Tuesday, February 28, 2006
When I go out, I get dressed to the "nines." Of course, there are a few rules when hitting a nightspot like Applebees or The Iron Horse. Your shirt must be crisp, clean, black and tucked in firmly so that no material 'billows' about the waist. Because the shirt is tucked in there must be a belt. Leather is always preferred but not required. If you have a cell phone and your pants are too tight, an unsightly bulge in the pants should always be avoided (unless it's front and center) so a holster must be used. Clipping a cell phone holster the the belt is very stylish and as with the belt, leather material is preferred but not required. You must use a wallet chain to hold the wallet in place and be sure to use the long, check book style wallet. The long wallet gives the impression of extreme wealth. Since that front pocket can't sit empty, it is the perfect place to insert the pocket knife with the metal clip sticking out. The benefits of this are twofold; the knife is handy in the event of a fight and it shows anyone nearby that you have a knife at their disposal in case they need to cut open an envelope or trim a hangnail. All that's left to do is purchase a pair of white, high-top sneakers and grow a nice flowing Kentucky Waterfall to dust your shoulders.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
I was searching high and low for pants like these. Sharply designed, rakishly styled and crafted from the finest unprocessed denim to be found in all of Pakistan, these jeans are the hottest thing on the market right now. The ability to achieve the splits in a pair of skin tight jeans has been one of the most sought after elements of denim wear since the invention of karate. I love these jeans because it was in a pair of these that Ralph Macchio beat the intense asian guy in Karate Kid II. I want that intensity. I want that flexibility. I want the chance to do a full cresent kick in a pair of snakeskin boots and be able to return to a fighting stance without my jeans binding to my well-developed quadriceps muscles. Now Chuck Norris has an answer for my craving; the Chuck Norris Action Jeans! I cried myself to sleep the night I found out these had hit the market. I'm selling it all. I don't need much anymore other than these hot looking pants.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
It's still unclear if Marx started blogging because he became famous, or if the blog was in fact the catalyst to that fame. Marx certainly seemed more combative than in his later writings - his repeated challenges to kick Cornelius Vanderbilt's ass apparently went unanswered. Overall the writing is sloppy and Marx seems more interested in getting laid than projecting socialist ideals. This, along with vague references to a "cross country team," leads Dr. Carl Compactus of Carnegie Mellon University to theorize that Marx maintained the blog during high school.
The blog comes on top of last year's surprise discovery of videotapes chronicling the first season of Marx's unpopular reality show, "Arbeiterherausforderung Deutschland Rußland," or "Germany-Mother Russia Worker Challenge 1879."
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Listen fucker, I've turned over a new fucking leaf, got it? I need a motherfucking job, right the fuck right now. I got some fucking kids to support and I'm like 20 million years behind in child support because of this two year bit I did at Chino. The shit wasn't even my fucking fault either, so what the fuck? Skills? Yo, I got some fucking skills. I can shank a nigga right under the screw's fucking noses, I can do like 600 pushups without breaking a fucking sweat and I can mad dog like no one you fucking know. Don't worry about my fucking felony record because that shit is a fucking lie. I did way more shit than that I never got caught for. So don't worry about me. I'll do a great fucking job as long as you don't fucking boss me around too fucking much. I don't go for that house bitch shit. Fuck that. I might show up on time if I feel like it. Yeah fucking right.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Nothing new in the life of Laura. She is still keeping quiet, thinking about herself and her pointless feelings. No one is really interested. There won't be any further updates about Laura unless she dies or becomes less tan. Neither of which will happen anytime soon unfortunately.
It started with Brokeback Mountain, which was quickly followed with Brokeback Goldmine, Brokeback Rowboat, Brokeback Picnic Table, Brokeback Truck Canopy, Brokeback Men's Room, Brokeback Fishing Hole, and Brokeback Campground. While some are still amused by the constant barrage of Brokeback (fill in the blank) jokes, others think the already thinly amusing premise of gay sex on the open range has run its duration. Kind comments such as "okay, now" and "that's enough," haven't seemed to discourage the onslaught. Try to find a restroom without a Brokeback Urinal or Brokeback Handicap Stall reference written in Magic Marker its walls. You can't. Spend fifteen minutes in a sporting goods store and your ears will be filled with constant Brokeback Coleman Stove and Brokeback Ski Pole comments made by customers and sales associates alike. Talking about cowboys having sex has taken the nation by storm and the free reference to a film depicting harsh, dry, and dusty anal sex on a hand tooled leather saddle with silver engraved pommel has offended more than a few conservatives. Tattoos have appeared in the gay community with phrases such as 'Let's go Brokeback' and 'Brokeback Only' written across biceps and buttcheeks. There's no telling how far this phenomena will go, but to those of us who have no intention of ever seeing any such film, there's plenty of time to speculate and fantasize about just how wonderful the movie really is.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Mr. Potomki has been vomiting unchecked for four days. He's puked on cleavage, spare ribs, frozen carrots, two rhubarb pies, a hot curling iron, a Gerainium, in two sinks, four wastebaskets, three shoeboxes, a hatchback, and all over a black light poster at Spencer's Gifts. It's strange that he still has stomach contents to regurgitate but he has produced at least twenty five pints of partially digested food and stomach fluids in order to coat everything in sight. Speculations are running wild.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Greg Potomki was exuberant when he purchased a six pack of the new Pepsi One Cola, sure that he had in his hands a wonderful carbonated beverage with a delicious taste and only one calorie. Six cans and twenty minutes later Mr. Potomki's stomach decided the wonderful beverage wasn't such a great addition to the pizza, pretzels, milk and cabbage he had enjoyed for dinner. The bizarre looking soup was viciously ejected from his mouth and nostrils when he was least expecting it and nearly became a part of his friend Gandalf's attire for the evening. Carrot, his other best friend, began to scream the lyrics to the Karate Kid theme song to lighten the mood. Enjoying the amazing burn of stomach acid in his nostrils, Mr. Potomki did manage a chuckle when Carrot arched his back and began to scream "Try your best to win them all and one day time will tell. When you’re the one that’s standing there you’ll reach the final bell! You’re the best... around, nothing’s gonna ever keep you down. You’re the best... around, nothing’s gonna ever keep you down. You’re the best...around, nothing's gonna ever keep you dow-ow-ow-ho-how-ho-own." Carrot then began to swing his arms in a wide rendition of a heart-wrenching guitar solo.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
It’s too bad these two fat fucks will never meet. A match made in heaven that will never come to fruition. Together they could have populated the entire Earth with massive bellied children bearing awe inspiring stretch marks across their bloated abdomens. A whole new race could have been spawned if these two ample-bellied sex pots had simply crossed paths. It was a cruel twist of fate that on the day of their intended meeting at Wal-Mart they both became stricken with horrific bowel cramps and great gouts of brown and bubbly mess issued forth from their impressively proportioned backsides. They never again would have the chance to lay eyes on each other and would be forever doomed to languish in solitude, shunned by the cruel eyes of others. No one but them really missed out in this deal.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
"How dare they characterize our religion as based on violence!" screamed Mohammed Jihad as he struggled to pull the bloody axe from a lifeless Ancient Axe intern's chest. "We must defend the peaceful nature of Allah by setting fire to everything he created."
Ancient Axe editors and closed mind demifag idiots Buff Tan Honky and Maximillion asked why Muslims have to take everything so seriously.
"We're just trying to write an honest man's blog here," said Maximillion, fighting off eight Muslim attackers with a severed head. "Can't you take a fucking joke?"
Monday, February 06, 2006
Sunday, February 05, 2006
I wear this Reagan T-shirt to work and it really pisses off my tax-and-spend liberal boss. I can tell he's torn between my hotness and my frightening conservative ideology. Does he really want Scott McClellan's sloppy seconds? I'll fuck anything that opposes abortion, even the Pope and that bald guy who bombs clinics.
I'll even fuck an Iraqi as long as he's committed to freedom and democracy, and bonus points if he drives a Hummer.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
I hate all of you fuckers. Kiss the fucking beard. You see my cheeks? No you don't that's because I have a big, bad ass fucking beard. My ass crack has a fucking beard like this too. Impenetrable. You fuckers will feel the wrath of a neckbeard before you die!
From the outside looking in on this situation it may seem that even the person unfortunate enough to have these teeth would be revolted by them as well. But in reality people can become accustomed to almost anything if it occurs in gradual degrees of change. It's not so different from the man with the Bot Fly infestation on his face that turned his neck and cheeks into a swiss cheese-like series of hatcheries for magggots and worms. You know that guy didn't wake up one day with a wriggling mass in his beard, it started with one innocent fly laying its eggs in an equally innocent open sore. A little time and a little ignorance of sanitary procedures leads to a wierd hive face. Couldn't be more simple. The teeth here are like that. First a little plaque build-up, then some gingivitis, a little tooth decay, a minor abscess, then BOOM, only six teeth left. But amongst all of that, this guy maintained one tooth above all others, that one skinny solitary tooth on the left side of his mouth stands tall and dignified in a sea of misery. He babied that tooth, refusing to let it succumb to the horrors that surrounded it. It was his favorite and he loved it as something precious and sacred. That's the tooth you must kiss if you want to worm your way into his heart. That tooth is the gatekeeper to the passions of this lonely man of great misfortune. Kiss the tooth. Kiss it and see if you've found your special someone.
For those of you out there who have spent as much time as I have staring at the backside of a well-groomed dog, a little light has now been shed on what lies beneath all that luxurious fur. I was always interested in knowing the intricacies of the canine anatomy and had a drive to know where the anal sac is. To be honest I didn't even know that dogs have anal sacs and I’m not exactly sure what they are. But now I know they have them. This is what I like to call a ‘great leap forward.’ I don’t reference the Chinese ‘Great Leap Forward’ that resulted in massive starvation and forced relocations of its populace, I just mean my intellect when it comes to a dog’s crotch has moved light-years beyond it’s former level. I think my greatest challenge will be the discovery of what exactly the penis retractor muscle does. But you know that of all people, I alone possess the patience, caring and sheer willpower to learn this important fact. Please wish me luck. I’m going to need all the help I can get in my journey to the center of a dog’s toilet area.