Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Thinks I Think and Why You Can't Rap

      Staying up way too late is a problem for me. I have talked about my sleeping shittiness in previous posts, so, I won't re-has now...just that is sucks titanic balls. I does yield some strange side effects. Late at night, I get really weird ideas, thoughts and day dreams in general that are so off kilter, you'd think they came from a lobotomized mental patient on an acid binge. They're seriously fucked up! I am happy to report that I have yet to suddenly come out of a black out, discover that I'm missing four hours out of the night and my hands are covered in blood. I am looking forward to it though, don't get me wrong. Nothing get's the ol' think tank bubblin' like a good murder mystery. Especially since the outcome could determine whether I'd be spending my life fending off "bull queers" for the sanctity of my own anal virginity.

I like to dress up a little when solving 
murder mysteries to save my rectum.

      So, in lieu of, as yet to be "homicidal tendencies", I watch a lot of t.v., read idiotic rants and politically charged commentary on the internet, act out my future as a contestant on Jeopardy in the living room, alone...in my underwear...what? You're less nervous if you're in your underwear...or is it their underwear? I DIGRESS...and I try in vain to bite my own toe nails off. That's usually an uphill battle...because I'm an ever expanding fat packing nightmare. 

Gimme six months...I'll have this motherfucker BEAT!

Amid trying to wear myself out with various exhausting methods, I think. A lot. Not really about anything in particular. It's just a constant deluge of shit. Shit that would hurt your brain with the amount of "stupid juice" that it flows in. My mind is like a filled to bursting sewage pipe that is ever flowing. Instead of shit however it's filled with pop culture iconography, porno and self loathing, loose facts...oh, and collectibles. I like collecting things. Like...sewage pipes. It's a niche' genre. What? Oh, don't look at me like that. They're not used. Okay. They're not ALL used. Hm...okay they're all used. 

These are my babies. I call the one on top, "Donnie", the one under it, "Marie"...
the one on the far right...I call that one, "Shit Tube".

      I am inundated with a barrage of idiotic ideas all day and night. So, I thought I'd share two completely random thoughts with you. They mean nothing and I hope don't indicate some mad psychosis that will one day have me insisting on a diet of melted butter, finger nail clippings and taco shells to be served out of a chilled dog dish. Chilled...because that's CLASSY! Okay...my thoughts.

What the fuck are we going to do when James Randi dies?

      For you un-hip few, I'll explain just who, James "McPIMPIN'!" Randi is. He's made an awesome career out of calling supposed "psychics" and "spiritualists" and con-artist thief types on their bull shit! He doesn't fuck around either, like...say...drop by on their operation, in a hockey mask, scream, point the finger and say..."You're so fake! Stop faking! FAKER!" while flipping them off. That's what...I...would do. I'm not good at confronting fuck faces like these, let alone calling them out as frauds. Anyway, James doesn't go that route. He exposes them for the bullshitters they are...on national fucking t.v.

Take em down Randi!

       Imagine if you will, you've built a whole career out of bilking grieving families out of their money. Money you get by using their dead loved one as a tool against them. Well, James Randi exposes douche' bags like this...all over the world...on t.v., in front of every body. It's the civil equivalent of stopping a pick pocket in the streets, calling them a shitty thief liar, pulling their pants down, spray painting "ass faced thief" in red paint on their chest then, standing there, with a serious expression on your face. Awesome right? See, the fucking bastards take advantage of a families and individuals who have suffered a loss. When you've just lost a loved one, you feel lost yourself. You're confused and would do anything to have one more moment with them. These fucksters say they can do that for you...for a price. A big fucking price. By the time you come to your senses about the whole thing and realize they straight up lied to you, these ass bastards are off to the next victim. For decades mix master James Randi has been serving up big steamy dishes of "YOU'VE BEEN EXPOSED AS A FUCKING FAKE" stew to these fraudster fucks for years. What's going to happen when he's gone? I mean, James Randi is the shit! Who could replace him? Criss Angel? Penn And Teller? Fuck. 

Fuck indeed.

Why does seem like every black person thinks he/she can rap or sing?

      Maybe it's just me but, it seems that when I troll around YouTube, a lot of the time, I run into slews of black folks who think they can rap or sing. It's astonishing. Look, I'm white...ish. I accept that. I openly admit that I can't dance. It's my lot in life. Really. I don't dance because, I look like a healthy man having the worst kind of epileptic fit, if I do. Could be due to the white-ness? I'd say it's due to the fact that, I never gave a flying fuck about dancing enough to try. I don't have the talent for it. Sorry. Can all black folks dance? No. Sorry to burst your bubble on that. Ready for another one? We're all human fucking beings. Some of us are awesome at some shit that other's, get this...aren't. Just because you share the same skin color as that bad ass who's wicked at whatever...doesn't make you a bad ass at shit. You can't rap! Yooouuuuu can't fuckin' sing! You've got no rhythm and your fucking tone deaf. Deal with it. Move on. I don't get it. I don't. Shit, Frank Sinatra was white AND a singer. That doesn't mean every white boy thinks he can belt out "My Way" and make your mama cry. So please, for the sake of our collective ears...stop your horse shit. It's awful. No. Stop it. DON'T...DON'T...just...stop. 

Choke this kid. Please.

      Alright. I'm off to try this sleeping deal again. Cross your fingers folks! Hm...I wonder where that cross your fingers shit came from...maybe I'll look that up. I bet it's about telling someone to fuck themselves...or maybe...snopes.com? Hm...maybe...Oh no...no...maybe...hm...nope...wait....

No comments:

Post a Comment

Comment. Lest your fear consume you, cry baby.