4 Years of Stomping on Your Face. . .I Mean Laughs

Years ago I promised to try my damndest to make this a blog for all seasons. To sail my blog ship on the ocean of Teh Internets through seas of emails and Wikipedia entries, bays of flash animations, and fjords of slash-fic about Happy Potter and The Incredible Hulk getting it on. Well, gentle reader, that's exactly what I did. I sailed through the clogged internet pipes in search of the mythical internet truck and, proving it to be merely a legend, I then turned my course toward the vast expanses of fine fine Lady Internet. Now if you think sailing on a lady's ocean is somewhat sexual then you haven't heard anything. She used to do this thing with her tentacles that was just . . .but lets move on. Continuing with my confusing metaphor, I became very enamored with Lady Internet and so started a wonderful relationship. The Lady of Internets, despite being amoral and kinky, is also very fickle. I was always able to smooth things over with an award winning combination of smooth talking and horse tranquilizers but after a while she wised up to my schemes or developed an immunity to the tranquilizers or something and before I could purchase the sedative they use to keep Rosie O'Donnel pacified when they're filming episodes of The View, Lady Internets flew into an intense but slightly erotic rage and threw me out. Yes dear reader, a wide rift had been driven between my freaky lady and I and it saddened me greatly.
At the end of that day, beneath the vast night sky of the interwebs, as the first of the porn stars began to twinkle, I had a revelation. If I was ever going to sail my blog ship into my sweet lady's harbor (lol) again I would have to go on a spiritual journey in order to unlock my true potential. Yes the adventure had begun, you mouth breathing slobs. I traveled far and wide across the land in search of things that would enlighten me as a freelance internet writer. I travelled over the lofty Fantasy Sports Mountains to reach the fabled Temple of the Mighty lol. Good times were had there with the many domesticated beasts that spoke the wonderful (read:stupid) broken english dialect said to be spoken by the very internet gods themselves while they're playing counter strike.
From there I went down into the valley to the great plains of Second Life. It was there I encountered the foul smelling creatures who dress in animal suits and spend their days making pictures of wolves with enormous members violating subway cars and skyscrapers. After making the mistake of going into one of their halls of yiffing I beat a hasty retreat from that land. I rambled on through the rolling hills meeting groups of people who break open turtle shells in search of treasure and people who voice annotate pornographic videos for the blind. I took in all that was around me and I learned many great things in my travels. I saw the wonders of the internet and it was good but the mighty interwebs are not without their dangers.
One day a great fissure opened up in the ground and I was pulled down into fiery maw of internet hell. I fell into a group of bulbous sweaty fanboys, all reciting their ideas for sexual fanfic and extolling the greatness of Naruto. The dense cloud of neck beards and sweat pants closed in around me but I was able to distract them with a flame post about how Star Trek was crap so that I could make my escape. My troubles didn't end there though as I was then chased through the IRC catacombs by Brian Peppers. Just as he was about to catch me and subject me to some horrible molestation I fell off a precipice into the infinite abyss known only as Goatse. Just how long I fel I cannot be sure for the Goatse abyss is mind bogglingly vast and is believed by many to be bottomless.
I may have fallen for a lifetime in that endless black hole and I closed my eyes waiting for the end to come. When it did not, though, I opened my eyes to find that I was floating in a vast blank expanse. As I stared around at the nothingness I heard a voice. It was more like a presence than a voice though because I could feel it in my nards. Anyway, I heard the voice in my head ( as well as my bits and pieces) and it spoke one thing that I will never forget as long as I live. It said to me: :The internet is for porn". And with that everything went dark.
When I came to I was in an alleyway in Jersey City curled up next to a pile of wine bottles and a talkative, if not overflowing, dumpster named Larry. Larry informed me that I had been in the alley the whole time caterwauling, drinking the smelliest of hobo wine and occasionally soiling myself. This had apparently gone on for a week without me realization. Damn hobo wine. Had my spirit journey really been a dream? It was disheartening until I realized what the groin tingling voice had told me. It was then that I realized that I had done what I set out to do. It was also around that time that the smell hit me and, after ten straight minutes of vomiting, I set off in search of a shower and sexy Lady Internet not necessarily in that order.
I opted for the shower first since its difficult to talk to someone when the die of suffocation when you are near. Anyway, I found my kinky lady and told her about my travels and what I had learned. She then told me that she regretted sodomizing me in anger and tossing me out especially since afterward she didn't have anyone to tie down and whip on Thursday nights. Long story short we worked things out and now we're better than ever before.
That's my story. I know its been a long time coming you filthy lumps but I can't just turn on this sort of intelligent, sharp wit and creativity. This sort of fine art thing only comes from eating candy until I go into a diabetic coma and throwing my keyboard at a strategically stacked pile of lawn gnomes. At any rate, I realize that I also said at the beginning of this venture that I would lead the internet into a new golden age. That pipe dream can still become a reality but it will probably involve me painting my ass with gold paint and dropping my pants next to the freeway. Just like any other day at work for me I suppose. Good night everyone.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh The Madness

Ah, nature. Lots of folks talk about it. Know what comes from nature? Onions, but thats not what I'm here to tell you about. I'm in an oddly creative mood today so all you semi-literate slugs out there in reader land can have the cake that I'm about to cram down your collective throat. In short: its story time.

This titillating tale has a great deal to do with nature in case none of you could figure it out. I was out for a pleasant stroll in the forest one glorious day. All the forest animals came out of their hidey holes to wish me a pleasant day and to comment on the decline of Eastern European Marxism. As a small note I will admit that the last sentence was just an excuse to use the word "hidey hole" which I find to be an absolutely spectacular word but I digress. Coming to a break in the trees I beheld a very unexpected sight. Nature's repo-man, the forest fire, was burning with a spectacular intensity over several thousand acres of forest almost as if it was reposessing the property of that notorious deadbeat Mother Nature. At any rate, on the edge of the fire I spotted that most irritating of creatures: Smokey the Bear.

Now, I had met Smokey once before at a party and it was possibly the most terrible time I have ever spent in a locked room with a bear before. First of all his name is a misnomer and would probably do better calling himself Drinkey the Bear. Although that wouldn't be much of an improvement since hes a horrible light weight and gets trashed off a couple of cosmopolitans which leads to another possible name change for him: Pukey the Bear but thats not the point. Anyway I walked up to him and asked him if he was really the forest fire preventing bear which, in hind sight, was a big mistake. I soon learned just why everyone else at the party was keeping at least ten feet away from him. He talked my ear off for two hours about fires and forests and how theres a government conspiracy to cultivate those little flame creatures like you see in the Disney cartoons so they can corner the market on burning wasteland. Fortunately I was able to get away when he stumbled away for a moment to relieve himself on and fornicate with a ficus tree.

So there I was about ten feet away from the last being on the planet that I wanted to be near and he had spotted me. Not wanting to seem rude I said Hello and made a weak attempt at a joke by commenting on the hot weather we had been having recently. Strangely, though, he didn't seem to hear me. He just stared ahead with a dead, half-crazed look in his eyes. I was about to make a break for it when he spoke to no one in particular saying:

"Remember-only you can prevent the madness......madness....."

"Uhhh thats....great, man." I managed to mutter but then I caught a glimpse of what was in his eyes.

It was then that I realized that all those years of drinking, fire and violating furniture had finally gotten to him. I now looked upon a creature that was wholly given over to the madness within. I sheepishly tried to shuffle away at that point telling him that I had left some anthrax in the oven when he started to rant. The strange thing was that it wasn't about fire like it always is with him. He started shouting gibberish but there were some discernible parts to it.

"Chunky peanut butter is for the strongest of the strong" he screamed "The meek may inherit the earth, but the strongest are taking their chunky peanut butter with them when they go! I have seen beyond the veil and I see now where we all must go."

It was on that day that Smokey the Bear let the madness wash over him like a warm bath. Taking up his shovel he stumped over to the group of refugees gathered on the edge of the fire and proceeded to beat them to a bloody pulp screaming all the while.

"All must return to the flame from whence they came!" he bellowed as he bit a deer carcass in half.

When all the bodies had been cleansed by the purifying flames he turned to the towering inferno that now groped toward him.as he did so I caught one last glimpse of him that made me shudder to my colon.

Spreading his arms toward the flames he shouted "Now the servant returns to the flaming arms of its master. I fear not the fire for I was born from the purifying flames as were all things!"

And so Smokey the Bear was borne up on great wings of flame and disappeared into the blaze never to be seen or heard from again. His memory, however, lived on. It is said that bear impersonator Lee Harvey Oswald was preaching the ways of Smokey in Dallas when space bears tore JFK apart and he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. As for me I woke up in a bath tub full of tequila after two weeks and came to the conclusion that I made the whole thing up. It makes a good story though.

Tune in next time when Smokey and Al Roker accidentally buy a time share at the same time...with hilarious and sexy results.

Who Left This Abandoned Blog Here?

Well, well, well. It seems as though I've finally returned. Are you still there, faithful reader? You are? Well excellent. I'm so very overcome with joy that all the unwashed, mouth-breathers decided to stick it out in the hopes that I might come back. Do not despair, though, gentle reader. I haven't come back with only a bag full of insults. Somewhere in that bag, underneath the layers of foul curse words and The View merchandise *shudder*, you'll find a story. A wonderful magical story that explains where I've been for the past year. And now I present that story to you ignorant proles.

It was a day like any other day except for the fact that it was different. I had been walking through beautiful downtown Detroit which was where I was spending my vacation courtesy of old Uncle "Baby Eater" Sam himself. As it happened I was given the vacation in place of my unemployment check. I had made such a fuss in the unemployment office when they refused to give it to me. I started jumping up and down screaming about my status as a wounded veteran ( I had been stung by a bee outside the unemployment office earlier that day and I had responded in kind by throwing a molotov cocktail into the bee hive...for America!) and how I didn't die in the service of my country just to get stiffed out of my free money. The deformed troll behind the counter kept giving me unsavory looks and was about to deny me when I managed to sway the raving derelict, the wino and the congressman behind me over to my cause. That cinched my victory and the manager on duty grudgingly pulled out a dusty book of coupons and handed me a handful telling me to enjoy my all-expenses-payed trip. I had laughed triumphantly then as I ran out of the office as fast as my legs would carry me.

Five minutes later I stepped off the crosstown bus at my destination. Ah what a wonderful time I had in that city. Few people know it but Detroit is full of street performers all dressed in their amusing costumes. One staggered up to me and began to slur out his routine in a thick sing-song way. He sang me a wonderful song about the government stealing his brain and how hungry and cold he was. I laughed and clapped my hands at that dear sweet performance artist and I gave him a shiny penny for his troubles. I also encountered some political activists as well. I had had no idea that Detroit was such a bastion of culture and intellectualism. I saw one ragged woman demonstrate what she thought of the current administration by babbling incoherently then dropping her pants and urinating on the crowded sidewalk. Truly freedom of speech was strong here. After a long time sight seeing I began to feel a twinge of hunger creep into my gut so I decided to sample some of the local cuisine. As I stepped around a corner I noticed a worn out hot dog stand in front of one of Detroit's famous burned out ware houses. Famished I approached the swarthy fellow who must have been the proprietor and ordered two of his finest franks. The fellow said something in his guttural Detroitian language that I couldn't understand but he seemed a nice enough character so I reached into my pocket for his payment. I decided to give him a little something extra since the trip was on the government's tab but when I handed it to him his face darkened and he threw the handful of bottle caps, lint and bits of string back at me in a rage. I tried to reason with him but he chased me off.

As I took shelter behind one of Detroit's famous derelict automobiles I told myself that I would not give up that easily. I was dead set on getting my tubular prize so I devised what was possibly the most cunning plan in the history of all cunning plans. To quote the great Edmund Blackadder it was "...so cunning you could stick a tail on it and call it a weasel". After searching for 10 minutes I found exactly what I was looking for; one of Detroit's famous open septic tanks. Stripping naked I scooped out generous portions of the rich sewage within and plastered it all over my body as if it were stinky war paint. When I was covered from head to toe I headed back to the hot dog cart. Peering around the corner of a crack house (not a famous Detroit crack house, mind you, just a regular one) I spotted my glowering target. I took that moment to put my brilliant plan into action. I barreled around the corner waving my hands in the air (like I just didn't care) and screaming as I ran straight for the cart owner. I don't know what got to him first; my demoralizing war cry or the smell of raw sewage, but when I was about 50 yards away his courage left him and he fled. I triumphantly walked to the cart stomped my feet and let out a primal bellow to alert others of my presence. I made sure to mark off my territory around the cart so as no one else would contest me for my tasty prize and I was just about to gorge myself when I heard it.

As I turned to look down the street The Beast hove into view. It was terrifying. As massive as a Kodiak bear and built like a furry semi truck with a grotesquely twisted face that seemed half human. The Beast stopped about 10 yards away from me, sniffed my food and let out a low rumbling growl. I leapt down from the cart and bared my teeth in hopes of intimidating it but The Beast stood its ground. I can't say how long we tried to stare each other down. Time had no meaning while we had our eyes locked. An entire lifetime seemed to pass. As I stared deep into The Beast's eyes I saw an entire universe form, live out its existence and finally collapse in on its self to form Bill Cosby. It was then that we lunged. We both leaped at the same time and began to wrassle each other neither side gaining much ground. As we were locked together in mortal combat we began to roll. And roll we did. For 400 days and nights we rolled all over this great nation locked together in a ball of fur and flesh and teeth. We rolled through MIT where we were both given honorary degrees in computer science. From there we rolled through an inner city neighborhood where all gang violence immediately stopped. As we rolled through Arlington, Virginia the corpse of Jefferson Davis clawed its way out of the ground, danced a little jig and exploded into a pile of tasty jell-o brand gelatin. As time wore on The Beast and I became good friends. We eventually reached a truce to put our differences aside. Unfortunately we found that we had picked up so much momentum that we couldn't stop. Luckily we collided with, and completely crushed, a car carrying Kevin Federline. We were praised as heroes. And that's why I have not posted in almost a year.

Well good reader I'm glad you stayed for my little tale. I hoped you all enjoyed it and you can perhaps expect more in the future. I'm back in business, baby!

A Comprehensive Guide to Life

Greetings once again. I know some of you out there in reader land, which I believe is somewhere in eastern Wisconsin, have been dissapointed with my lack of postings. You crave my teachings so much that you finally became so disillusioned and turned from your computers in disgust to formed a utopian society free from the enslavement of the internet-dom. Now, while all that is very well and good I need an audience so park your grotesque carcass in front of the computer, read my story and let your ass re-bloat.
Today I bring you all a story similar to the delightful fables of Aesop but without all that kid friendly crap. It still carries a moral so you will learn something which is a small price to pay for abandoning my world of super villians and "non tampered with" cream cheese for a life of unadulterated bliss. Now, without further ado, I present my story.

A very long time ago (3 years to be exact), in a far off land (South Jersey) there lived a goat by the name of Francis. Now, Francis was a very happy goat. Why, you ask, was Francis so happy? This was because he was the CFO of a multi-national software corporation. Yes indeed. Francis was a very wealthy goat. He could afford the most expensive tin cans with the tastiest of gourmet glue behind the labels. He had his own private lear jet that was piloted by John Travolta in a French maids uniform. He drove only the most expensive and overpowered of automobiles and, so great was his affluence, when he would drive through the streets the richest of men would cry tears of bitter arrousal and set fire to their wallets for they knew themselves to be in the presence of a superior being. Francis was also a very kinky goat and he could get anything his goatish heart desired: other goats, women and even men. No pleasure of the goat flesh was beyond his reach. Yes, everything was coming up roses for this very well-to-do goat. Roses that he would have eaten if his omnipotent wealth had not allowed him to purchase actual roses to consume for it is silly to try to eat a metaphor.

After a powerful and brutal series of mergers allowed the company to become the worlds first super corporation, Francis decided that he deserved a vacation. Without hesitation he set out for the Cayman Islands aboard his luxury yacht. He spent his days tanning his flesh on the beaches and shooing away the hungry natives, and his nights were spent boozing it up and bleating into the kareoke machine in the cabana. One night, though, he met someone who would change his life forever. Her name was Mindy and she was a cabana girl with a heart of gold (which is rare in cabana girls I'm told). As soon as Francis saw her gently turn down the advances of a stumbling drunk Japanese business man he knew that he was in love. After most of the guests had shuffledback to their rooms or passed out in the bar to be at the mercy of the maurading island natives, Francis clopped over to Mindy and struck up a conversation. Strangely, Francis found that he was as nervous as a street walker on her first day in Razor Town. He had watched grown men shrivel and turn to dust before his very eyes and yet he found it so difficult to talk to this simple girl. They bored the moon with their talk of everything and nothing until Francis invited Mindy back to his hotel room. She consented and they went back together. The rest of that night was filled with the kinkiest and most tender of love making that could only come as a result of the passionate union of a human and a goat.

They spent the rest of the week together and when it came time for Francis to return to his working life he invited Mindy to come. She eagerly agreed and when they were finished he invited her to come back to the U.S. with him where they could lounge by a goat shaped pool and lick the glue off cans together and be happy. After much thought Mindy agreed for she had grown to love Francis and was willing to follow him off the edge of the Earth (Authors Note: the super rich elite of the world knew it to be a fact that the Earth was flat and held it over the heads of the lowly serfs. We are to assume that Fancis imparted this wisdom upon Mindy). The two happily returned to the original land of the free/home of the brave and it wasn't too long before they were married. Yes, the roses had become much sweeter and colorful but the events that were to follow in the next few months would cause those roses to shoot forth a stream of angry Crotch Bees.

As the Corporation continued to grow to be even more bloated, Francis decided to hire an outside organization to handle their taxes. The offer soon fell into the hands of the capable, honest people at Arthur Anderson. The Crotch Bees were now headed straight for Francis. As time wore on Mindy began dabbling in drugs. She began using cocaine for recreational purposes at first but she ended up hitting that shit pretty damn hard. I mean, you remember that scene in Scarface where Al Pacino burys his face in that mountain of coke on his desk? Yeah. Mindy did that. If that wasnt bad ebough, the IRS began investigating Francis's corporation for massive tax evasion. Worse still was the fact that total blame for the catastrophe fell on Francis since the CEO had leapt out the window of his office in the main sky scraper yelling "suckers" the whole way down. Francis became the fall boy for the whole terrible thing and was arrested. So heinous was his crime, in fact, that Kennith Leigh was given full pardon and a basket of rotten tomotoes to hurl at Francis during the court proceedings. At the trial, Francis tried to claim that the arrest was racially motivated but the system at the time was very unsympathetic toward barnyard animals and he was summarily sentenced to 100 years. To add injury to insult, on the way to the prison Francis was dragged through the streets so the peasants could pelt him with rotten eggs and clumps of their own feces as is their custom. Francis was taken to the prison and thrown in a cell so uncomfortable that Ruben Carter stopped complaining.

And that, dear reader, is where the story ends. At least it would if this was the unrevised version of the story so thanks to the request of a certain individual I will en the story in a much lighter hearted way. Francis may have been sentenced to a century in prison but, since he is a magical goat, his life span is much longer than normal and the ravages of time will not have much of an effect on him. Eventually he bacame a major player in the Scared Straight program and saved many a teen from dabbling in super business. Mindy, after seeing the Olsen Twins on the cover of People magazine, immediately kicked the coke habit and was able to pull through with the help of her heart of gold. Although Francis's jail sentence and unnatural life span would have caused him to outlive Mindy, their nights of loving, super kinky sex had imbued Mindy with the same life span so their love could kick time in the grion and continue on as strong as ever. While she waited for Francis to finish his term, Mindy became a ballet dancer and many of her shows feature goat performers. The two are happy and doing well to this very day, with the occaisional passionate conjugal visit.

Now we come to the moral of the tale which is never try to eat a live rabbit.
The End

That was a wonderful story, now wasn't it? Certainly worth the long wait. While I can't promise that I'll post more frequently I do promise to make more of an effort especially since the summer break is fast approaching. Special thanks to a very intriguing person who helped me to concieve of this story. I owe you one and feel free to leave your mark in the chatterbox. Anyway, later days all you gormless cretins.

Drink!

I realize that its a couple of days after the fact bu I thought that I'd dedicate a post to what I think St. Patrick's Day is all about.




Ya. I think that pretty much sums things up.

3 Years of Highly Intellectual Wit...Dumbass

Well, it seems that, once again, I have missed the anniversary date of the beginning of my intertron fifedom. Yes indeed, I have once again endured a barrage of anger from that amoral lady The Internet, but I have once again smoothed things over through my use of slick talking and humourously shaped root vegetables. It seems like only yesterday that I began my highly sexual, b.d.s.m. affair with Lady Internet when in fact it has now been three years. We've all had a good time. Laughs, tears, uneasy silences, the hatching of my parasitic eggs in some poor sap's head. The list goes on and on. Do not fret, however, as I will continue to bring all you undeserving slugs top notch scathing wit and off color humor. Yes. I will keep the monkeys laughing. Then I will strike! You can cage the lion but you cannot clip its wings. But for now, just watch this colorful pinwheel. Yes. Watch the pinwheel and enjoy the party. If anyone starts singing 99 Red Balloons, though, I'll have to rip out your larynx and scream down your throat.

Back in the Game, Elbows Flying

Well, gentle reader, I've once again come into what I like to call "face-down-in-the-gutter inebriation" or, in simple terms, the urge to vent my nonsensical thoughts. As part of my new strategy, I have made this fine interweb publication available through the horrible portal of darkness that is AIM. As a result I now have a much broader audience and I don't mean in a literal sense. Now any degenerate parasite can read this so I've decided to tack against the wind, or haul on the mizzen gib, or whatever nautical metaphor I was supposedto use and employ a style that I have't used in quite a while. Thats right you proles. It is time, once again, for some Fun Facts about me. Sit back and get ready to learn because, damn it, if I can't teach you kids then that jerk Principal Hanes will win the raft race and I'll have to go back to my pig waxing job in the projects and give up on my dream of becoming a bus axle. There won't necesarily be a quiz later but studies (read:heavy drinking) have shown that it scares you more if I say there will be one. So open the filthy maw of your mind and prepare to learn about the most important subject of all. Me!

• When Nick Anderson was born he was seperated from his evil twin brother Katie Couric to prevent a titan struggle that threatened to destroy the world.
• Nick Anderson can recite the dialogue from the first episode of CHIPS before vomiting uncontrollably.
• This bulleted list of facts about Nick Anderson roundhouse kicked a bulleted list of facts about Chuck Norris so hard that the South was able to rise again.
• Heres a fun story

Unbeknownst to most, Nick Anderson was the first human
to achieve escape velocity on his own in 1560 with the aid of
a turnip and a fiesty cat named Steven. He travelled to the
moon where he ingested a large chunk but ended up deeming
it unfit for human or robot consumption and spit the piece
earthward. The result is known as Texas.

• Nick Anderson detests bulleted lists of fun facts about himself. He'll probably kill me if he finds out about it.
• There was a time when one of the the tallest buildings in the world was the Empire State building. That distinction now belongs to the leviathan in Nick Anderson's pants. Tuesday is ladies night on the "observation deck".
• When Nick Anderson turned 5 the 80's couldn't go on and died out of spite. To appease the world Nick Anderson crated the 90's. The world still hasn't forgiven him.

Well well. That certainly was a fun trip. I certainly want to go again. But not too soon. Nick Anderson is a substance best not abused except when chased with whiskey. Anyway, thats all I have in the colon of my mind at present. I hope all you deviant bottom feeders out there learned a thing or two about the majestic creature that is Nick Anderson. That being said, try to throw fewer sharp objects and rocks when you see me in the street. Ahhhh!