I was in high school I always got a boner slow dancing. I wasn't the type to rub it on your leg or anything though, I mean if you wanted to rub your leg on my boner, that was entirely up to you, I mean, I'm not about ready to just keep moving my boner leg away from your leg if you keep trying to touch it, I'm mean if you want to chase my boner leg around with your leg, that's cool and everything but that's just gonna make us end up turning in circles too much and too fast and we'll end up looking like complete idiots. YOU WANT MY BONER ON YOUR LEG? FINE. HERE. HAPPY?

Anyway, we didn't even make out. I was too chicken or Mormon or something, besides, she was old enough to be my grandma.

My hair looked like a comb over. I was a New Waver.

I haven't the slightest idea what ever happened to that chick. Wouldn't it be cool if she ended up working in a cookie factory or like a place where they sew extra useless fat people skin into pillows or hand bags or slippers or something? Yeah, that'd be rad.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught chasing your own boner leg with your other leg or your shoulder or something.
Your Break Dance Consultant To The President,
Bruce Lee

Oh yeah, I'm trying out this new third party software app that claims to be able to filter out IPs, it's all PHP based and I installed it on my server myself so I don't know if it's gonna work, but the idea is that it routes all the comments through my server and anything designated blocked gets thrown out and I don't ever even get it and neither does blogger. It is supposed to block by region as well and it is permission based. Right now I have certain parts of Texas blocked, so if you are a nice person and I have blocked you without meaning to I am sorry but if you can figure out how to email me, I can unblock your specific IP.

Anyway comments are back on provided this thing works.

Bros or Hos Before Hos or Bros or Whatever You Call It If You're a Gay, I Mean, I Don't Want The Fags to Feel Left Out n'Shit

You, Polltaker, get a crush. The Crush is in a relationship with some Random Fucker. You tell The Crush to ditch The Random Fucker. The Crush moves to a city far away that you visit somewhat regularly. The Crush calls to say The Random Fucker is duly ditched. Your Best Pal moves to the same city as The Crush. Best Pal KNOWS very well about The Crush but doesn't actually know The Crush except for what you, Polltaker has told Best Pal. The Crush sees Best Pal on the street and says "Hey, you're Polltaker's Best Pal" They talk on the street and call you to include you on the chance encounter. Two weeks later The Crush calls from the dinner she is having with Best Pal and The Crush is still flirty. You wait for Best Pal to chime in but never does. The only thing Best Pal and The Crush have in common is YOU. You hang up and, to give fair warning without being too serious, you text Best Pal the following message:

"Just so you know, The Crush and I are engaged to be married".

Best Pal never texts back and never mentions it. You know Best Pal very well, Best Pal is being a dick. Two days later, in a drunken state, you email Best Pal a very detailed message about how Best Pal has violated all trust and has completely betrayed you and what the fuck was Best Pal thinking? Best Pal fires back a vitrolic email about how you don't OWN The Crush and that by being pissed you are a total pussy faggot etc...

Best Pal is completely out of line because Best Pal totally went against protocol which is to get clearance and not be secretive. I mean come the fuck on, everybody knows that. Best Pal is right, you ARE a pussy faggot, you don't even live in that city mann, you can't treat every crush like property n'shit. besides, you have at least 5 crushes at any given time. So the fuck what? Who cares how many crushes I have? There are four million other possible people upon which Best Pal can skeeze. FUCKING PROTOCOL DUDE! Best Pal should be punched in the balls because now, even though Best Pal has been schooled and has backed off, The Crush probably sensed some jealousy which totally throws salt on your game. You should chill the fuck out. Things probably wouldn't even work out with The Crush, you should at least give Best Pal a shot at The Crush. Seriously, grow the fuck up. OH YEAH? Well, That's easy for YOU to say you're married and miserable or your Random Fucker beats you or you're so ugly and stupid nobody wants you so the only possibility for getting laid is to skeeze up on Polltakers crushes cuz lord knows you ain't getting any of your own OF COURSE YOU SIDE WITH BEST PAL!! ASSHOLE. Wait, what were we talking about? This whole poll is gay.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught making up really super random shit about some imaginary friend moving to some imaginary city and hitting on one of your imaginary chicks because you know nothing like that would ever REALLY imaginary happen.
Your Imaginary Poll Taking Imaginary Princess of Imaginary Whales,
Bill Cosby