Fucking Subjects and The Inglorious Research

      Being a geek is stressful. You have to maintain an inordinate amount of information, about subjects no one but, fellow geeks, give two shits about. It's a retarded burden that is, at times, too much to bear. Why bring this up? Well, I just sat through, an hour and twenty minutes of cinematic eye poison that no one should be subjected to, all in the name of writing an article. Sure, there are a lot of fruitless things with far worse consequences, than just wasting time on the movie equivalent to AIDS, but, not many. People in general don't like to waste time, unless it's in a hot tub they own, with their genitals being caressed, by an attractive person they want to hump a lot. I am not one of those people.

I was going to put a picture of a drag queen in here, 

as a kind of "best of both worlds" hot tub joke, but, 

this is what Google found, when 

I searched for "hot drag queen". 

No Joke.

      Looking up crazy, yet oddly specific, factual, subject matter has consumed a lot of my internet time as of late. Shit, even my web porn "search-a-plenty" has taken a hit. I'm surprised I haven't received some kind of "concern letter" regarding the drop in traffic, from the proprietors of "hot celebrity nip slip" web sites. Though, I still receive a fair amount of "appreciation letters" from the owners of "bangin' grannies" sites...and rightly so. When you devote, what amounts to months of time, to a specific endeavor, you should expect some kind of recognition for loyalty. Regardless, I have been looking up a tons of shit about shit. Shit that goes largely unseen. All of this searching is, in the end, for one thing, we as a people, all seek out. More...and more money. The Almighty Green God. Bless the mighty dollar and it's unjust ruling of us all...with it's iron fisting gloriousness. It's got us by the collective nuts...and twists oh so brutally. Bow and squeal, people!

Here's a little something for your trouble...and

 would you buy some fucking underwear 

with it for fucks sake? You're scaring me.

      Ball sack yanking aside, money is motherfucking important. Since I, like us all, have next to none of it, I'm using every trick in the book to try and get more. Writing seems to be skill I can pimp to the, unwashed and sexually deprived, internet masses and I'm happy to do it. Though, it doesn't pay dick, I'll tell you that. If you're looking to break into the writing game, stick to what you know and don't expect to get paid. Try sending letters to Penthouse and unwitting celebrities, like Steve Guttenburg. Hell, combine them and write a Penthouse style letter TO Steve Guttenburg. The Gutte loves letters, especially those that directly reference his penis. How would I know that? It says so, right there in my restraining order, "...with the exception of correspondence directly referencing Mr. Guttenburg's penis.". I never sent him such a letter. My letters were more or less asking for him to read my "Police Academy 8: Dead in Space" script. It's a film noir, political thriller/bio pic with funny elements worked in...in space. Well, as an example, I have a scene where Mahoney gets duped into a dark office...in space during a reunion...in space. He bends over, splits his pants (because he's old and fat, funny right?), then, he's raped by the occupants of the formerly "Blue Oyster Bar", now "Blue Oyster Rape Bar". It's all done off camera, of course. It's not a fucking porn movie, nasty ass. I'm saving the hardcore fucking for my "Police Academy 9: Hardcore Fucking...on Patrol!" script.  

I wonder if The Gutte still has those shorts. 

I might work them into number 9.

      The great whirl wind of research has swallowed my time, whole, and vurped in my face. What a bitch. Alas, there are worse things people do to make money. I could prepare children to be coke mules, but, the hours suck and there's all that fucking whining. You'd think that if they missed their parents so much, they wouldn't have signed up to run drugs. So, I'll suck it up and read through masses of internet articles to find one sentence or paragraph that works for me in the mean time. Until I find an actual job that is. It's something anyway. Oh, that reminds me, if anyone has any suggestions for an interesting subject, feel free to tell me. I have a hell of a time thinking of shit. The part of my brain reserved for such matters was removed to make room for masturbation fuel and "what not to pee on while in Mexico" factoids. So, if you have anything, let me know. Until then, I'm off to the heavy reading and computer screen invoked migraines. Damnit.

Fucking words.

Easy Money, If You Don't Mind Crying

      Writing articles is a pain in the dick. Seriously, it's a sharp, lightning bolt of piercing pain...right in the dick. Well, maybe it's just for me. The dick pain, anyway, see. I have been itching to write an article for Cracked.com. A tiny bit for the notoriety of it, mostly because they pay you. Who doesn't like getting paid for typing shit right? The hard thing about writing for Cracked isn't the writing part so much, as they want it to be about something. Which, as anyone who has read this far knows, I am slightly retarded at doing that. In fact, I'm slightly annoying that way. I ramble! That's my "thing", you know. Well, by "thing" you've probably surmised that I mean, "crutch".

This is how I make it through an un-feeling world!

      Being that I can't "ramble" and have to actually come up with a concise premise, with which to slap my stanky funny penis on, I have actual work to do. I, of course, am not used to this. Working at writing that is. I have worked before and damn hard! It was more manual labor and dressing sexy for clients. Most of the jobs I had, I lifted things ...multiple times and they were heavy! Shit, I have even used machines to lift things heavier than I could physically lift. Somehow, this is harder. I have to think of a premise, research items that pertain to that premise, then, submit the whole fucking mess to be scrutinized by editorial strangers. Which, can make anyone feel very vulnerable and naked. These guys are paid to look at crap submitted by half assed morons like myself, then, tell said morons that it's absolute shit. Did I mention that I don't even pay these strangers to do this? I mean, I'm used to paying for degradation. Though what I pay for isn't for my writing but does involve laughing and full frontal nudity...and at least one midget. 

Fuck, that's sexy. Where's the midget?

      After, tearing your premise a new asshole and it's supporting items to shit, it'll be up to me to find better examples and then, maybe they approve it. Once this happens, then, I have to write the fucking thing. This, on average, might take a week or less or more, depending on how irresponsible I am with my time (i.e. porn, Netflix, XBox, porn...). At the end of the whole spiel, I might have an article posted on Cracked AND get money for it. This would be awesome of course, because as I mentioned above, who doesn't like being paid for the shit they do, right?

Oh, no one asked you, you red and white fuck!

      Coming up with a premise seems to be the hardest part for me. I have tons of subjects to write about, I just need to string at least 6 of them together. Devising a compelling thread with which to link them together is where I am having the problem. It has to be interesting, have at least 6 examples and be original. If you weren't foretold this is the dick pain portion of the process. Well, here's an example: Dimebag Darrell, of Pantera fame, came up with the intro guitar part to "Cowboys From Hell" (one of the songs they became famous for) while blitzed out fucking drunk. He was using guitar pedals and want not, whilst also recording himself playing guitar. He played what would become the intro...then, moved on. By move on, I mean, passed out. See, now how the fuck do I come up with 6 examples of some shit like that? I know...2. Keith Richards and Dimebag Darrell offhand. That's it! Years of reading nonsense bullshit facts to end up with 2. What the fucking fuck! I knew I should have devoted more time to becoming a gynecologist. I mean, that's one hobby of mine that I would love to get paid for. No. Instead I read facts. What the fuck is wrong with me? 

Oh, I almost forgot. 

      Why would I put myself through this grief? Mother fucking Christmas. That's right. Buying shit for people, so as to appear nice, if you can fucking believe that. It wouldn't be so bad if everything was free. Can we do that, people? Can we throw a damn switch or make a law that shit is free for one day? That would be great...aside from the mass rioting and the murder of millions due to trampling, looting and crazy people trying to fill containers with human shit. Why would they you ask? Pff...I don't know, but, you know there would be at least one prick doing it! Gross. So, I am off to scour the information super highway in search of subject matter that I might churn, like milk to fine butter, into sweet profits for Christmas presents. Oh, how about I write an article about "6 Reasons Your Dick Will Hurt Due to Writing An Article". Cha-ching! Money in the bank. 

Up yours Christmas!