“Who would have though that cigarettes were good for anything but cancer? Turns out some of the same stuff
in tobacco products repels cats and dogs, takes the hair off your back and can fly you to the moon!”
I don’t know about you, but I’m sold! This is what The Truth is trying to say about cigarettes, in an attempt to dissuade (remonstrate/deprecate) people from smoking. Honestly, claiming that a drug can fly you to the moon, get rid of unwanted body hair, and stop annoying domesticated animals from bothering you sounds like something that I really want.
The Truth is an anti-smoking company funded by the US Tobacco companies, using many forms of media to get its message across. Its message, a very simple one, but it is very highly skewed. “Don’t smoke!” Maybe they should just come out and say this, instead of their scare tactics which, do they really actually work? “Cigarette smoke contains rat poison!” Sounds kind of serious. Rat poison is also a prescription medicine; it’s called Coumadin. Coumadin is an anti-coagulant and is used to prevent heart attacks, strokes, and blood clots in arteries in veins. Call me crazy, but aren’t these things that we are told cigarette smoking causes? Sorry, I had to, they are for completely different reasons, obviously, but, well, you tell me. If I were to prescribe something for you for symptoms X, Y, and Z, and you ended up with symptoms X, Y, and Z, don’t you think that would be a little strange.
I feel as if the cigarette companies are on to something and are laughing all the way to the bank. Negative advertisements are still advertisements for a product. Just because there is a big fat “Don’t” in the beginning of the message, “Smoke” is still in the statement. Tobacco companies aren’t allowed to advertise to children directly, but thanks to “The Truth”, they now have the availability to do so. In the one commercial, the “ad” talks about fruit-flavored cigarettes or some such nonsense. Well, being that Big Tobacco can’t tell this to kids, why not have somebody else do it for them? And how the fuck are kids going to find out about these products, because I smoke cigarettes, and I’m not really sure that these magical goodies actually exists. Although, I do prefer my cigarettes to taste like straight up NASCAR, redneck, inbred, white-trash deliciosity. And the fact it can no longer be called the Winston Cup, come on, really, like people bought Winstons because that was the name of the NASCAR championship. That’s like saying that people buy any of the products that college bowl games are named after, just because their team played in that bowl. How many people have dropped their wireless service provider and jumped ship to Sprint, being that it is now the Sprint Cup? It is advertising, I guess, but as a little kid, I never put two and two together. Winston sounded redneck enough to me to allow it without question. But hey, being that I smoke Winstons, and well, nobody else on this fine planet we call “Earth” does, maybe their subliminality worked on one person. Damn them! We all know people that watch NASCAR smoke Marlboros, because when you are that many generations into your family’s gene pool, well, colors apparently don’t work too well, and saying that extra syllable, “Reds”, after saying such a difficult word as Marlboro, well, you deserve them just for saying that right. I used to smoke reds, and well, with all Mar-ul-burrows, Mar-burrows, however you would like to pronounce it, they leave a shit-ass taste in your mouth and throat after having like 5 or 6 packs. Granted, they are cigarettes, but still, I think it’s something in the paper, or quite possibly the paper itself that sucks giant donkey dee-hack.
Instead of wasting all this money on pointless advertising, why not do something useful with it. Advertising on television is quite expensive, especially when I don’t think I’ve gone a day without seeing a Truth commercial. What does all of this money actually mean to the tobacco companies? Having to pay more money out just makes the consumer have to pay more for the product, which they more than willingly do being that it is a highly addictive drug.
The most recent raise in cigarette prices, a federal tax increase from $0.39 per pack to $1.01, is starting to show a huge increase in people using state supported “quitlines” across the country. This money “will be used” to finance a health care insurance for children. Great, why not take that money and save it for when all us smokers are all fucked up and decrepit, like a savings account you never knew you had. I don’t know how I’m going to pay for this bill Doctor. Well, you’re in luck, because out of the 5,000,000 packs of cigarettes (is that a lot? Pack a day, 365 a year, add one, carry the two, 13,698.63 years, yea, not possible, lets try that again…) Well, you’re in luck, because out of the 15,000 packs of cigarettes you’ve smoked in your life (pack a day for 40 years, give or take a couple somethings), you’ve saved $9,300 dollars for your new testicles. Yes, that’s right, smoking cigarettes causes testicular cancer, even in women, especially in Jamie Lee Curtis and that runner that is a he-she, a hermaphrodite if you will. What’s that you say, it causes lung cancer?! Well, that’s news to me, because science has already proven that you get lung cancer from being a whiny-little-homosexual-faggot-ass bitch. Don’t believe me? Well, I read it on Wikipedia, so take that all you naysayers out there, it MUST be true, and, well, as soon as I post this, it will be on the Interwebs, and anything on the Interwebs is ALWAYS true, just like movies (including pornos) and the walls of public bathrooms. Fuck, use it in a paper, and cite my page, then have your teacher feel bad for you that you either A. know me or B. read my blog for entertainment, and then you’ll for suretainly get an A+!
Anyway, don’t believe the hype that smoking is bad for you. In the next two years, there is going to be a study that shows, using science, that smoking, is good for you, probably to the effect of one cigarette a day, but well, if 1 is good, 20 must be super good! Remember kiddies, moderation is for pussies. Unless you’re a whiny-little-homosexual-faggot-ass bitch, you have nothing to worry about, other than losing your balls, and, at age 60 or so, who needs ‘em anyways? I mean, I am quite attached to them at the moment (cheap pun, I know) but hey, at 60, if I am still breathing, I doubt that trying to sleep with 14 year old girls will be on the top of my list anymore. And hey, without testicles means without the problems of lots of STDs, and being that the above 55 age group is now the most predominant age to contract STDs, well, you won’t have to worry about that either. Ew! Horny old wrinkly sex.
PS: I apologize that there are not actually any more “Truth” ads, at least that I’ve seen, so this may not be completely up to date, but, well, I started this post a long time ago, and completely forgot about it, but I couldn’t let such literary genius go to waste, could I? That would be almost as bad as letting an already cold can of Natural Light get warm. PEACE!
S(dot)cott M(eezy)iller
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
If Quizzes are Quizzical, What are Tests?
So, with today being Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I felt that it would only be right if I didn’t go to work. Oh, you racist prick, not because it’s a “black holiday” and black people don’t work. Well, that’s part of the reason, I mean, fuck, they hate people to think that, but come on, your only holiday of the year was made so you didn’t have to work. Wait, do they actually work? That’s not nice. I’m sorry, I must be falling into this racist propaganda trap. They work, who else is going to be there to clean the shit off the wall of Wal-Mart’s bathroom when I give it a nice coat of Mahogany mud. Nope, nevermind, that’ll be a Mexican. Wait, wrong again, Mexicans don’t work at Wal-Mart, unless it’s a retarded Mexican. Do they exist? I mean, I guess they are from the south, so there must be some in-breeding there. …What? Oh, yea, wrong south. Hmmm… Well, Wal-Marts do exist in el May-he-co, so I guess I could travel down there to see if there really are retarded Mexicans, or if they are just like Unicorns, Zombies and Bigfoot, very hard to find. Did you think I was going to say mythical creatures? If you did you are just ignint! Wait, just because its MLK day doesn’t mean I have to speak their broken “Anglesh” too, but it’s oh so much fun! Try it out sometime, and tell me you don’t feel smarter that you don’t actually talk like that as per your vernacularity. Or you could sounds just as stupid and use sayings that doesn’t actually mean what you think they does.
While you’re sleeping like a baby, and you could care less about it, why don’t you go head over heels (stand up?), go have your cake and eat it too, and don’t even bother giving me a flying fuck or a rat’s ass. Really… really? Go to hell, in a hand basket, jerk-off.
I don’t remember seeing retards high on the top exports of the United States, and now that there’s a Wally World on every corner, well, we might even need to start importing them soon! And you may be thinking to yourself that I’ve hit an all-time-low picking on the mentally challenged. “Rain Man was a ruh-tard and he practically bankrupted a casino.” And, well, I don’t actually have anything wrong with them, not that anyone actually should, because that’s like hating an Australian rugby player in a wheel chair! “Oi, wood ja give us a poosh mait?” What? Not sure. So yea, today I had no desire to go to work at all. Not only was it “Do as the race of the person whose day it is does” day, but I seemed to have quite the hangover. Actually, I was still drunk when I got to work, and I stopped drinking around 7:30 last night, passed out by 8:45, missed Ax Men, pretty pissed about that, and woke up drunk as a skunk at 6 in the flipping morning. Who does that? Well, I guess it really doesn’t matter though, because I won and the keg lost. In the past few days, my facebook status updates have had to do with me, a keg, and a hangover, and well, I think that rock, paper, scissor is a little out-dated and needs to be revamped a little bit. “Scott, Keg, Hangover, Shoot!” It just has a certain ring of awesomeness to it. So here’s how it’ll go:
Scott beats Keg.
Hangover beats Scott.
Keg beats Hangover.
I think that works out to actually working. And it makes a lot more sense than that other stupid game I replaced it with. I mean, come on, paper beats rock? Maybe a gay rock! Pretty sure rock goes “Smash!” and beats anything, except maybe a jackhammer, which is not part of the game might I add. I’m going to see how many 5 year olds I can get to play this game. (I hope you’re listening Anheuser-Busch. I could use some extra funds, just think of all the children that will grow up to be alcoholics because of a kiddy game. And yes, we can switch it to “Scott, Bud Light Keg, Hangover, Shoot!” even though it may not have the same ring, I’ll accept it, for the right price.) So, going to work with a drunkover is not a fun thing. On the ride in, I noticed there were absolutely zero cars on the road, which I thought to be slightly weird, but I dismissed it, because I was still slightly very intoxicated and was only making sure I didn’t yomit.
On a lighter note, hopefully not going to insult any other, uh, stuff-thing-people-ma-jiggers, I’m going to talk on the holiday season, being that it is finally over (thank god!). Everyone’s favorite holiday of the year, sorry Jews, is Christmas. Well, you can go fuck yourself with that shit because I despise it. Not only Christmas, the whole “fakeness” involved with the holiday season, the shitty food, and being forced to give people shitty gifts to get shittier gifts in return. Save your 10$ and I’ll save my 20, and we can buy ourselves something we actually want. Thanks. Normally people pack on the pounds during the holiday season, and blame it on all the food, cookies, and desserts associated with it. On top of that, people spend way too much money on gifts they can’t really afford, but hey, that’s why there are credit cards right? And wow, since our credit cards aren’t entirely maxed out, and we’ve packed on “a couple extra pounds,” why don’t we get an expensive gym membership that we will use for maybe a week. Or, there’s something else I heard of. Bulimia, possibly anorexia., both viable options. I opt for anorexia, partially due to the fact I hate pretty much all foods that aren’t Taco Bell, and when for about a month straight there are “Holiday dinners” with family members that you don’t even want to see anyway, eating their leftover food that wasn’t good enough to be eaten the first time anyway, and they are forcing their pig feed on you. And you have to pretend to like it, and shovel down at least 2 plate fulls. Fuck that. I let people know straight up I don’t like food, and well, I don’t eat for about a month straight. Greatest diet invention ever. While everyone else is getting fatter, I’m getting skinnier, so I look double skinnier. But, yea, the holidays, I guess, were made with good intentions, but have turned out to be oh so shitty. And Christmas is by far the worst of all. Every year, I never get shit, because I usually buy something when I want it. I know, it’s my own fault, but you know what, fuck off piss face! So while everyone is opening up their awesome gifts, I get a pair of underwear and a package of 3 pairs of socks. Hoo-fuckin-ray! So finally, this year, I got fed up with all the bullshit, so I decided I was going to go to the top of the complaint department for the holiday season, a letter to Santa Claus. No, I didn’t send it before Christmas, because, well, I’m not going to ask Santa for a blow-up sex doll and butt lube. Gross. So, here’s my letter to Santa, you’ll probably see it before he does.
Dear Santa,
Fuck you.
Love,
S D0T M33ZY
Initially I was satisfied with that, but I decided Jolly Ole Saint Nick deserved a little more explanation than just that. Here’s my second attempt.
Dear Santa.
Fuck you a lot.
Love,
S D0T M33ZY
Haha, just kidding. Well, kind of. That wasn’t my final draft, still a little more editing to do.
Dear Santa,
Fuck you a really lot! Apparently you need to get your eyes checked. If your eyes were properly functioning, you would have seen that I was on your “Good List.” I don’t see the humor in what I got this Christmas, fuck, holiday season. Being that my birthday is technically part of the holiday season, could you please tell the Birthday Present Fairy that I’m still waiting on my fucking birthday presents, that fucking ginormous bag of douche. So I guess it’s not all your fault I’m taking this out on you, but you still fucked me pretty bad too. I mean, you got me a 500 GB hard drive for my PS3. That’s cool I guess. Maybe if you lost a little weight and finally realized you need to ditch your elves and get Mexicans, you would have been able to actually put the hard drive in a PS3 for me and given it to me as a package. (I know what you’re thinking, I don’t swing that way, unless it will help my chances for next Christmas ;-) ) So yea, 80$ so far, not like I’m counting. Next up, Hangover on Blu-Ray. Sweet, but not really cool. Christmas is all about going big or going home, and being that the Bday Present Fairy forgot about me, I figured you guys made some deal that I would get something awesome, and your elves would build it for me. Are there Mexican elves? You should probably look into that. So I’m sitting there, my dad is passing out the presents you left for our family, and I get nothing else. So I’m pretty pissed, and I feel that my parents are just hiding that big present you left me. Nope, nothing. My aunts bring me the presents you left for me at their house, and I thought that is where my big score would be located. No, nothing. They brought me the Hobo gloves and scarf you left at their house. I don’t know what I did to deserve that, and I don’t find it funny. Are you hinting that is where my future lies? With hobo gloves and a scarf? Why didn’t you throw in a 55 gallon drum complete with fire wood and newspapers. Maybe a shopping cart with a starter set of cans in it too? So, don’t make me call up the Tooth Fairy (who apparently has hit rock bottom, yea, wtf Duane?) and have him kick your ass. That is if he still remembers how to layeth the smacketh down. Maybe, you know what, being that I always get dicked on Christmas, instead of worrying about getting me anything, just give the Rock his balls back and stop having him embarrass himself in retarded kiddy movies. I mean, last year I got a PS3 which was sweet, but you made me wait until the end of February to get it so you didn’t spoil it for my brother. Come on! I only wanted it since it came out, I’m not even sure he knew that he wanted it… Dick move Claus, dick move. Hopefully by this Christmas you get your eyes checked, and I’ve made this font size 7 just so you would hopefully notice it, unless you have outsourced your letter reading to India already, and will realize that I have not been naughty, but rather nice, and I will actually get something cool.
Thanks in Advance,
S D0T M33ZY
That’s all I got today kiddies. Until next time!
S(dot)cott M(eezy)iller
While you’re sleeping like a baby, and you could care less about it, why don’t you go head over heels (stand up?), go have your cake and eat it too, and don’t even bother giving me a flying fuck or a rat’s ass. Really… really? Go to hell, in a hand basket, jerk-off.
I don’t remember seeing retards high on the top exports of the United States, and now that there’s a Wally World on every corner, well, we might even need to start importing them soon! And you may be thinking to yourself that I’ve hit an all-time-low picking on the mentally challenged. “Rain Man was a ruh-tard and he practically bankrupted a casino.” And, well, I don’t actually have anything wrong with them, not that anyone actually should, because that’s like hating an Australian rugby player in a wheel chair! “Oi, wood ja give us a poosh mait?” What? Not sure. So yea, today I had no desire to go to work at all. Not only was it “Do as the race of the person whose day it is does” day, but I seemed to have quite the hangover. Actually, I was still drunk when I got to work, and I stopped drinking around 7:30 last night, passed out by 8:45, missed Ax Men, pretty pissed about that, and woke up drunk as a skunk at 6 in the flipping morning. Who does that? Well, I guess it really doesn’t matter though, because I won and the keg lost. In the past few days, my facebook status updates have had to do with me, a keg, and a hangover, and well, I think that rock, paper, scissor is a little out-dated and needs to be revamped a little bit. “Scott, Keg, Hangover, Shoot!” It just has a certain ring of awesomeness to it. So here’s how it’ll go:
Scott beats Keg.
Hangover beats Scott.
Keg beats Hangover.
I think that works out to actually working. And it makes a lot more sense than that other stupid game I replaced it with. I mean, come on, paper beats rock? Maybe a gay rock! Pretty sure rock goes “Smash!” and beats anything, except maybe a jackhammer, which is not part of the game might I add. I’m going to see how many 5 year olds I can get to play this game. (I hope you’re listening Anheuser-Busch. I could use some extra funds, just think of all the children that will grow up to be alcoholics because of a kiddy game. And yes, we can switch it to “Scott, Bud Light Keg, Hangover, Shoot!” even though it may not have the same ring, I’ll accept it, for the right price.) So, going to work with a drunkover is not a fun thing. On the ride in, I noticed there were absolutely zero cars on the road, which I thought to be slightly weird, but I dismissed it, because I was still slightly very intoxicated and was only making sure I didn’t yomit.
On a lighter note, hopefully not going to insult any other, uh, stuff-thing-people-ma-jiggers, I’m going to talk on the holiday season, being that it is finally over (thank god!). Everyone’s favorite holiday of the year, sorry Jews, is Christmas. Well, you can go fuck yourself with that shit because I despise it. Not only Christmas, the whole “fakeness” involved with the holiday season, the shitty food, and being forced to give people shitty gifts to get shittier gifts in return. Save your 10$ and I’ll save my 20, and we can buy ourselves something we actually want. Thanks. Normally people pack on the pounds during the holiday season, and blame it on all the food, cookies, and desserts associated with it. On top of that, people spend way too much money on gifts they can’t really afford, but hey, that’s why there are credit cards right? And wow, since our credit cards aren’t entirely maxed out, and we’ve packed on “a couple extra pounds,” why don’t we get an expensive gym membership that we will use for maybe a week. Or, there’s something else I heard of. Bulimia, possibly anorexia., both viable options. I opt for anorexia, partially due to the fact I hate pretty much all foods that aren’t Taco Bell, and when for about a month straight there are “Holiday dinners” with family members that you don’t even want to see anyway, eating their leftover food that wasn’t good enough to be eaten the first time anyway, and they are forcing their pig feed on you. And you have to pretend to like it, and shovel down at least 2 plate fulls. Fuck that. I let people know straight up I don’t like food, and well, I don’t eat for about a month straight. Greatest diet invention ever. While everyone else is getting fatter, I’m getting skinnier, so I look double skinnier. But, yea, the holidays, I guess, were made with good intentions, but have turned out to be oh so shitty. And Christmas is by far the worst of all. Every year, I never get shit, because I usually buy something when I want it. I know, it’s my own fault, but you know what, fuck off piss face! So while everyone is opening up their awesome gifts, I get a pair of underwear and a package of 3 pairs of socks. Hoo-fuckin-ray! So finally, this year, I got fed up with all the bullshit, so I decided I was going to go to the top of the complaint department for the holiday season, a letter to Santa Claus. No, I didn’t send it before Christmas, because, well, I’m not going to ask Santa for a blow-up sex doll and butt lube. Gross. So, here’s my letter to Santa, you’ll probably see it before he does.
Dear Santa,
Fuck you.
Love,
S D0T M33ZY
Initially I was satisfied with that, but I decided Jolly Ole Saint Nick deserved a little more explanation than just that. Here’s my second attempt.
Dear Santa.
Fuck you a lot.
Love,
S D0T M33ZY
Haha, just kidding. Well, kind of. That wasn’t my final draft, still a little more editing to do.
Dear Santa,
Fuck you a really lot! Apparently you need to get your eyes checked. If your eyes were properly functioning, you would have seen that I was on your “Good List.” I don’t see the humor in what I got this Christmas, fuck, holiday season. Being that my birthday is technically part of the holiday season, could you please tell the Birthday Present Fairy that I’m still waiting on my fucking birthday presents, that fucking ginormous bag of douche. So I guess it’s not all your fault I’m taking this out on you, but you still fucked me pretty bad too. I mean, you got me a 500 GB hard drive for my PS3. That’s cool I guess. Maybe if you lost a little weight and finally realized you need to ditch your elves and get Mexicans, you would have been able to actually put the hard drive in a PS3 for me and given it to me as a package. (I know what you’re thinking, I don’t swing that way, unless it will help my chances for next Christmas ;-) ) So yea, 80$ so far, not like I’m counting. Next up, Hangover on Blu-Ray. Sweet, but not really cool. Christmas is all about going big or going home, and being that the Bday Present Fairy forgot about me, I figured you guys made some deal that I would get something awesome, and your elves would build it for me. Are there Mexican elves? You should probably look into that. So I’m sitting there, my dad is passing out the presents you left for our family, and I get nothing else. So I’m pretty pissed, and I feel that my parents are just hiding that big present you left me. Nope, nothing. My aunts bring me the presents you left for me at their house, and I thought that is where my big score would be located. No, nothing. They brought me the Hobo gloves and scarf you left at their house. I don’t know what I did to deserve that, and I don’t find it funny. Are you hinting that is where my future lies? With hobo gloves and a scarf? Why didn’t you throw in a 55 gallon drum complete with fire wood and newspapers. Maybe a shopping cart with a starter set of cans in it too? So, don’t make me call up the Tooth Fairy (who apparently has hit rock bottom, yea, wtf Duane?) and have him kick your ass. That is if he still remembers how to layeth the smacketh down. Maybe, you know what, being that I always get dicked on Christmas, instead of worrying about getting me anything, just give the Rock his balls back and stop having him embarrass himself in retarded kiddy movies. I mean, last year I got a PS3 which was sweet, but you made me wait until the end of February to get it so you didn’t spoil it for my brother. Come on! I only wanted it since it came out, I’m not even sure he knew that he wanted it… Dick move Claus, dick move. Hopefully by this Christmas you get your eyes checked, and I’ve made this font size 7 just so you would hopefully notice it, unless you have outsourced your letter reading to India already, and will realize that I have not been naughty, but rather nice, and I will actually get something cool.
Thanks in Advance,
S D0T M33ZY
That’s all I got today kiddies. Until next time!
S(dot)cott M(eezy)iller
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Magical Deuce
Do you like to shit on walls? Yes, I just asked that question. Seriously. Do you like to take bitter, pungent, salty, amazingly prodigious dumps? After an obvious yes, answer the following question: Do you like to shit all over bathroom walls? That may not be something you think of everyday, so I’ll give you some time to think it over. Don’t just brush it off being all like, “Ew, why would I want to shit on a wall?” Come to think of it, I’m not too sure I’ve ever thought about it until I’ve asked this question. Upon further introspection, I feel as if that would be something I would like to accomplish before I die. I mean, how many people can honestly say they’ve gotten shit all over a bathroom wall? I only know of two instances in which this happened, one of which was a lot closer to home than the other. Wait, one of them was in my house, in my bathroom. Did I do that? I don’t think so, but I was quite intoxicated that fine evening. I can remember it like it was my 24th birthday. Weak, sorry, I wish I could be more creative but well, true stories involve no creativity, only truth. What’s that you ask? When was the first time i saw shit all over a bathroom wall? Well that would have been Dorney Park, not on my 24th birthday or in my bathroom. In the fine eating establishment that is housed inside the walls of Dorney Park, my brother and I needed to use their immaculate restroom facilities. So as we were making our way into the door, two little kids, they were Mexican or black, somehow my memory seems to not hold onto that part of the story, came out screaming, “Look in there man!” So, well, we were like, ok, we’re going in there anyway, and thought it was going to be a deuce in the urinal or something silly of the sort. What had these black/Mexican boys done? Well, shortly before the blaxican boys walked out of the restroom I remembered noticing a chode of a man, maybe 4’10” tall, probably 6’ around who was floating around in my short-term memory bank. It all made better sense after I walked into the bathroom to see the most amazing sight of my life. If you ever have the opportunity, please go to Dorney Park. Most, if not all of my childhood memories come from just one trip. Goat boy actually worked there on the super crazy super out of control chugga-chugga choo-choo of a train. I think it actually went 3 mph max, and I’m not really sure why we were riding on it, but the point is that goat boy at one time in his life worked at Dorney Park as a kiddie train operator. “If I fall on a man’s head, he be dead!” (Say that in ebonics and tell me it isn’t amazing.) We were in line for some shitty-ass water slide and that is what we heard. So two steps into the bathroom and nothing seems wrong. Something takes my attention to the corner of the b-room, directly above the handicapped stall, because well, I’m kind of surprised this guy fit through the doorway is how huge he was. Not in the jacked my shoulders are 5 feet wide way, obviously. So a dark patch in the corner of a white ceiling brings my attention to the corner. Holy shit! Well, maybe the opposite, or something pertaining to holiness. Possibly an exorcism brought on by dozens of Dorney Park 5 star burritos. When I say there was shit all over the place, it is the biggest understatement of the century. There was shit covering probably 90% of everything encompassed by the handicapped shitticle. That encompassment encompasses the ceiling as well, and yes, apparently it’s possibly. If my memory serves me correct, which it rarely does, but I’m going with it anyway, it was at least a 9 or 10 foot ceiling too. So dude was 5 feet tall, ass is 2.5 feet off the floor, obviously hopefully was not sitting on the toilet bowl at the time because that would be scary. So back to figuring it out, he shat with such a velocity that his squirty squirts made it 7.5 feet in the air, which means it could have been even higher if not given the constraints of the ceiling, obviously, just stating it for those of us that are not astrophysicists.
So back to the magical dumpnation. It was back in the day, a Saturday contrary to popular belief of it being a Wednesday, and I was having my 24th birthday party at my house. Everything is going great, a couple people puked, whatever, and I go to bed with a smile on my face knowing that it was a good time. In the morning, surprisingly I’m a little groggy, head downstairs first thing for some bagels, coffee, and a smoke. When I get downstairs I hear all this buzz about somebody taking a shit in my bathroom. I’m assuming something like Bigfoot himself dropped by after I passed out, left a baby Bigfoot of a shit clogging my toilet, whatever. You know, high five whoever it belonged too, hand them a plunger, and tell them to take care of their “business.” Pun intended, obviously, just clarifying for those of us that missed the quotation marks. Sorry. Well, so, I could not have been more wrong about my bathroom and the shit. Apparently there was puke on or around the toilet area, not really surprising. My bathroom has seen puke before, people have had sex in my bathroom, hell, a fight even took place in my bathroom once, a physical fight, a fistfight at that. Other than some random giraffe getting coldcocked by Casper the not-so-friendly-anymore ghost in my basement, my bathroom is the only part of my house where shit goes down. On top of the not so surprising pukenstein, there was apparently shit all over the walls, sink area, tub area, etc of my bathroom. Being that I was still feeling like shit from drinking so much, the last thing that I needed was to walk into fecal matter and vomit, otherwise I would probably add to the mixture with a little bit of both myself. Let me just say that again in case I did not elaborate enough. THERE WAS SHIT FROM ONE END OF MY BATHROOM TO THE OTHER. So I heard from my mother, God bless her soul for cleaning that shit up, and putting up with my friends and their shit. All these shit puns are making me hungry for Taco Bell. Random? I think not, thanks. What I wouldn’t do for a little fourth meal, a nice Cheesy Gordita Crunch. MMMMMMMMMM. Taco. So shortly after the shit was cleaned out of my bathroom, I noticed all these ladybugs in my bathroom. Like, WTF? And I never really thought about it or put it together until just now, well, before, when I was in the shower and a ladybug was flying all over the place around me. I then started to think about how not too long ago my belovedly cursed bathroom was covered in shit head to toe. And my mind began to wander to rainbows and pots of gold, unicorns, leprechauns, and other magical beings and things of the sort when it hit me like a freight train. Whoever took that shit on the wall must have eaten a whole bunch of ladybug eggs before they diarrheaed nastiness all over everything. Either that or the ladybugs were there before the shitcident and they magically shat the walls up little by little until the teenciest pooper made what seemed like nothing turn into a heaping pile of dumple. In retrospect, I really do wish that I got to see the shit covering the walls. Something about poop and being a dude, I’m not really sure the connection. Did I rent a monkey for my party and it flung pooey patooey on the wall?! I’m hoping that’s the case. Because those ladybugs are still there and I don’t need another mountain of ladybug dung chilling on my walls, I’m not going to rent a monkey again, not that I ever remember doing that before, and if I ever have a party again, I am renting a porta-potty and that’s the only place people can go because I’m sick of my bathroom getting fucked up. Fuck anyone that’s ever fucked up my bathroom.
So looking back at it, I truly believe from the depths of my heart that I would really like to shit on a wall. Not just like lean up against a wall, let a dangle slide down leave a little chocolate syrup streak running down the wall and a nice puddle of muddle at the bottom. I’m talking full on spackle the wall brown with chunky monkey Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. That would be a great story to tell to my grandkids when they're saying how my wearing adult diapers is gross. You think THAT'S gross!? Hopefully there will be some boys in that generation, and hopefully they won't be gay homosexuals and think that poop tastes good and shouldn’t be wasted as such. Ew. I can’t think of anything else at this moment that would be able to top that story. I caught a whale with a beer bottle. Oh yea, well I spackled an entire wall with ass kabobs, colon cannonballs, and creamy butt nuggets. Automatic Victory. End Game. Nice try, loser-face. Maybe it could be in the winter, I’ll leave the window open and create a shitsicle on the wall. A frozen wonderland of ass boogers, and hopefully the smell won’t happen because of the cold. Does cold actually trap things in? I know that heat makes smells amplified. Something about air moving, and cooking whatever is making that terrible stank. Even though it won't bear the same accomplishment of, say, being the first man on the moon, because well, to my knowledge, I'd be the third man on this moon. But I think I will just need to spice it up a little, make sure to eat corn for like a week straight and then see how it goes. Golden nugget will have a new entry as per Merriam-Webster, all because of my "talent." Maybe it could even become popular enough to be a Winter Sport. "Ladybug Breeding." Not only will it be the biggest deuce that wins, but the most ladybugs spawned from dropping the kids off at the super bowl. Except it won't be at the super bowl, but rather around, and preferably not touching. And well, sponsorshit, er uh, sponsorship would be easy, shit. Toilet paper, adult diapers, cleaning products (i can just see it now, "Do you have shit all over your bathroom walls? Then you need Poo-Be-Gone! Great for those chocolate stained bathroom walls!"), people with fecal fetishes (coprophiliacs?), I mean, how many people watched 2 girls 1 cup? It might ruin it, but maybe the contestants should be really hot, naked chics. Battleshits deluxe edition.
What have we learned from today's lesson, kiddies?
#1 I'm sick in the head (prob shoulda known that already.)
#2 Ladybugs are born after people shit on walls.
#3 If it involves a hot girl, even somewhat attractive at all, and nudity, people will watch it.
#4 I plan to live off corporate sponsorships from the toilet paper industry.
#5 Invest in monkeys to fling the poo, to reach out to a much larger fan base. (do monkeys fling poo that is not their own? eh, doesn't matter... they will or they will not get any bananas. Take that monkey!)
#6 Enough talk about poop.
Am I the only one that wants to shit on a wall and completely paint it brown? lol... ?
S(dot)cott M(eezy)iller
So back to the magical dumpnation. It was back in the day, a Saturday contrary to popular belief of it being a Wednesday, and I was having my 24th birthday party at my house. Everything is going great, a couple people puked, whatever, and I go to bed with a smile on my face knowing that it was a good time. In the morning, surprisingly I’m a little groggy, head downstairs first thing for some bagels, coffee, and a smoke. When I get downstairs I hear all this buzz about somebody taking a shit in my bathroom. I’m assuming something like Bigfoot himself dropped by after I passed out, left a baby Bigfoot of a shit clogging my toilet, whatever. You know, high five whoever it belonged too, hand them a plunger, and tell them to take care of their “business.” Pun intended, obviously, just clarifying for those of us that missed the quotation marks. Sorry. Well, so, I could not have been more wrong about my bathroom and the shit. Apparently there was puke on or around the toilet area, not really surprising. My bathroom has seen puke before, people have had sex in my bathroom, hell, a fight even took place in my bathroom once, a physical fight, a fistfight at that. Other than some random giraffe getting coldcocked by Casper the not-so-friendly-anymore ghost in my basement, my bathroom is the only part of my house where shit goes down. On top of the not so surprising pukenstein, there was apparently shit all over the walls, sink area, tub area, etc of my bathroom. Being that I was still feeling like shit from drinking so much, the last thing that I needed was to walk into fecal matter and vomit, otherwise I would probably add to the mixture with a little bit of both myself. Let me just say that again in case I did not elaborate enough. THERE WAS SHIT FROM ONE END OF MY BATHROOM TO THE OTHER. So I heard from my mother, God bless her soul for cleaning that shit up, and putting up with my friends and their shit. All these shit puns are making me hungry for Taco Bell. Random? I think not, thanks. What I wouldn’t do for a little fourth meal, a nice Cheesy Gordita Crunch. MMMMMMMMMM. Taco. So shortly after the shit was cleaned out of my bathroom, I noticed all these ladybugs in my bathroom. Like, WTF? And I never really thought about it or put it together until just now, well, before, when I was in the shower and a ladybug was flying all over the place around me. I then started to think about how not too long ago my belovedly cursed bathroom was covered in shit head to toe. And my mind began to wander to rainbows and pots of gold, unicorns, leprechauns, and other magical beings and things of the sort when it hit me like a freight train. Whoever took that shit on the wall must have eaten a whole bunch of ladybug eggs before they diarrheaed nastiness all over everything. Either that or the ladybugs were there before the shitcident and they magically shat the walls up little by little until the teenciest pooper made what seemed like nothing turn into a heaping pile of dumple. In retrospect, I really do wish that I got to see the shit covering the walls. Something about poop and being a dude, I’m not really sure the connection. Did I rent a monkey for my party and it flung pooey patooey on the wall?! I’m hoping that’s the case. Because those ladybugs are still there and I don’t need another mountain of ladybug dung chilling on my walls, I’m not going to rent a monkey again, not that I ever remember doing that before, and if I ever have a party again, I am renting a porta-potty and that’s the only place people can go because I’m sick of my bathroom getting fucked up. Fuck anyone that’s ever fucked up my bathroom.
So looking back at it, I truly believe from the depths of my heart that I would really like to shit on a wall. Not just like lean up against a wall, let a dangle slide down leave a little chocolate syrup streak running down the wall and a nice puddle of muddle at the bottom. I’m talking full on spackle the wall brown with chunky monkey Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. That would be a great story to tell to my grandkids when they're saying how my wearing adult diapers is gross. You think THAT'S gross!? Hopefully there will be some boys in that generation, and hopefully they won't be gay homosexuals and think that poop tastes good and shouldn’t be wasted as such. Ew. I can’t think of anything else at this moment that would be able to top that story. I caught a whale with a beer bottle. Oh yea, well I spackled an entire wall with ass kabobs, colon cannonballs, and creamy butt nuggets. Automatic Victory. End Game. Nice try, loser-face. Maybe it could be in the winter, I’ll leave the window open and create a shitsicle on the wall. A frozen wonderland of ass boogers, and hopefully the smell won’t happen because of the cold. Does cold actually trap things in? I know that heat makes smells amplified. Something about air moving, and cooking whatever is making that terrible stank. Even though it won't bear the same accomplishment of, say, being the first man on the moon, because well, to my knowledge, I'd be the third man on this moon. But I think I will just need to spice it up a little, make sure to eat corn for like a week straight and then see how it goes. Golden nugget will have a new entry as per Merriam-Webster, all because of my "talent." Maybe it could even become popular enough to be a Winter Sport. "Ladybug Breeding." Not only will it be the biggest deuce that wins, but the most ladybugs spawned from dropping the kids off at the super bowl. Except it won't be at the super bowl, but rather around, and preferably not touching. And well, sponsorshit, er uh, sponsorship would be easy, shit. Toilet paper, adult diapers, cleaning products (i can just see it now, "Do you have shit all over your bathroom walls? Then you need Poo-Be-Gone! Great for those chocolate stained bathroom walls!"), people with fecal fetishes (coprophiliacs?), I mean, how many people watched 2 girls 1 cup? It might ruin it, but maybe the contestants should be really hot, naked chics. Battleshits deluxe edition.
What have we learned from today's lesson, kiddies?
#1 I'm sick in the head (prob shoulda known that already.)
#2 Ladybugs are born after people shit on walls.
#3 If it involves a hot girl, even somewhat attractive at all, and nudity, people will watch it.
#4 I plan to live off corporate sponsorships from the toilet paper industry.
#5 Invest in monkeys to fling the poo, to reach out to a much larger fan base. (do monkeys fling poo that is not their own? eh, doesn't matter... they will or they will not get any bananas. Take that monkey!)
#6 Enough talk about poop.
Am I the only one that wants to shit on a wall and completely paint it brown? lol... ?
S(dot)cott M(eezy)iller
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Grammer Less Ins.
Back in the day, shit must ‘a’ been off the chain. (edit: rad, gnarly, tubular) We’ve all heard the stories, maybe, if you’ve been lucky enough to know someone that rattles on and on about how good the “good ole days” were. I really want to know how good they were. I mean, some things I believe, but certain things I feel have been created through such a phenomenon as “False Memory Syndrome.” And do not even get started on how many things have to be turned into a syndrome for people to feel better about themselves; that it is a more tangible problem because a name for it exists or a doctor needs to feel accomplished in their work by appointing a name to common sense. And yes, everyone reacts differently to things, most of the time they’re called pussies. Unless we’re talking about the military, PTSD is serious shit and anybody that saw the shit they saw and did what they did, fuck that. Thank you to everyone that served our country so stupidity can continue to reign. That’s fucked up. I don’t mean to belittle your actions, but, well, however much I love this country, it’s doomed. There is too much stupidity running rampant, and any idiot is allowed an opinion. Shit, they even gave me one! They should be like reproductive organs, hair follicles, and brains; removable without any serious ramifications to the "host" in any way. Congratulations to IBM for having the most patents in 2009, at 4914. Back off track. Wait I was just there. Back on track. God damnit Michelle Borth, you are too attractive for me to not pay attention to you.
Back to the, uh, point of this maunderance. Was there one? Hold on while I refocus…
Right, so, a good writer always introduces the topic using a definition of sorts so as to show what they are going to prove or disprove. I don’t know if that’s true or if I’m trying to prove anything but it sounded smart at the time… Time the fuck out! You know those stupid sensationalistic commercials for the nightly new? I just saw one that said “Something to consider before heading to your next spin class. Too much junk in the trunk may not be a bad thing after all.” And the words across the bottom read “Too much fat is good?” Across the screen danced the same video of swiss cheese arses in spandex And a whole bunch of front butts that was on the news 2 weeks ago for the problem with obesity we have in this country. Next week smoking is going to be good for you And I’m going to pick start smoking 5 packs a day because if its good A lot must be great! Fuck moderation, it’s for pussies.
So in order to prove my point, I’ve decided to head to the most credible source I could think of, Urban Dictionary.
back in the day
A time in one's life looked back upon with great fondness. Usually invokes a memory of a particularly memorable or traumatic incident.
A Wednesday a long time ago.
Obviously the second definition is more pertanic to my topic at hand than that stupid first one that sounds like it came from Wikipedia. That needs some cleaning up; they should probably cite that bitch up because it makes absolutely zero no sense for suretainly.
So I’m sick and tired about hearing about the good old days. Fuck them. I don’t like them. I want peoples fake memories of the “good old days” to be the nowadays. Which really brings me to my real point of this whole post.
Fuck the police.
I said it. I’m not saying there isn’t a need for police, in cities, where there is actual crime, or where I am not. Police mostly just generate revenue; as police increase, so does crime. How else are they going to pay for their salaries and shiny new Dodge Chargers? Why the fuck do they need a souped up Dodge Charger to catch a speeding Prius? 0-60 in 9.8 seconds. Don’t worry, your V-8 makes up for your small penis. What’s that, you don’t have one so you have to drive a white trash car and pick on poor people and teenagers. Oh, yea, and me. The amount of times I’ve been pulled over vs. the amount of times I’ve actually done anything illegal in my car is infinite. Undefined because it’s something about zero and divisionation? One or the other, both sound well to me. ha ha
Wait a minute. The good old days. Is that what I started this out about? So as any “old timer” will tell you, back in the good old days, everything was amazing. I can’t wait until I forget all the terrible things that happened and I make up cool things to tell my children and grandchildren. (Will I have either of those, who knows…? Similarly, just the thought of that is hilarious to me, and i hope you feel the same way, or you could have false memory of me syndrome.) I’m going to tell them all about how I invented the Internet and the cell phone. I’ll have crazy stories for them about how I made it through the first 17 years of my life without a cell phone, how I used a typewriter until around 1995ish, and how, with the way its going, I drove my own car, which ran on gas, and I used a clutch as well. Wow! Which brings me to my next point, what the fuck is happening to manual transmissions in general? Stupid greedy car companies decided one day, “Let’s prey on people’s stupidity, laziness, and wallets and charge them 1,000s of dollars for something they don’t need, but show them they do need it! Would you look at this, you can eat breakfast, read a book, drink coffee, and talk on your phone, all while driving.” Holy shit, where can I sign up? Wait… I can eat, drink, and talk on the phone while driving. Why anyone would want to read while driving CORRECTION Why anybody would want to read at all is just beside me. I mean, it’s boring, Jean-Claude Van Damme isn’t gonna kick anyone’s ass in a book, if he does, it will not be half as cool as if it were being projected onto a twelve foot plus screen onto your living room wall (well, at least for me he is… ), and movies are so much more funnerer. I guess technically you could magically convert whatever it is to an audio format and put it on an iPod, CD, or cassette tape. (WTF is a cassette, did I just make that word up? Probably, I think I’ve already made up quite a few in the post. ) Anyway, people need to learn how to drive in general, I might lighten up on the manual trans if people actually had a brain behind the wheel, but I guess that would involve having a brain and then thinking of others, and we all know that isn’t possible. Which brings me to traffic jams: Idiots trying to jockey for one more position in line, causing the 3,000,000 people behind him to stop and then start doing the same thing in order to try and get one position ahead that they lost due to the first asshole. It only takes one asshole to fuck everything, ever.
The future will be awesome, I will build a manual transmission for my hovercraft, I will talk on the phone and surf the web (Fuck AT&T for those stupid commercials, honestly, does anyone really need to do that, and wait, inside your own house, who doesn’t have 3 laptops conveniently placed around their house for maximum laziness purposes. Who’s finna wanna go online on a tiny ass screen with a slow as fuck connection and a tiny bandwidth that is being mostly taken up by the phone call itself. IDK if that’s true, but it sounds good enough to me. The bandwidth part, maybe, who knows, I’m no phone connection scientists.) at the same time, I’m going to be a multi-platinum watch owner, and I’m going to construct a building entirely out of a single diamond. It’ll be for ants, of course. The good old days of today will be fuckin’ sweet in my memory bank in twenty years when I’m senile and have Alzheimer’s. I can’t wait.
S(dot)cott M(eezy)iller
Back to the, uh, point of this maunderance. Was there one? Hold on while I refocus…
Right, so, a good writer always introduces the topic using a definition of sorts so as to show what they are going to prove or disprove. I don’t know if that’s true or if I’m trying to prove anything but it sounded smart at the time… Time the fuck out! You know those stupid sensationalistic commercials for the nightly new? I just saw one that said “Something to consider before heading to your next spin class. Too much junk in the trunk may not be a bad thing after all.” And the words across the bottom read “Too much fat is good?” Across the screen danced the same video of swiss cheese arses in spandex And a whole bunch of front butts that was on the news 2 weeks ago for the problem with obesity we have in this country. Next week smoking is going to be good for you And I’m going to pick start smoking 5 packs a day because if its good A lot must be great! Fuck moderation, it’s for pussies.
So in order to prove my point, I’ve decided to head to the most credible source I could think of, Urban Dictionary.
back in the day
A time in one's life looked back upon with great fondness. Usually invokes a memory of a particularly memorable or traumatic incident.
A Wednesday a long time ago.
Obviously the second definition is more pertanic to my topic at hand than that stupid first one that sounds like it came from Wikipedia. That needs some cleaning up; they should probably cite that bitch up because it makes absolutely zero no sense for suretainly.
So I’m sick and tired about hearing about the good old days. Fuck them. I don’t like them. I want peoples fake memories of the “good old days” to be the nowadays. Which really brings me to my real point of this whole post.
Fuck the police.
I said it. I’m not saying there isn’t a need for police, in cities, where there is actual crime, or where I am not. Police mostly just generate revenue; as police increase, so does crime. How else are they going to pay for their salaries and shiny new Dodge Chargers? Why the fuck do they need a souped up Dodge Charger to catch a speeding Prius? 0-60 in 9.8 seconds. Don’t worry, your V-8 makes up for your small penis. What’s that, you don’t have one so you have to drive a white trash car and pick on poor people and teenagers. Oh, yea, and me. The amount of times I’ve been pulled over vs. the amount of times I’ve actually done anything illegal in my car is infinite. Undefined because it’s something about zero and divisionation? One or the other, both sound well to me. ha ha
Wait a minute. The good old days. Is that what I started this out about? So as any “old timer” will tell you, back in the good old days, everything was amazing. I can’t wait until I forget all the terrible things that happened and I make up cool things to tell my children and grandchildren. (Will I have either of those, who knows…? Similarly, just the thought of that is hilarious to me, and i hope you feel the same way, or you could have false memory of me syndrome.) I’m going to tell them all about how I invented the Internet and the cell phone. I’ll have crazy stories for them about how I made it through the first 17 years of my life without a cell phone, how I used a typewriter until around 1995ish, and how, with the way its going, I drove my own car, which ran on gas, and I used a clutch as well. Wow! Which brings me to my next point, what the fuck is happening to manual transmissions in general? Stupid greedy car companies decided one day, “Let’s prey on people’s stupidity, laziness, and wallets and charge them 1,000s of dollars for something they don’t need, but show them they do need it! Would you look at this, you can eat breakfast, read a book, drink coffee, and talk on your phone, all while driving.” Holy shit, where can I sign up? Wait… I can eat, drink, and talk on the phone while driving. Why anyone would want to read while driving CORRECTION Why anybody would want to read at all is just beside me. I mean, it’s boring, Jean-Claude Van Damme isn’t gonna kick anyone’s ass in a book, if he does, it will not be half as cool as if it were being projected onto a twelve foot plus screen onto your living room wall (well, at least for me he is… ), and movies are so much more funnerer. I guess technically you could magically convert whatever it is to an audio format and put it on an iPod, CD, or cassette tape. (WTF is a cassette, did I just make that word up? Probably, I think I’ve already made up quite a few in the post. ) Anyway, people need to learn how to drive in general, I might lighten up on the manual trans if people actually had a brain behind the wheel, but I guess that would involve having a brain and then thinking of others, and we all know that isn’t possible. Which brings me to traffic jams: Idiots trying to jockey for one more position in line, causing the 3,000,000 people behind him to stop and then start doing the same thing in order to try and get one position ahead that they lost due to the first asshole. It only takes one asshole to fuck everything, ever.
The future will be awesome, I will build a manual transmission for my hovercraft, I will talk on the phone and surf the web (Fuck AT&T for those stupid commercials, honestly, does anyone really need to do that, and wait, inside your own house, who doesn’t have 3 laptops conveniently placed around their house for maximum laziness purposes. Who’s finna wanna go online on a tiny ass screen with a slow as fuck connection and a tiny bandwidth that is being mostly taken up by the phone call itself. IDK if that’s true, but it sounds good enough to me. The bandwidth part, maybe, who knows, I’m no phone connection scientists.) at the same time, I’m going to be a multi-platinum watch owner, and I’m going to construct a building entirely out of a single diamond. It’ll be for ants, of course. The good old days of today will be fuckin’ sweet in my memory bank in twenty years when I’m senile and have Alzheimer’s. I can’t wait.
S(dot)cott M(eezy)iller
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