The Books That Will Sell More Than The Bible And Create Harmony in the USA

This idea might have already been used, but since this is the Internet I don't really have any fear of plagiarism, since all of the Internet is pretty much plagiarism.

I am going to write and produce the two books that will sell more copies than any book in history. I will surpass Whitman, Twain, Steinbeck, and Shakespeare in sales. I might even pass God.

The book will be a two cover book, with one side of the book being one separate book and other side of the book being another separate book.

The title of one side will be All Religious Fundamentalist Will Burn in Hell

The other side will be All Leftist Hardcore Liberals Should Kill Themselves.

The two books will both be very well developed arguments. They will denounce the beliefs of each other and contradict each other perfectly. They will be well thought out and researched. Pain stacking effort will be made to ensure that both sides have extremely valid arguments that contradict the beliefs of the other side.

But that's not why the books will sell well.

My marketing campaign will be the most intelligent marketing campaign in history.

My plan is to incite enough hate in me on both side that I gain millions upon millions of dollars.

On the left I want to be boycotted. I want my book to be considered trash that is a threat to human rights, animal rights, and the advancement of academic thought. I want to be called racist, sexist, and, most importantly, evil. I want these people to compare me to Hitler.

The more they talk about how horrible the book is and how people shouldn't buy it, the more people will go out and buy the damn thing just to see what all the fuss is about.

It's like the reverse psychology your parents used on you, only with death threats.

On the right I want to inspire the largest concentrations of book burnings in history. I want this book to cause a serious spike in global warming. I want every religious nut to make it his christian duty to destroy my work.

Because the gotta buy it to burn it and never underestimate the spending power of Mein Kampf crowd.

The titles and contents will not be enough to incite the amount of pure hatred that is necessary to accomplish these goals. We live in a visual age of non stop advertising and books can not consider themselves any different if they want to keep up with other forms of media.

Therefore I will commission three series of book covers for both sides specifically targeted to incite hate within the separate communities.

First the conservatives.

I will assemble a congregation of the Church of Satan to join me. The will be in the background wearing the most stereotypical garb they can find with the biggest pentagram they can find. In the foreground will be me hold an American Flag upside down setting it on fire.

The combination of religious heresy and treason will surely encourage many to burn the book.

The next scene will take place in a scenic small town of Apple Pie USA. In the back ground will be a group of gay pride marchers. The group will consist of drag queens, black leather wearing bikers, and a few people that look like every day people but will be holding a rainbow flag. In the foreground will be the most successful and content gay couple in America open mouth kissing each other. Naked.

This could possible be the best selling one of the whole group since homophobia in the religious community is self righteousness in the liberal community. Shit's everywhere.

The last one will be the most artistic. in the back ground will be a setting sun over the grand canyon. The clouds will be a wonderful set of reds, purples, and hazy oranges. In the foreground, close up, will be an aging couple from "The Greatest Generation." They will be sitting at a wooden table and the man will be reaching across the table to hold his wife's hand as they share a tender smile and stare. Between them will be a foot an a half long black dildo.

The stark contrast of all that is American natural beauty combined with an image of the realization of the American dream set against such a strong sexual image will have the religious right buying thousands of gallons of gasoline. Your welcome Shell.

Also this is probably my favorite, because all these hate mongers are all twisted in the head and all have strange sexual appetites. So publicly they speak out against the picture but internally they wish they themselves could us the apparatus.

Thus I am not only taking their money but I am also getting to add a nice little layer of hypocrisy to their lives. Shit's paying off double.

For the liberals I look to offend harshly.

For the Animal rights groups I intend to go to a slaughter house. I will commission a large speaker system and three kegs of beer. In the background will be all the workers of the slaughter house cheering with beers in their hands. In the foreground will be me with a chainsaw cutting off the head of a cow.

Don't worry the cow will already be dead, I'm not going to make something suffer that much just for a picture, but the strength of the imagery will surely get the PETA crowd up in arms. A bunch of men and women of a slaughterhouse glorifying in the death of animal will also be a cool little comparison to images from cave walls.

Second image is the one that will get me assassinated. First in the background will be a large confederate flag. In the foreground will be me and four of my friends all dressed up in confederate uniforms. We will all be holding M-16s and in front of us will be a banner that says "Fuck Communism." (Reference to Garth Ennis) At our feet will be a large picture of Osama Bin Laden with bullet holes in it.

This is a threefer. First pisses off all the human rights groups with the confederate flag and the uniforms. I get all the gun control sissies with the M-16s. Finally I get to confront all the world peace coom-by-ya wusses with the riddled picture of Osama. Win-win-win situation.

The last one is the most simplistic. This copy of the book will feature me pouring the worlds most coveted and bottle of wine into a port a john at the Talledega 500, while dumping in assorted cheeses. This book will come complete with a picture every chapter of a red neck who used the john. The top of the john will read "Democrat = Socialist."

And that will pretty much cover me for the whole rich celebrity over political crowd.

After the book is published, and I have made my millions of dollars, I will soon be hunted down and killed. Either a zealot form the left or a religious whack job from the right. I just hope they aim for the head and make it quick.

Before my death the communities from both sides will vilify me. They will join in the only thing that ever brings together two groups of idiots which is hating some other idiot.

The divide in America will be closed and the country will once again prosper.

For When I Am Dead

Funerals have always been my phobia. Ever since I attended my uncle's funeral I've been deathly afraid of the whole ordeal.

Honestly can there be anything more rediculous?

"Hi, how are you? So, as it turns out, your loved one is dead so could you please go stand in a room with the corpse for a couple of hours with everyone dressed in black and crying?"

Um, fuck that.

First off I'm getting the pizza treatment.

Also when I am shoved into the oven I will not be wearing a suit. I will be wearing Game Day attire. Crimson pants/ white button up long sleeve with sleeves rolled up to forearm/ houndstooth tie/ boots/ hat that displays hatred for rivals schools/ picture of Jay Barker most winning quarterback in Alabama history over my heart/ picture of Bo Jackson taped to my ass/ houndstooth hat placed over stomach.

En lieu of the classic funeral I will instead have enough money set aside to rent out a hall with a stage and to have a Jimmy Buffet cover band booked. Needless to say, money will be set aside for alcoholic beverages to fully stock the bar to last all day.

Everyone who wears a hawiain shirt drinks for free. Shirts will be set aside for people dumb enough to wear black.

En lieu of a body my ashes will be poured into a kid pool where people will be encouraged to pour a drink in every now and then. Behind this a stand with a large picture of me, drunk, at one of my fraternity parties.

After the party is over the pool will be thrown into a dumpster, because after you've shoved my decomposing body into a furnace it doesn't really matter where what's left ends up.

Guess what? You're all singing along ass holes.

The moment of silence in my honor will not be silent, it will be replaced with the University of Alabama's fight song "Yea, Alabama" being played. If you feel the need to break the moment of silence to shout "Roll Tide!" or "Go to hell Alabama!" I fully understand.

This is the southeast.

Many good things will be said about me. More bad things will be said about me.

I won't care, because I will be dead.

At least five people have to hook up at my death party and condoms are not allowed. I want to be responsible for at least a little bit of life in this world.

Fights are allowed, as long as someone is able to get it on camera and post it on the internet.

The Moment of Truth

So this is something I learned from reading a book.

There is this theory that your body holds the endorphins and chemicals within yourself to flood your brain and cause you to in a pure moment to not be able to lie to yourself. That in a split second you can not believe any of the bull shit we tell ourselves, because of the Euphoria that the release of these endorphins and adrenaline is causing in our bodies. If you focus during this moment you can learn everything you need to know about yourself, but focus will be hard considering how this happens.

This is triggered during an orgasm. 

People just don't realize the things you can learn from books.

So the next time a friend makes a joke about being addicted to sex, that person very well could actually be addicted to experiencing the bodies own natural drugs that are released during that split second of climax. Apparently this is common knowledge to a lot of people.

So of course I had to try to see what it was I would think.

Really this isn't a hard experiment for some with as much free time as me. So I decided to see what I would think in this moment of undeniable truth and write it down as soon as I was sanitary. The results are a bit disturbing.

This is what I thought in that moment:

- That Snickers never has really been my favorite candy. Reese's is more important to me

- That if Alabama does not win a national championship soon I would cry

- That I really miss being in the seventh grade

- My deepest regret in life was trash talking my own soccer team during rec league play when I was a kid

- I could never enjoy baseball

- I hate the amount of leg hair I have

- When I'm drunk I should talk less

- I miss the smell of the mini-van my family used to own

- My standards were too high in high school, specifically I should have tried to spark up a relationship with the girl up the street who had the cartoon tattoo (this one actually freaked me out the most)

- I don't brush my teeth as often as I should

- I really want to find the old t-shirt from when my dad worked in a bar (found one of them)

I honestly don't think I was doing it right, and I think for the purpose of the experiment I was attempting to think so openly that I was accidently, purposely random... if that makes sense.  

In actuality I think this thing was meant to concern relationships since in a moment of pure passion all your stupid logic goes out the window.

I just thought of Reese's.

um...Okay...

Moving is Hell

Here is where the soul goes.

On the first layer you encounter Hades. He has an entertainment center made of thick glass that needs to be brought down from his third story apartment and placed into his Mini-Cooper. Somehow he manages to ensure that you are on the top half of the carrying team at each floor, simultaneously having to hold the heavy object up while not letting it fall on Hades face.

Only once it is at the bottom will the Greek god realize that it could have been disassembled.

On the second layer is the Beelzebub. Not Satan, Beelzebub.

He needs help moving a gigantic armour that he is barely able to fill half way up with clothes. This time your back is to each doorway. At each impasse Beelz here forces you to pause and hold the damn thing while he twists and turns it trying to figure out the best way to get it through the door frame.

He will remind you fifty times every time to "don't let it hit the fucking door frame!"

Every time it does it will be YOUR fault.

On the Third layer we find Famine, Death, War, and Conquest who have called you over to help them with their rooms. In each respective room the owner only removes the small items leaving the heavy lifting to everyone else. Subsequently you will be forced to endure constant room mate bitching about "that lazy ass hole" during each rooms encounter.

You, the person who has done most the work, will naturally be the most quiet.

On the fourth layer there is Satan.

Satan has had a lot of souls to deal with lately, so his house has "gone to shit" as he will say. You will have to aid him with dirt covered carpeting, molded trash cans, year old fast food remnants, and will be forced to ask him a million times whether or not he wants to keep the various worthless tid bits he has laying around.

"Oh yea I'll need that later" he'll say about a mold covered Goonies DVD he hasn't watched in four years.

And this is your eternity.

The next day you have to help all these ass holes move back in.

And yes there are only four levels, I'm not fucking Dante.

Vulgarity

George Carlin had a bit about this.  It was the one that got him pretty much all of his fame/ money/ notoriety.

Seven words you can't say on the radio.

My whole life has been a celebration of the word fuck.

In third grade I was sent to the principal, because I considered one of my fellow class mates to be a "mother fucker."  An adjective for one who engages in a sexual relationship with one's own mother.  For this I was subject to an entire day of detention in a small room.

Once again in seventh grade I was subject to more removal from the population of my fellow students for expressing how I "did not give a fuck."  A noun used to represent one's lack of care in a subject that one invests no value in on a personal level.  Another day completely by myself.

This happens throughout my high school career.

I say fuck/ fucked/ fucking/ motherfucker/ un-fucking-believable and I am then isolated.  This of course being my teachers' attempt to train me to associate using the word fuck as something that removes me from standing in the grand scheme of civilization.  They believe to say fuck is to put yourself outside of standards and thus forced to endure a measure of loneliness.

I say fuck that.

A verb used to indicate one's intent to act in opposition of the following noun.

I have literally put time in for this word.  I'm gunna use it.

In reality, these slang terms that are considered taboo are terms that bring us closer to our fellow human being.  In other words cussing can make people your fucking boys.  Adjective used to enhance the meaning of a relationship between the user and the group indicated.

Also by setting these words aside as "those words" almost assuredly making them the most popular.  And a word like fuck is only set aside due to it's sexual nature, even though sex is a natural urge in every living thing and could be considered the soul purpose of life due to reproduction's importance to the species.  Yet the slang word is considered low brow to people with religious/ sexual/ lack of parental hugs/ tight ass hang ups.

Vulgar words.  Dirty words.  Cuss words.  Swear words.

Stephen Fry made a point that I took to heart.

These people who think that using language like this is an indicator of a lack of intelligence and creativity are usually people who are neither intelligent or creative.  Basically these people are fucking retarded.  Enhancing an adjective to indicate that the person in question is not actually affected by a mental defect but are subject to a low amount of mental ability.

And I hate people that come at this from a biblical stand point.

The bible is full of death/ sex/ war/ famine/ slavery/ Wrath.  Of.  God.  Saying fuck isn't "taking the lord's name in vain," saying you believe in a God other than God is taking his name in vain.  To declare he is not who these people say he is is to take his name in vain.  To tell your friends to "shut the fuck up" is not taking his name in vain so even Christians can use this glorious word.  Enhancing an adjective used to indicate to a person to move their jaw upwards to facilitate the closing of the mouth, removing the ability to speak.

And even in this blog entry I have demonstrated the words versatility.  You can even use it the same way to mean different things.

"Man I got fucked up last night."

"Dude that is fucked up."

"Man, I really fucked up."

"That guy?  He's a fuck up."

So the next time some jerk off mom gets all huffy because you talked in coarse language around her impressionable off spring take my words with you valiant defender of free fucking speech.

Damage Report

The problem is my friends.

Rather, how I feel I need to act and how my friends expect me to act.

I have this reputation as "that guy," and I constantly feel the need to live up to it.  I'm skinny, un-athletic, white male from the suburbs so I have to prove the worth of my genitalia somehow and heavy drinking seemed to be the easiest route.  Last night the cave man, that is me, decided to beat his chest and pasteurize to the other cave dwellers.

Basically I got tanked.  Shelled.  Wasted.  Destroyed.

Insert violent synonym for inebriated here, and that was me.

But that's not really the story.  In the year of 2009 it really isn't that special to get hammered.  Like the peer pressure kids in D.A.R.E. say, "every body's doin it."  What I find more interesting is the state I found myself in the next morning.

Last memory is a fail.

Talking to this really good looking waitress at the bar we rented out who has this tattoo of a peacock, and even if there ever was a chance she was interested in me, I'm blowing it.  I can't string together two sentences.  I look over and notice her co worker has the gauge ear ring/ loop/ hole thing going on, and then I'm standing in my door way with a Gatorade and a case of Mountain Dew.

Bam.  Just like that, teleportation.

Somebody took a dump on my brain and the room in front of me seems to be shaking.  I chug the Gatorade but that causes me to crumple to the floor.  Door's still open, so if anybody walks by right now they might actually call an ambulance.

Takes me five minutes to stand up and shut it.

It's ten in the morning and I have no idea how I got here.  It feels like I walked, and when I see my keys on the table this is confirmed.  I immediately take off my shirt to assess the damage.

Bruise to the right pectoral.  Origin:  Unknown at this time.

Blood on the right cheek/ left arm/ right pant leg.  Origin:  Scab peeled off previous burn injury of right hand.  Source of scab removal: Unknown at this time.

Large bruise right bicep.  Origin:  Doorway of bar.  Source of bruise:  Misjudged doorway entry resulting in collision.

Blood on upper lip.  Origin:  Most likely nose.  Source of blood:  Most likely rolled onto face while sleeping in unknown area.

Soreness in middle knuckle of left hand.  Origin:  Wall of bar.  Source of soreness:  Punching wall in attempt to assert male dominance.

All in all not that bad.  I remember some stairs I could have fallen down, and this time I didn't fall off a stage/ bar/ bleachers.  The worst damage is in my head and stomach.  The Gatorade is gunna come up soon, but I don't get to pick when that is.  

I.  Have.  To.  Shower.

I strip down completely naked and go turn the water on.  Once I'm naked I get to see another ding.d

Bruise on right thigh.  Origin:  Unknown at this time.

The water feels good.  It isn't a rink-a-dink tub in shitty 1940's house anymore, this is holy water/ the pool of Valhalla/ fountain of youth/  River of Olympus.  I just stand there for ten minutes without thinking of soap.  

I'm lathering up with this stuff my old roommate's girlfriend left.  I tell myself, foolishly, that the worst will be over and I probably won't vomit.  

Than I see it.

This is some fancy soap that smells good, hell feels good, and it is in my hand.  It's a white pearly substance that is clear in some parts but in other parts milky.

Basically it looks like sperm.

I sling my hand down and actually say out loud, "It's soap.  It's soap.  It's fucking soap.  It's soap.  It's soap."

Brain won't listen.  And this shit is covering my chest hair/ arms/ arm pits/ face.

I gag twice, fall on my ass, then vomit all over my thighs and unmentionables.

Luckily it's all Gatorade with last nights alcohol mixed in so when I check the drain there's nothing for me to pick out with my fingers, nothing to remove from body hair.  Also I'm in a shower, so the vomit is more or less cleaned off of me.

So, win-win.

And that's where I'm at when I think of this post.  I sit in the shower for a good forty-five minutes just letting the water seep into me.

How the hell did I get home?

Side Effects of Hepatitis

I'm just in my class that I have to take and during a break I get stuck having a conversation with a hippie bitch.  Just below the level of contempt I have for obnoxious Auburn douche is the hippie bitch.

Long story short, she's mad that Michael Vick is getting out so early, I say he served his time, she says it wasn't long enough, I say another NFL player killed a guy driving drunk and got thirty days, she says what Vick did was worse, I say that's stupid heavily implying that she is retarded, she gets huffy and the conversation ends.

Just five minutes of my life wasted, not a big deal.

But when I get home I get curious and look up some dumb animal rights web sites and luckily none of them are saying Michael Vick killing a bunch of dogs is worse than a dude getting run over by a drunk driver.  So I just had the luck to run into that one in a million sort of crazy.

But, Google being Google, I learn that Pamela Anderson is an "Animal Rights Activist," whatever the hell that is, and apparently hated Jessica Simpson because of this.

Sadly I was curious.

Okay so Pamela Anderson called Jessica Simpson a whore because she wore a shirt about how she thought real girls wouldn't be vegetarian so Pamela calls her a bitch and a whore.

Aneurysm.

Okay, first off people who take their diet so seriously that they actually consider it to be a self defining characteristic.  I've known nutritioinist, there is nothing wrong with eating healthy and being proud of it.

But if you get to the point that you are mad at people for eating a dead animal because it offends "who you are," I really hope you have access to firearms with minimal safety training.

I've got to have had this animal loving argument a million times, because I don't care about a cow living a shitty life before it's head is chain sawed off.  Honestly this is the worst part about living in a college town.  Stupid causes.

Honestly this really isn't a cause.  Until all the chickens get together and scratch out a bill of rights I'm down for cutting their heads off and turning them into KFC.

If you define yourself by your vegetarianism you are defining yourself by what you eat, and since everything that has a beginning must have an end you are defining yourself by shitting as well.  So the next time someone gets all fucking west coast elitist, sticks their nose up in the air, and tells you that they are vegan with a self satisfied look on their pale face, just think to yourself "shit person" and you too can avoid the life ending anyeurysm.

Then Pamela Anderson is so caught up in her cause that she is going to refer to someone else as a whore.  

Really?

This is a woman who got famous for posing naked in a magazine and running on a beach in tight swim suits.  The only reason her popularity was sustained was because she had a sex tape come out.

And honestly none of that bothers me.

Porn model is an honest way of making life, certainly better than prostitute/ thief/ contract killer/ professional child molester/ Professional Middle Eastern Feminist Suppressor/ African child soldier trainer/ Auburn fan/ Somalian Pirate and many other professions that are far worse than someone who makes money off their sweet, sweet tits.

But if you are going to work in this industry you can't use these words.  The porn industry is based on liberating female workers in a profession and not judging females who enjoy and partake in sex just as much as a dude.  So if you are going to benefit from this concept you can't use the exact opposite of this to insult someone because they ate a burger.

And seriously.  Pam Anderson?  I have literally watched her suck Hepatitis down her throat.

Javier Arenas vs LSU 2007

This feels like we just lost a conference game.

How do you give up a 2 -0 half time lead?

Don't tell my parents but I have drank an entire bottler of wine in the past thirty minutes.

What this reminds me of is Javier Arenas running back a punt against LSU. That is one of the best moments in my Alabama football history that I experianced.

But I can never watch the highlight without feeling depressed.

Landon Donovan controlled a ball to his left, moving the Brazilian defender into a state of worthlessness, and left footed it into the net sending me into a Natty Light enduced euphoria.

I will never be able to watch this highlight without the urge to vomit, just like Javy in 2007.

Right now?

I want to run down the burn victim ward at DCH (Tuscaloosa hospital) screaming "There is no God!".

I will never be able to experiance the happinness I felt with the Donovan shot or the Arenas returen again, because any memory of happiness will be filled with the urge to commit seppuku/

I will now list how it feels to lose a Confed cup final/ SEC conference game

Slam dick in car door

Fall down mountain of salt covered broken beer bottles

Forced to eat herpes outbreak vagina

Shove head into wood chipper

Jump feet first into wood chipper

Stick penis into electical wall outlet

Forced to watch SEC championship 2008 with commercials replaced with Tim Tebow post game Ole Miss speech

Stuck in pitch black room with nothing but "Rocky Top" playing for days

Forced to sit throught entire Twilight movie

Masterbation with hand covered in sand paper

Forced to watch 2005 Iron Bowl Brodie Croyle sack highlights.

Anally abused by AIDS positive hobo

Forced to watch every episode of "College Football Live Notre Dame Week"

Force fed Arby's chicken biscuits while Chick Fil-A biscuits are presented in front of me.

Soccer, bitches

I'm about to go to the Red Shed and order enough drinks to give me alcohol poisoning.


Anyway, it has been brought to my attention by Big Brother that some English and German fucks "be talking shit" about my United States National Mens Team, here for after referenced as USNMT. Or "our guys" or "the team that isn't communist bull shit."

Whatever makes me feel warm and fuzzy in my pants.

I've been following this team ever since Big Brother and his friends encouraged me to stay up all night and watch the Our Guys vs Portugal game in 2002 World Cup. I stayed up and got hooked. If you haven't seen that game, what basically happened is a bunch of no name The Team That Isn't Communist Bull Shit whipped out their red/ white/ blue cocks and slapped Portugal into submission.

It was glorious.

Fast forward embarrassing 2006 World Cup fast forward embarrassing two loses in opening round and hit play. So we need to beat Egypt by three goals to nothing and have Brazil beat Italy three goals to nothing which everybody believes to be impossible but ends up happening. English and other European media members talk shit, discuss team in patronizing manner, flap their euros mouths flap. There is no way these Americans can beat the number one team in the nation Spain who is currently riding an all time record thirty five unbeaten streak and fifteen straight wins, also a record.

Guess what?

BOOSH!

Cocks were unfurled, faces were slapped, US -2 Spain- 0.

And the world continues to talk shit.

I want the world to know that what we are doing is officially pissing on everything the love and hold dear. Honestly I don't have a problem with most Euro's but when you talk shit I'm going to piss on you. I'm in the minority here. Guess what Spain?

A country that frankly doesn't give a shit just bitch slapped you in an important tournament. Soccer, and yes it's soccer not football, is not even in the top four sports that Americans support. Horse Racing competes with Soccer for viewership and we just blank sheeted your ass in South Africa.

You and your fellow countries in UEFA wanna talk shit?

Go ahead.

I'm in the finals of the Confederation Cup and your going home to whack of to nasty European pornography that involves feces. Have fun listening to your reporters and writers talk trash about our talent and try to tell yourself that Jozy Altidore isn't going to be successful in your league.

I need to stockpile beer for tomorrow for the game against Brazil, a country currently not talking shit right now because, well, they're Brazil and they don't have to, because I live in a county that still clings to some form of annoying dryness.

I love you Alabama, but every time you force me to not get hammered and scream profanities I feel a bit like you're cheating on me.

Fuck Peyton Manning

These people, I just really really want to see these people fall down some stairs.

I've had this conversation a million god damn times and I am just sick of it. We will be talking about the NFL, me and whatever twat waffle is discussing this with me, and we'll go over what offenses are the best and what players we like. First off I'm a college guy so every athlete I name is probably going to be Alabama alumni. I'm not just a homer I'm a Bammer.

But eventually we get to quarterbacks and the two quarterbacks that we talk about are, of course, Brady and Manning. When I say fuck Brady no one bats an eye. Hating a winning quarterback like that always just seems natural. This of course has nothing to do with what he is doing with the New England Patriots and has everything to do with Michigan beating Alabama in the Orange bowl.

Then I say fuck Peyton Manning, because he played at Tennessee and fuck em.

This is where everyone gets bent out of shape, and it makes me want to vomit my intestines. "you can't hate Peyton Manning" "but he's such a personality" "but everyone likes Peyton Manning!"

Obviously that's stupid because I. Don't. Like. Peyton. Manning.

It's just one of those things that people get bent about that just crawls under my skin like meth hallucination bugs. "You have to like the movie Rudy!"

Fuck you!

That's a movie about a walk on that sees two plays in an entire career. It gets an inspired cast/ a great musical score/ an A-list director for a film about a guy who amounted to dick. Why? Because it was at Notre Dame. Who did they get to play Paul Bear Bryant, the greatest coach in the history of college football? Gary fucking Bucy.

Fuck Rudy. Fuck Notre Dame. Fuck Samwise Gamgee.

Why do people defend the person that is Peyton Manning? His commercials? His SNL spot? What is this need to defend this guy who played at the second best tradition in the SEC? I'm from Alabama and I don't like things that smell like Tennessee football players.

Even if they go on to develop stage presence in credit card commercials.

I don't like Manning and I don't like Notre Dame but sports pundits seem to think you have to obey to some annoying code to like this shit and attack people who don't get in line with this train of thought. I swear to god if college football live ever does another "Notre Dame week" I'm going to quit watching that show.

Okay, that's like a crack addict saying he'll quit crack, but the sentiment is right.

Fucking Vampires

This trend basically makes me want to slam my dick in my car door.

It's all because of some shitty book/film about this girl who's being stalked by this guy who turns out to be a vampire. Everyone knows of this movie and everyone realizes the entire concept is shit, but this realization in no way hinders the success and popularity of what basically boils down to a romance novel/ chick flick that has replaced the single dad cop/ bad boy firefighter with a heart of gold/ EMT operator that is burly yet a sensitive lover with an emotional vampire.

Let's ignore the concept of what a vampire is supposed to be, i.e. a hunter kill of human being, and accept that a person with these abilities and this urge to kill has fallen in love with a girl with the unbelievable name of Bella. Ignore that a vampire story ignores every rule of what a vampire is supposed to be in order to make their overtly strange character a likable match for the heroine with the retarded name.

I honestly once questioned out loud how vampires could be walking around in the day in pretty much every scene I had seen. A woman, who shall now only be mentioned as a twat waffle in type and in my head, tells me that "that's why they live in Seattle." So the vampires can walk around in the day because they live in Seattle.


Like I said, dick in a car door.

But I can't find myself being enamored with a vampire. How is this supposed to scare me exactly? How is this supposed to impress me? Super strength and fangs is nice for a comic book movie but doesn't necessarily scare me.

This True Blood/ Twilight/ Blade shit proposes that vampires are actually more advanced than humans and run the world from their underground caves or whatever. The reason a vampire could never worry me is that human beings would wipe these bitches off the face of the earth.

I mean I study history in depth and have numerous major news networks on cable. Fangs and the ability to jump high and move fast ain't gunna impress a member of the species that invented the atomic bomb/ the guillotine/ the concentration camp/ the iron maiden/ water boarding/ napalm/ the claymore, both the sword and the explosive/ the pengi stick.

We're talking about a race of beings that not only thought up sticking sharp bamboo spikes in the ground for other members of the species to step on but had the imagination to first cover those bamboo spike in human feces as to facilitate an infection that would lead to slow painful death.

During the French Revolution hundreds of French revolutionaries tied their own countrymen to a barge in the middle of a river than sank it as a means of killing a large amount of people as quickly as possible. The Marquis de Sade got his dick hard from inflicting pain in other people inventing Sadism as the pain inflicting side of S and M.

The fucking French scare me more than vampires.

We are ten times more frightening than a vampire family could ever be. If you force me to stay in a dark room with either Jeffrey Dahmer or a vampire, I'm picking the vampire every time. There's a good chance I might find a way to get light in the room or maybe I had some garlic bread earlier and can just vomit on him. Dahmer is pretty much guaranteed to improvise a way to slit my throat so that he can have sex with my lifeless corpse.

A guy sucking blood out of my neck doesn't really compare to the image in my head of Dahmer pounding away at the hole in my neck of my dead body.

This is from an era when this shit could be thought of as scary. I live in the modern world. Vampires would be our bitches from first step. While I will agree with HBO that if anywhere Louisiana is a likely place, I even think the Cajuns would found a way to incorporate vampire meat into gumbo years ago. Vampires aren't going to even faze these people, they do more damage to their own bodies than a fucking vampire could ever do.

An alligator is a killing machine that has survived thousands of years of evolution. It is an animal that has tremendous jaw strength and speed. Everything in an alligators life is geared toward catching things in their mouth and rotating as to rip the flesh off the carcass. Along with the shark it is considered one of the most effective killers in the animal kingdom.

Cajuns kill these things and eat them.

So no, the amazingly popular book about a vampire and the girl he bangs doesn't interest me and is in fact completely retarded. Thinking in any way that vampires could survive against a species such as the human race is retarded.

We are the much more interesting and scary being so stop being stupid and quit reading books about something that was only scary in a Victorian age. Human depravity is

Much. More. Interesting.

The Michael Jackson Dove Lady

I'm at the mall Chick Fil-A waiting in a lunch hour line when some teenage mistake starts talking about Michael Jackson who had apparently died of heart attack/ drug overdose/ whatever.

This girl was ridiculously young to be talking about Michael Jackson, I'm talking 90's birth date. She's in the city of Tuscaloosa, Alabama wearing an Auburn sweatshirt in 90 degree weather, so basically she's batting a thousand for people I want to see fall down a flight of stairs.

She's prattling on and on about how people are being too harsh about Michael Jackson being called a pedo-ass and how people should be more restrained. While I can empathize with people who want to honor the dead, I can not restrain my urge to vomit over a girl who never experienced anything but creepy, obviously a child molester, Michael Jackson and yet still feels the need to defend his life, which she knows nothing about, simply because it's over.

My stance on the whole issue? The guy is dead and it wouldn't have affected me in any way had it not been for people like little miss annoyance. Because of her constant ranting and raving I decided to leave the line for the cheap mall Chinese food that resulted in fiery diarrhea being shot out of my ass. This woman not only annoyed me, she attacked my bowels.

While I was on the toilet, letting loose unholy hell from my body, I couldn't help thinking of the many people who stood up for this man. Aside from the Auburn fan in the mall I can distinctly remember a group of people outside the courthouse during his verdict.

Thank god for youtube.

This brings me to dove lady. Not that I would judge anyone who followed a child molestation trial in hopes that justice would be found, but I cannot conceal my need to pray for a world ending meteor when people like the dove lady exist.

After every single verdict of innocent that came through for Michael dove lady would let free a bird in celebration. The fact that this crowd had gathered for this spectacle in support was shocking enough, but the level of enthusiasm to see an accused pedophile set free was damaging to my image of one the greatest, if not the greatest, civilizations in the history of the world.

The Romans celebrated murderers for sure, but I wonder how many times the crowds of the Coliseum would support a child rapist simply because he could moon walk.

For a while this bothered me. Then I calmed myself. Life was okay again. I was able to go about my day playing X-Box 360. I realized that getting angry over Michael Jackson or lashing out at his death simply wasn't worth it.

I'm not looking for any sympathy, but as a white male in Alabama if I create an incident in a Mall with a woman over a black entertainer, child molester or not, it probably would not end well for me. Imagine if one of the male patrons of Chick Fil-A takes offense and starts a fight that results in police interaction. The Arresting Officer would be made aware of what started the fight and life would become complicated.

Do not pass go. Do not play Tiger Woods 10 with friends and drink beer. Do not masturbate to streaming Internet pornography sites. Do not proposition similarly aged women at drinking establishments. Do not live happily ever after.

Go directly to jail. Go directly to front page news as suspected Klu Klux Klan member. Go directly to face smashed by Arresting Officer/ Fellow Inmate/ Random Michael Jackson fan. Go directly to destroyed Family Reputation. Go directly to unemployable life of poverty.

Trying to insult a dead celebrity just isn't worth it. It's in bad taste anyway, but then again when did that ever stop me?

The one consolation in not being able to speak my opinion on the legacy of Michael Jackson is the fact that I can imagine what kind of person dove lady is. It's all imagination so I can't be sued for thinking these things.

She is obviously single. I can't imagine her in any other way. No man is going to touch the amount of crazy it takes to celebrate the verdict in a child molestation case. And if she is the kind of person who is willing to get a cage big enough for this amount of birds simply for the purpose of celebrating Michael Jackson's acquittal then I'm guessing she considers herself an "animal person." Basically she's a cat lady. So the thought of this woman stuck in a house with about twelve to fifteen cats, who are the surrogates for the child she probably will never have, actually soothes me. I can see the shit and kitty litter covering the floor and the used Alpo cans clogging her trash cans. I can get inside this woman's head and look at this world she lives in and honestly hear her ask herself, "Why won't any men sleep with me?" and be oblivious to the millions of answers in front of her eyes.

Thinking of dove lady in this way reaffirms my believe in the American Civilization and takes away my prayers for the life ending meteor.

Oh and the teenage bitch in the mall?

She's an Auburn fan. Of course she's bat shit crazy.