Thursday, February 28, 2002

Health Nazi

or Are You Offended Yet, Part 3

A few weeks ago, I was enjoying a perfectly innocent after-dinner cigarette at a restaurant, when some fuckhead came up to me and started coughing in my face. Since I don’t wanna get arrested by beating some sense into the dumbass, I just said, “Buddy, you better go see a doctor about that hacking cough. It sounds really serious, like you have tuberculosis, or something.” Then I pulled out my key chain, which is attached to a big ol’ chain link that weighs a pound and put it where he could see it. Frankly though, I couldn’t believe the nerve of that asshole and how fucking rude he was.

When you decide that you gonna venture outside, where there’s other people, you gotta be prepared for life’s little inconveniences. If you want other people to think about you, then you gotta think about them first. That’s why the new breed of fascists is those lobbyists who try to ban smoking in public places. It’s the same guys who drive those big SUV’s that burns through a gallon of gas every 5 miles then they have the guts to come and tell me to stop lighting a little, teeny, weeny tube of dried leaves. Look, if you can’t stand to watch someone actually enjoying themselves then stay the fuck home, you miserable bastard. Better yet, stop breathing, retard.

Major Accomplishment

Yay! I can drive now! I just came back from my first drive in more than 10 days. Well, first drive aside from occasional cigarette runs to the nearest convenience store. Thanks to lying around the house for a week, the pain's reduced to just a dull, throbbing ache. I still limp though, making other people stare harder at me than usual.

Wednesday, February 27, 2002

Wish List

Top ten list of my idea of the ideal woman for me, in order of importance.

1. Likes sex almost as much as I do. I realize no one likes sex as much as I do, but if she even comes close, then I’m happy.
2. Thus, willing to do it at least twice a day, and more likely, 3~4 times a day.
3. Swallow. Even better, spit, then lick it back up.
4. Not too bony, since that hurts like a motherfucker, and not too fat that I can’t get easy access to the input devices.
5. Likes to do it in a well-lit room.
6. Not too embarrassed to masturbate in front of me.
7. Not a virgin.
8. Likes porn.
9. Not too religious.
10. Can speak English.

There. That’s not too much to ask, is it? My expectations are not that high, sometimes I wonder to myself why I’m having such a hard time scoring. I swear, I did something bad in my past life and I’m getting punished for it, or something.

Tossing Salad

or The Project To Offend 90% Of The World Population, Part 2

God, I hate vegetarians. Part of my occasional prayers always includes horrible deaths to them veggies, along with a steady source of tail, participation in a FFM sandwich, and having dreams about sex every night. Especially those animal rights activist. Okay, so I agree with them that fur is bad and endangered animals should be protected. But on the other hand, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with eating meat or wearing leather or hunting or fishing or even animal testing, for that matter.

We, like pigs, are designed to eat meat. Just because a person eats 30 fucking pounds of green leafy vegetables every day doesn’t mean that they’re gonna live forever. Longevity is mostly luck and genetics, anyways. Diet and habit can only make the most minimal difference. You can be a vegetarian and jog 10 miles everyday, and still drop dead at thirty while somebody else can smoke, drink, abuse drugs, and eat all the steaks they want and still live to be 90. And who wants to live that long, anyways? Me, I wanna die when I can’t get it up anymore, and when I’ve built up such resistance to Viagra that it doesn’t fucking work anymore, unless I gulp down the whole bottle. Anyways, with all the trouble I have picking up chicks with the mug that I have, I don’t need my skin to start turning yellow and my eyes to start turning red from all the additional beta-carotene.

Tuesday, February 26, 2002

Shit Happens

I just came back from work, and this was the first time wearing real shoes other than sandals since I hurt my foot. I soon realized it was still swollen so much that I couldn't get my foot into the shoe. After an interval involving much pain, I was finally able to shove the foot in. (Hmnmm. That sounded much nastier than it actually is.) Oddly though, I couldn't stop giggling like a schoolgirl, either. It was funny.

Skull And Bones

As much as I dislike conceited fat chicks, I have no love for skinny, bony ass chicks, either. I like some cushioning when I’m doing the ol’ in-n-out, y’know. I realized that while I was watching the Natalie Imbruglia video again. When it first came on, naturally my mind progressed to how would it feel like if I was nailing her. But then I realized the one time I was nailing a skinny chick, her ass bone kept poking into me, and it hurt so much that I had a bit of a trouble going the second round. The third time around, I was almost reduced to tears. And I walked around with bruised kidneys and spleen for a week. I don’t need that shit. Well I do, so the next time I get a chance to nail a bony chick, I’m only doing her once. Okay, okay, so twice, but that’s my limit.

Monday, February 25, 2002

Fundamental Principles

or Time To Start Really Pissing Off Folks, Part 1

I don’t know what it is about my looks, but perhaps people think I am evil looking. Every time I go out, people come up to me and say, “Have you ever received Jesus as you lord and personal savior?” or “Did you know that Jesus loves you and died for your sins?” or “Can I ask you a spiritual question?” and such nonsense. Look, I have nothing against religious people. I really don’t. It’s just that what the fuck makes them so superior to think that their way of life is better than mine? Isn’t that all that their saying? That they’re better than me? I have been going to church for the first 18 or so years of my life, until I learned to think for myself. That’s the reason why I despise Jehovah’s Witnesses as well. As far as the Mormons are concerned, the idea of me having as many wives as I want is intriguing, but the 2 years of walking around trying to seduce people into the dark side of the force pisses me off. Not to mention the lack of birth control, since I loathe children in all shapes and forms.

I tried going back to church for a year or so some time ago, and I realized that I can’t stand hypocritical people. And that’s what most religious people are, hypocrites. In fact, among the thousands of religious people I’ve met in my lifetime, I only know like maybe 4 people who I really regard as exemplifying their religion. All others are the same shitheads that I am. Even worse, since I realize that I’m a shithead, while the church shitheads thinks they’re the holiest and purest motherfuckers in the history of the world.

And tell me why for Catholics, fornication is alright, but abortion is not? I do believe the Bible expressly forbids fornication, while there’s not one word about abortions. Retards, they don’t even read their own manual properly. And don’t tell me shit like Jesus jumping in the womb or something, that still doesn’t mean “no abortion”, while “no fornication” is listed many, many, many times. I wish the pro-lifers can just be honest and admit that they don’t like abortion for personal reasons, and leave God the fuck out of the debate. Because I don’t believe morons such as them can really claim to know God better than I do, if they haven’t even read their fucking Bibles.

And I don’t even wanna get started on the “no birth control” rule in a lot of these religions, especially Catholics and Mormons. Lemme just say that I am scared shitless that these are the kinds of idiots who produce the most offspring. Darwin is probably rolling in his grave right now.

Sunday, February 24, 2002

MANLY Declarations

1. I would follow you to the bathroom, watch you use it, then bend you over the sink and ravage you, while there’s still people coming and going.
2. I’m the guy who rode the motorcycle through the hallways at school.
3. If you decide to administer oral sex, I would first slap it around your face, and then hold your head in a death grip and pinch your nose for good measure until you swallow.
4. After #3, if you feel the need to regurgitate, I will continue my excavation work while you are hunched over the bowl.
5. If you take me to meet your parents, I will arrive at least 30 minutes late, drunk, stoned, or both.
6. I will force you to watch porno movies with me. And try my damnedest to replicate what’s on the screen.
7. I’m the guy who smuggles in the booze at school/church gatherings.
8. I would cheat on you the first chance I get, and then come back the same night without taking a shower to do you some more.
9. I would take you to a titty bar and then make you watch every minute of it.
10. I would do you all night, and then when I wake up the next morning, I would want to do it some more.
11. I’m the guy who has the biggest porno collection this side of Porn Emporium.
12. I’m the guy who comes to school/work every morning hung over, unshaven, with inside-out shirt buttoned the wrong way, stained jeans with fly halfway open for easy access, no socks and scruffy work boots.
13. I’m the guy who would finger you in a public place, like the library, bus, park bench, work, class, pub, etc.
14. I think that a box of condoms or a year’s subscription to Hustler is a romantic gift.
15. I’m the guy who drinks booze, especially 100-proof vodka, straight from the bottle.
16. I would do your best friend on your own bed. Or on the couch while you were sleeping.
17. If you catch me in the act of cheating on you, I would flash a big shit-eating grin and say, “Come on in, the fish are a-snapping!”
18. I’m the guy who shaves at his desk with an electric shaver every morning, and then drink from an undisclosed bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag for an “eye-opener”.
19. I’m the kind of guy who prefers munching the carpet rather than eating food.
20. I run over cats and dogs on purpose.
21. I’m the guy your mother warned you about, but deep in her heart she wishes to God that she had met me or someone like me when she was younger.

Nowhere Man

I'm really scraping at the bottom of the barrel here. Normally, I think up shit I'm gonna post on my blog while driving around in my car. So I don't come home unless I have 4 or 5 good posts thought up. Unfortunately, all my cars that I have now is stick shift, and my foot hurts even if I just stand on it, much less pounding on the clutch. Basically I don't have anything to blog about.

Only one thing, though. I was looking through the referrals pages, and one of the referrals was from a guy doing a search for "becoming a clergy". If this guy was serious, man, the shock and disappointment he must have felt upon stumbling on my little blog here. And oh yeah, on a little ego surf on google, my blog came up tenth on a search for "manly". Woo-hoo! First page!

Saturday, February 23, 2002

Men In Tights

This week I had an opportunity watch lots and lots of television, even stuff I don’t watch regularly. And for the first time in years, I watched the WWF on Thursday night. So when the intro came on, I was getting pretty stoked at the overt soap opera-ish storylines and asking myself why I haven’t kept on watching it all these years. Then the actual wrestling came on and I realized that I’m not really into watching muscular, half naked, sweaty men grope each other’s bulbous parts. If they were topless women, it’s one thing, but this shit just sickened me.

On a similar note, one thing we do not have in this island is one of those roadhouses that feature naked or bikini-clad women wrestling in various “environments”. My favorite has always been stuff like Jello or gravy, I never liked mud all that much because it obscures the view, y’know.

Friday, February 22, 2002

Pocket Full Of Rye

I just started eating again yesterday, and no matter how it seems at the time, eating a big ol' sandwich after 2 1/2 days of not eating is not a good idea. Let's just say I had to make frequent trips to the bathroom, and now my ass well as my foot is suffering from some discomfort.

Only bright spot is that I received several contributions from the new button. I think that was one of the better ideas that I ever had in my life.

Season Of Cheerfulness

I’m watching MTV for a change, and after Jackass and the non-hip-hop videos, I think the show “True Life” with the fat chick is my favorite current MTV show. You know, I have nothing against overweight people. I’m overweight myself. What I’m against is those obese people showing themselves in public, and even worse, those kind of fat people who just can stop eating. If you have some kind of metabolic or genetic disease that make you obese, then I feel for you, man. But if you’re a fatass because you can’t stop stuffing your fucking face, then you’re fair game. I mean, have a salad or something, instead of ordering that fucking quadruple bacon burger with four cheeses. The fat people that I hate the most are the kind that are in denial. Like those people who refuse to accept that they are fat and insist on wearing tight fitting clothes that shows off all of their 48 rolls of fat, or has to wear the skimpiest of bikinis on the beach. Or those kind of people who insist that they don’t eat at all, while for breakfast they eat more than I eat all week and have Oreos and cookies and ice cream and Cheetos and potato chips and whatnot stashed all over their room so that it’s out of site so they can deny to others that they eat a lot.

Actually this particular show has this butt ugly chick that’s trying to lose like 200 pounds in a year. And the funniest thing is that her mom, her dad, and her best friend are all huge. I actually felt good about myself after watching that. And feeling good about myself while watching MTV is a rare thing for me indeed nowadays.

Thursday, February 21, 2002

Contributing Factors

Upon further reflection, I decided to pull a televangelist and accept donations. But don’t get me wrong, I don’t want ant crude and common commodity like money, what I’m after is even rarer than that. Oral sex. I tried to blow me first, and it’s great, since it’s private and it’s not like everyone in the world can see what’s going on. I would know since a few years ago I was getting some in a parked car when some guy started knocking on the windshield with his eyes wide open, and it was definitely a withering experience. Only requirement for contributions is that the contributor must be a chick. If you’re a dude, go donate somewhere else. Your offer, although appreciated, is not wanted around these parts, since I BE MANLY!

Anyways, I like the button. It goes well with the color of my template. And somehow, this is oddly appealing to me, or at least to the minuscule un-MANLY portion of me.

Underneath Shakira’s Clothes

I’ve been watching Shakira’s new video, and my frank personal opinion is that she doesn’t look so good under so much clothes. What happened to the skimpy little bikini that shows off her ample bellybutton? What’s so wrong with that? I’m not watching a Shakira video to see her sing, y’know. And what’s up with Kylie Minogue and dressing like she was 15 years younger than she actually was? Before I realized it was her, I was kinda getting excited, especially at that white slip pantsuit deal that almost, just almost, reveals her breasts. She shouldn’t go tricking people like that. Making me all excited over nothing. And what’s up with Natalie Imbruglia? She used to be so cute. Now she looks like a witch suffering from extreme starvation.

I was watching TV with my brother today, since I, like, had no choice, and we were watching this Nickelodeon filler program called Slime Time Live, and I saw this blonde co-host chick. She now officially made the top of my list as the clothed celebrity I would wanna nail.

Greatest Gift

All those fucking pain meds I’m taking is making me soft and shit. Not soft like that, I’m always hard that way, but emotionally speaking. For the past few hours I’ve been thinking about the best gift I got in my life. Last birthday, when even I forgot my birthday, my brother gave me a birthday card he made at school out of notebook paper. And that was the single greatest gift I got in my life. It I wasn’t so MANLY, it would have brought me to tears.

Shit, gotta get off the meds. It’s affecting my MANLY-ness.

Wednesday, February 20, 2002

Hunger Strike

Oh god, I haven't eaten anything in 36 hours. I'm in too much pain to walk all the way to the kitchen to grab some grub. To add insult to injury, Blogger was winking out again, so I couldn't distract myself from the hunger. Luckily, before I collapsed on the bed two days ago, I have stocked my room with painkillers, a big jug of water and cigarettes. That's something, I guess.

Tuesday, February 19, 2002

The Accursed

Still nothing new to report on lying in bed, looking at the ceiling, and moaning in pain front. Although the pain is giving me cool hallucinations. Only remotely interesting thing I saw today is when Dog treed a cat up a tree through the window. It was only interesting because afterwards, Dog was soooo proud of himself for scaring a cat.

Lull In The Storm

Yesterday, I sprained my left ankle and right knee jumping off from a fence, under the mistaken impression that I was still a kid and thus limber enough to take it. The knee should be fine by tomorrow, but the ankle is fucking killing me. It's like swollen to almost twice the normal size, and I can't even walk to the bathroom on it, especially since I can't put my whole weight on the right knee anyways. I can't even sleep, the pain is so bad. So I should be posting less than usual, unless I find something interesting in lying in bed, looking at the ceiling, and moaning in pain.

Monday, February 18, 2002

Morning After

I woke up in the morning with the second best feeling in the world: hung over like shit. If I wake up in the morning with cottonmouth, throbbing headache, and nausea it means I had a real good time the night before. And I can reconfirm my state of health by measuring how long it takes to recover. It still only takes like 90 minutes or so of drinking water, moaning, and rolling around in pain in bed, so I guess I’m still relatively healthy. The very best feeling is waking up with severe abdominal spasms after a night of engaging in thrusting exercises, and peeing all over the wall and shit in the bathroom a la Jim Carrey in Me, Myself and Irene.

Another drinking note, what’s the deal with pubs that have non-smoking sections? It annoys the fuck out of me. It’s just not right. It’s a God given right to smoke like a house on fire when drinking. In fact, alcohol without nicotine is like coffee without cream and sugar, a meal without a meat dish, donut without sugar, computer without an internet connection, sex without orgasm, and so on. It’s only doing half the job.

Sunday, February 17, 2002

Child’s Play

When I was a kid, like 13 or 14 or so, I heard this story from one of my friends. Apparently in Japan at the time, it was all the rage in the pervert community (which pretty much grabbed my attention) to approach a woman from the front, take a breast in each hand and give it a hard, sharp, quick twist towards the outside to both of the breast at the same time. Reportedly, this would cause the woman to pass out, from the intense pain no doubt. Then they would carry the fainted woman off to a deserted alley or something and have their way with them. And apparently, as I realized this later, if this is true, then when Japanese women regain consciousness and find a strange man on top of them, they take it like a man…woman…and just thank the gods that at least one of them is having a good time.

Of course, I just had to try it. It was kinda hard to get the timing right, since I had to make sure that there was no one else around. So after three days of waiting, on a rainy day, my chance came. Approach, grab, twist. I’m not condoning my actions or the actions of any others who might have tried it. I was young and stupid, and anyways, even at that early age, my incredible knack of repelling women was beginning to show. And I was horny as far back as I can remember, and I can remember as far as 1 ½. What the motherfucker had forgot to mention was that it doesn’t work when the skin is wet, and it definitely doesn’t work if the woman is wearing a strapless bra. So what I ended up doing was just twisting the shirt and the bra. I look up, and the woman was still conscious. I try again for good measure, and the same shit happens. Lemme just say that was the first of many times that I have been slapped by a woman, but usually by some…inappropriate suggestion that I made.

I never tried it again, so I don’t really know if it actually works or not.

Silver Lining

I had to bathe Dog again yesterday, and he’s still not talking to me since he’s still pissed at the ass kicking that he received. I think I had mentioned this before, but just to get him in the bathroom, it takes a lot of shouting, threats, angrily waving my fist, punching, slapping, and administering swift kicks. And then some more of that to actually keep him from moving around and shaking the Dog shampoo all over the place. Dog probably views the bathroom as his own private chamber of horrors.

The silver lining? At least the son of a bitch doesn’t drink from the toilet bowl.

Revenge Of The Ass-Face

I am watching two Jet Li movies at the same time. On one channel, there’s the old Jet Li in The Legend, and on another channel, there’s new Jet Li in Romeo Must Die. Man, is this guy a plastic surgery success story, or what? He used to have a face that kinda looked like an ass cheek, only flatter. I notice he got a nose job, made his eyes bigger, cheek re-sculpture and made his chin a little sharper. Did something about his skin, too. Perhaps I can look better if I can get some plastic surgery. But alas, I can’t afford it yet. Too bad.

Also, The Legend is dubbed. Usually I hate dubbed movies, but as far as this movie is concerned, at least it’s better than watching that dumbass trying to stumble through English.

Saturday, February 16, 2002


I often hear about women being stalked, my job being what it is. If I had a stalker, I would be so happy. Come on, if a woman, a normal looking woman who’s not too crazy, follows me around wanting to make mad passionate love to me, it would take less than 10 seconds for me to invite the aforementioned woman to my home, give her what she wants, and send her on her way. I actually was stalked when I was in college, but unfortunately, the women didn’t wanna fuck me, they were just pissed off at me and wanted to kill me. That’s a baaaaaad stalker.

Once, on a drinking jig, I got into an argument with these two fat chicks about how men do not find fat chicks sexy. Actually one of them was fairly attractive if she would have put on some makeup and put off about 150 pounds off from her legs, thigh, belly, ass, ankles, feet, hands, face, and upper back. The other one…ugh, she looked like a uncle, only fatter. And oh yeah, my uncle doesn’t have a mustache. So during the argument, I totally buried the fat chicks. Hey, I know it’s wrong, but I was young, thought I knew everything, and was listening to a lot of Howard Stern, to boot. So seething with humiliation, these two chicks started to stalk me. They would call me on the phone, curse me out, and before I could get a word in edgewise, hang up. Also, they like followed me around, and told all the chicks that knew me that I was a misogynistic asshole. Well, I am, but those two lardasses didn’t have to go around broadcasting that shit.

I finally got them off my back by calling the slightly attractive one and telling her that I would fuck her if she would leave me alone. And threatening that I would tell everyone that she knows that she wants me to fuck her. For some reason, that worked. I’m not sure, but I think she was a closet lesbian or something, to not take me up on my offer.

Nightie Night

Ugh. I feel all funny and shit. I'm gonna go back to bed and try and get a few more hours of sleep, if I can.

Wish me luck.

Sleep With Me

I woke up after getting about two hours of sleep. Recently, I’ve been suffering form severe irregular sleep patterns, and I know exactly why. You know, throughout my life, my objective was to do it four times a day. Once in the morning, once at lunch, once in the evening, and once at night before falling asleep. But after years of not even coming close to achieving my goals, I’ve revised my plans. I’ll be ecstatic if I can just get it twice a day. That’s it. I’ll sleep so much better if that happens. “Dear baby Jesus, I don’t ask for much. I have a dream. Please just let me get it twice a day. If you just grant me that one wish, I'll be a happy, happy man and I swear I’ll never make fun of fundies again. Once every twelve hours. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

Friday, February 15, 2002

Get To The Point

It’s time to make a mission statement for the blog, in addition to the lame-ass one that I made when I restarted my blog.

I hardly ever get offended. No matter how people try to offend me or insult me or ridicule me, I rarely give a shit. But there’s only three things that pisses me off all the time. 1. Ridiculing my hair, which happens to be very full, shoulder-length, black, and perennially in a ponytail. And, 2. Questioning my MANLY-ness. In any shape or form.

I write this blog for two reasons-to make people laugh and/or to piss other people off. There’s nothing I find funnier than an offended person. So in reverse, whenever something I blog or even utter doesn’t elicit any visceral response from the reader and/or listener, I get all in a huff and get offended and pissed off. In fact, there’s nothing that makes me go rabid than telling me that I’m uninteresting. So unless you wanna verbal lashing even worse than a coked-up, hung-over drill sergeant on permanent PMS can dish out, DON’T FUCKING TELL ME THAT I’M UNINTERESTING.

So that’s the point of my blog. Anyone offended yet? If you are offended you can send hate mail to the usual hate mail address.

Gast My Flabber

I got two anonymous Valentine's Day ecards this year. I think one might be spam, but I'm not so sure about the other one. Frankly, I don't really know how to react because on most years, all I get are hate mails in my inbox. Like how pathetic I am and what a sorry bastard I am. Like last year, I got four hate mails. And I have a sneaking suspicion at least one was secretly sent by the Voices in my head, when I was sleeping.

So although actually getting non-hate ecards are quite nice, I think I better not get used to them.

Even More Sorrier Than Me

So as usual, I spent Valentine’s Day last night at a titty bar, wallowing in self-pity and drowning my sorrows with shots after shots and beer after beer, while attempting to crawl outta my depression by stuffing dollar bills in the strippers’ thongs and trying to cop a feel. Then I saw something that made me feel a lot better. No, not a lap dance, although that did made me feel the littlest bit better.

What made me cheer right up was this: about two rows left to where I was sitting, there was a bunch of guys, having a good time. Then this chick walked into the joint, went up to right where those guys were sitting and started yelling at one of the dudes at the top of her lungs. From what I can overhear, and I could, plenty, the way the chick was screeching, she was like the common law wife (read: cohabiting) of the guy and was seriously pissed that her husband (boyfriend?) had the gall to spend time in a titty bar, especially on Valentine’s Day. At first the guy was trying to act indignant at all, after all he was spending some quality male bonding time with his buddies, ogling the buck-naked chicks. But then he shut right up when she started kicking his ass. Talk about being pussy whipped. He was in a state beyond pussy-whipped-ness.

Anyways, the bar owner had to call the cops and since they took their sweet time coming, I had plenty of time to watch the show and thank my lucky stars that I do not have a jealous spouse, thus putting me right back in good cheer. Only scare I had was when I came out of the place at closing time, the cops were waiting for me by my car. I thought they were gonna arrest me like they arrested that chick, I don’t know what for, but all they did was offer me a ride home, seeing how I was in no condition to drive (Only in their opinion, I can drive very well, thank you very much), since apparently the cops knew me (don’t ask why). To cheer up me even more, the partner drove my car behind the squad car I was riding, so I did not have to go pick up my car in the titty bar parking lot this morning, where everyone can see where I’ve been last night and talk about it behind my back. And on the drive home, the cop and I had a fairly animated talk about that moron that accidentally shot his niece in the head. And the cop agreed with me that the asshole should be shot in the head himself, to see how he like it. Unusually smart for a cop, that one.

Ah, I feel much better now. It was a fairly entertaining night, if I say so myself.

Thursday, February 14, 2002

Day Of Defeat

Valentine’s Day. Today. Otherwise known as day of damnation. I think I’m gonna unfurl my dick and hang myself with it. Good-bye, cruel world.

God, I’m sooooo depressed.

Dime A Dozen

So I was watching that groupie special on VH-1, and boy, do I want to be a rock star. Those groupies were some fine looking ladies. Even the midget was hot. I don’t really wanna be famous, or make a billion dollars, or sell millions of records, but I am sure envious of the groupies. Come to think of it, I can’t understand those rock stars that have girlfriends and wives and whatnot. I mean, if you’re like 60, like the Rolling Stones or Rod Stewart, then I understand the feeling to settle down, but if you’re under 40, then you must be the town idiot to get into a relationship. Why do you need to stick to one woman for if you have groupies that spreads more readily than grape jelly? If I were a rock star, I wouldn’t be all sensitive and shit and treat the groupies like human beings or anything like that. I would treat them for what they are-walking fuck toys. I would lay more tar than a road crew paving a brand new cross-country freeway. I will fuck 7, 8, 9, 10, or more women each day, preferably 2~3 at a time. My dick, which by the way is so big that a family of four can live under it, will get pulled so much it’ll grow another foot, at least.

What’s the point I’m trying to make? I don’t have any point to this post. I just wanted to rant a little.

Three-Way FUQ

Q: Just how ugly are you?
A: Ok, so that’s a post unto itself. Just how ugly am I? Let me count the ways…

1. Have you ever heard the term ‘a face that can stop a clock’? Actually I’m not as ugly as that, thank god. However, I am ugly enough to actually slow down a clock. All the timekeeping devices that I have ever owned, watches, wall clocks, alarm clocks, etc., slows down at least five minutes every month. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on. But I surmise, that either my face creates like a mini time-warp, or the clocks are so shocked at my face that they go all a-flutter and forget to keep time.

2. You probably heard ‘a face only a mother can love’. My mother regularly looks up at me, shakes her head, and say, “You’re one ugly fucker. I can’t believe that face came outta my womb. Maybe you were switched in the hospital, or something.” And yes, my mother talks in exactly the same way as I do.

3. Have you ever seen The Munsters, where Herman looks at a mirror and it’ll crack because he’s so ugly? Well, I don’t quite approach that plateau of ugliness, but still, my face actually tarnish the silver backings on a mirror. Every mirror I ever had, after a few months, it starts going blurry. So I look, and the silver reflective backing is coming off in places, and in other places, there’s like this greenish growth on it. And if the mirror is left long enough, the glass in the mirror itself undergoes a chemical transition and it turns all mottled and brown. The glass actually turns brown.

4. I am enjoined by ICANN to not post my picture on the Internet, lest it brings down the backbone. Remember like 2 and a half years ago when the Internet on the eastern seaboard went down for like 4 hours? That was when I tried to email my friend, who’s living in Philadelphia, one of the pictures that we took when he visited me here on this island. Fortunately, it did not bring down the Internet itself because I was only one of like 6 people who were on the picture. If it was like a solo picture, I don’t wanna imagine what would’ve happened. Also, UL is after my ass, because my face on a PC monitor is a fire hazard. If you have a good monitor, then all it does is burn the image in a bit. But if you have a crappy monitor, my face on it is liable to make it explode.

5. And then there are other minor things. Like one sight of my face will cause heart attacks, strokes, seizures, mental illness, and make babies cry nonstop for 6 hours. It’s a wonder they even let me outside.

I was such a good looking baby, I don’t understand why or when or where it happened. I think my peak year was when I was 2. I blame it all on porno magazines and heavy metal music. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Wednesday, February 13, 2002

World vs. Jun

There’s this boy in my brother’s class, who has the sweetest set of wheelchair ever. It’s one of those kinds that’s like battery driven, with like a joystick on the armrest so you can drive it around, and a headrest, so you can sit back and relax. And it’s all-black. I really wanted that wheelchair, just for my project, of course. Then I would only have to procure one of them voice synthesizers. So yesterday, when I’m picking up my brother, I go up to him and offer to take him to a lap dance if he would give me, uh, let me borrow the chair. But this dude just stares up at me, drooling. So I up the ante, and offer to take him to a brothel. I mean, I thought, if I don’t take him, then who’s he gonna go with, his dad? Still no reaction. Then I realized: this dude doesn’t understand word one that’s coming outta my mouth. This guy's even more retarded than my brother, who has the mental maturity of an 8 year old. That’s what I get for going to a retard's school to score a wheelchair. I think I might have no choice but to steal one of those dinky little arm-driven loaner wheelchair from the hospital, or something. It’s just not fair.

Land of the Whale

Here, on this island, there’s talks of doing major revisions to the statutory rape law. You know, the ones about having sex with a minor. Finally, the lawmakers are beginning to understand that girls here turn into Shamu the moment the hit the big 2-0. About 50% of the girls George Wendt from birth. There’s nothing anyone can do about that. So from the rest of the other 50%, most of them have fairly nice bodies. When they’re 16. That’s when they peak. So most guys, regardless of age, go for the 16 year olds, because let’s face it, unless you’re so sick you can pop a big one at the sight of a whale, most men aren’t turned on by the sight of a 350-pound woman. So you gotta get them while you can, especially since out of the normal 50%, 90% of them will resemble the rest of the population by the time they’re in their 20s. So if I can do my math right, that means only 5% of the total female population looks normal by the time they’re in their 20s. It’s the result of all those suckling pigs, ribs, whole roasted chicken, and deep-fried pork bellies. So they’re even rarer than plutonium here, and just as treasured. No wonder I can’t get any chicks amongst those odds.

Tuesday, February 12, 2002

High Kick

I just finished watching a Jackie Chan Movie on TV, Shanghai Noon, and I just thought of something. The reason why Jackie Chan is still interesting after all these years is that he’s unpretentious. He’s just satisfied with making a kick-ass kung-fu movie, with the plot just there to make the film look good and to hang the kicking and punching to. The reason why Jean Claude Van Damme and Chuck Norris is a nobody now is, aside from the bad acting, is that they tried to “branch out” from their kicking and punching and jumping roots. They were under the mistaken impression that they were “actors”. Jackie Chan has no such illusions and is perfectly happy just making a movie in which the audience will have fun. That’s why he’s a legend, and that’s why his movies BE MANLY!

Too bad Rush Hour 2 sucked ass. Jackie should lose that loser Chris Tucker.

Not Again!

My dick is so big, it has it's own theme park: Cock World. The biggest attraction: 2-foot weiners and the cock-mobile.

My dick is so big, envious horses come to my house trying to kick my ass.

My dick is so big, it is represented in the UN.

My dick is so big, it's a designated alternate in the Mexican whore-and-donkey show. As the donkey. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Director's Chair

Antigone mentioned that perhaps I should direct my own porno movie. Well, if I directed one, then it would be so hardcore, it would be illegal. Except in West Virginia, where upon watching, Joe Bob will mutter, "Hell, I did that with cousin Emily last week."

Monday, February 11, 2002

Strictly Porno

I am getting fed up with the adult movie industry in America. It's so crappy now that I might as well be watching an educational film in school. Aside from the odd perv tapes (ie. spanking, bathroom, ridiculous huge phallic objects, etc) and some foreign tapes (Japanese & Dutch) I've practically stopped watching recent porno movies. Except when there's chicks around then I pretend to really enjoy them, but that's a different story. So now, whenever I have a chance to pop a tape in the porno machine, I usually watch one of the "classics". You know, like the ones they used to show in the theaters, regular theaters, long long time ago. The ones that were made when actresses once thought that doing a porno movie was a stepping stone in their career. The two that I can watch over and is Debbie Does Dallas starring Bambi Woods and Alice In Wonderland, starring Kristine DeBell. Incidentally, Krinstine DeBell is important since she also starred in a few mainstream movies, such as Meatballs and The Big Brawl, with Jackie Chan. Now these are achievements in filmmaking. But these modern porn, I wouldn't even let a 12 year old watch it, much less watch it myself.


I was just watching Behind The Music on VH-1, and they had the Rocky Horror Picture Show on, for some reason I can’t fathom. So I’m like watching it, and some dude comes on saying that this movie had liberated straight men to dress up in lingerie and fishnet stockings. And dressing up in women’s clothing helps them pick up women. Frankly, his remarks frightened me. First of all, I would be really scared of women who are turned on by men dressing in women’s clothing. But more than that, I pray to god that I won’t be so desperate to actually cross-dress to attempt to attract women, but as my more and more of my pathetic life passes me by, I’m getting increasingly afraid that in the near future, I will seriously consider dressing up in women’s clothing to pick up chicks. Hmmm…that thought really depresses me.

Talking about depressing thoughts, it’s also really depressing that 80% of what I’m watching on TV right now is VH-1, History Channel, and A&E. Rate I’m going, I’m gonna be needing Ensure by this time next year. Aaaarrrgghhhh, I’m turning into my dad. And I did not get hitched even once nor do I even have any kids yet! At least not that I know of.

Ill Wishes

Why can’t Britney be satisfied with being a crappy singer? Why is she trying to be a crappy actress as well? I fervently pray that this movie be her Cool As Ice, and not her Desperately Seeking Susan, career-wise. I long to see the day that Crack-ho Britney come on MTV and trash the place with a baseball bat. May I live that long.

On a unrelated note, I saw Aretha Franklin on TV, and man, did she let herself go, or what? When I first glanced at it, I was wondering to myself, ‘Can killer whales sing?’, until I noticed it was Aretha Franklin underneath all those chins. She was once the queen of soul, but now she’s the queen of pizza. And cake. And fried chicken.

For those of you offended by the above comment, you can send your hate mail here.

Sunday, February 10, 2002

Guilty Pleasure

I'm at Hot Or Not, and I'm having so much fun it should be illegal. I set my criteria to "women only" and I'm rating away. This reminds me of when I followed my friends to this place where a bunch of women in tight outfits walked out and...uh, I just realized that I did not really want to share the last bit.

FUQ’s Second Coming

Q: Why did you restart the blog?
A: I had a blog long, long time ago, back when Blogger first came out, I think back in 2000 or early 2001, or something. Then I realized something: my blog was stupid. Back then it was more like a journal, kinda like a list of things I did that day. But then my life is boring and depressing to begin with anyways, I didn’t feel the need to depress anyone else who might happen to stumble across my blog. And another thing, the type of blog I personally despise the most is those kind like mine was, which was nothing more than a glorified diary, or the kinds that have stupid poems and essays and shit on it. My life is sad enough, I don’t have to read about other sad lives, and call me ignorant or uncultured or a Neanderthal, but I DON’T UNDERSTAND POETRY. But like last year or so, I felt the need to express myself, other than making crude gestures and catcalling at passing women. So I decided my blog won’t be a diary, but more like little bitty anecdotes that has a point, however asinine the point may be. And it has to be funny, because I don’t want anyone to commit hari-kiri or something after reading my shit. Here, I need to thank Patty for being my spew receptacle for months, as like an audience of one. From her I learned that cutting off the head of a turtle and drinking down its blood is not funny, while getting a 4 inch cut on my hand while beating off is funny.

Q: Why are you MANLY?
A: Because my dick is so big, it’s a James Bond villain: Bigdicker.

Dream Job

I just read about this airport security device that's in development right now, and I think I need to change jobs. Wonder if they're accepting new applicants for airport security personnel?

Ideal Woman

Since I’ve restarted my blog, I’m constantly thinking about what I’m gonna write about, so occasionally, I’m struck by these epiphanies. I just had one today. The way things are going right now, the ideal woman I’m looking for is blind and tone deaf. So that she won’t be able to see my face, nor recognize my pervert monotone. Listing how ugly I am is one of my favorite pastimes, but it is for a later post. Lemme just write about my voice. I sound like Crayon Shinchan. You know, like that guy who would flash a chick while she’s sitting on a park bench. That’s why I can’t even pick up chicks on the phone. What I need is some gadget like Stephen Hawkings has. I would rule then. In addition to covering up my pervert monotone voice, it would also increase the chick sympathy level like twenty-fold. Especially if I roll around in a wheelchair. Then I probably would have to fight off the chicks off with a stick.

Hmmm….note to self: steal a wheelchair from hospital, search the web for voice synthesizer, pick up chick(s), score!!!

Saturday, February 09, 2002

Email Day

Why the fuck do I still keep getting these junk mails from people wanting me to buy chocolates and/or roses? It’s fucking annoying, especially since I have no one to give them to. It’s like waving a large chunk of chocolate cake at a diabetic, or sucking down an ice cold bottle of beer in front of a recovering alcoholic. It’s just cruel.

And I also got a really funny spam today. It’s spam about selling a book to tell people how to make money by sending spam themselves. It’s 40 bucks plus 6 bucks shipping and handling. And it landed straight into my bulk email folder, and after a quick perusal just for the comedic value of it all, sent it directly to the trash can. I think it’s quite a bit funnier than the Miss Cleo spam.

Just When You Thought It Was Gone

Since I’m still feeling down from the Thursday night fiasco, I'm gonna do some more affirmations.

My dick is so big, it’s thicker than Penelope Cruz’s accent.

My dick is so big, I don’t need a windshield wiper for my car.

My dick is so big, it gets lawsuits from jealous husbands.

My dick is so big, whenever I beat off I need 4 rolls of paper towels, a mop, and a bucket to clean it all up.

Aah, I still feel depressed. At least I ruined everybody else’s day.

Foiled Again

I went drinking until 4 in the morning on Thursday night. Only reason I stayed that long was one of my friends brought two Russian chicks. And of course I didn't score. It kinda reminded me of the good bottle of cognac my mom used to put on the top shelf reserved only for important guests when I was like 12. I would just stare at it, salivating. Same thing happened on Thursday. End of story.


I watched Collateral Damage tonight, and all I can say is, at least it was better than The 6th Day. Marginally, but still better. I stand by what I said a few weeks earlier: this man is in serious need of some lovin' from James Cameron. And what do I find when I come home tonight? They're showing Commando on Cinemax.

Apparently, in the 80s, hardware stores routinely stocked various weaponry, such as fragmentation grenades, rocket launchers, RPGs, automatic assault rifles and such. Also, watching that movie again in almost 10 years kinda made me miss the good old days of action movies. Like how killing villains was like bowling, except with bullets. And how it was a good thing the more bad guy goons died in the picture, and how many guns, shovels, machetes, axes, and rocks you can use to kill somebody. I'm kinda getting sick and tired of these recent bleeding heart gay action movies where heroes only wanna kill the main bad guy. That's not what a MANLY action movie is about. A MANLY action movie should have a death toll only countable by doing complex calculus calculations. A MANLY action movie should have more blood flowing than a slaughterhouse. A MANLY action movie should have more bullets flying than the annual NRA convention.

Friday, February 08, 2002

Downward Spiral

Did Winona Ryder lose all sense of self-worth, or what? I saw this trailer for Mr. Deeds, and she became an Adam Sandler babe. She joins the ranks of...I don't remember their names, but whoever they were Winona is now one of them. Probably no one will remember her name a year from now, a curse that all Adam Sandler babes seem to suffer from. I think her self-esteem is so low that my chance of scoring with her, which was zero, had increased a hundred times, at least.

The Worst, Part 1

What is it with these lame musicians with their hit collections, labeled “Part. 1”? As if there would be enough left to squeeze out of the dry hole that is their career. First it was the Backstreet Boys, and now, I just saw this commercial with Shaggy, boasting his apparently his first portion of his hits. Who the fuck remembers Shaggy anyways? I had no idea that this stupid fuck existed until I heard the sound bites, and the only reason I remembered was back in my salad days I actually thought disco clubs were a good place to pick up chicks. I was wrong, and to add insult to injury, I remember all these stupid dance songs. Lobotomy, where is thy sting?

Thursday, February 07, 2002

Self Afflicted

I injured my foot last night, right before going to bed. Three of my toenails have been chipped, I have a bruise growing on my toes, sprained the top of my foot, and I’ve been getting intermittent pins and needles, probably due to some pinched nerve or something. So I’ve been noticeably limping all day, and when people ask me how I hurt myself, I just mumble something incoherent. Because I’m too fucking ashamed to admit that I hurt my foot when I was jumping over some laundry laying scattered about my room, misjudged the distance, over-jumped, and jammed my foot into the subwoofer box on my PC speaker set. REALLY hard. Since there wasn’t anyone else in my room, I was just bowled over on my desk moaning, because of the intense pain, and giggling hysterically, because I’m such an idiot. I’ve also been whining and whimpering all night in bed, because of the throbbing pain.

Jesus, this shit hurts. Both physically and emotionally, y’know. My emotions have never been hurt this bad since a chick told me she wouldn’t fuck me if I had more plastic surgery on my ugly mug than Michael Jackson.

Special Request

To:The One and Only Sunny

Me, me, me, me, me! Email them to me!


I just came back from watching Black Hawk Down and while I was watching it, I realized something. Roeper is gay. This fag was not satisfied with the 100 minutes of pure war in this movie. Man, this movie harkens back to the good old days of war movies like Tora! Tora! Tora!, or Patton, or Bridge on The River Kwai. It's certainly the best war movie since Platoon, at least. At last, a real war movie. It's not the fiasco that Pearl Harbor was, or namby pamby philosophical like A Thin Red Line, or frighteningly gayish Saving Private Ryan. No romance! And that's a good thing.

Anyways, we're gonna go watch The Count of Monte Cristo next week, and is it just me, or does the guy in the poster have a uncanny resemblance to Antonio Banderas? I only realized it was Jim Caviezel a few weeks ago, when I saw the trailer for it. What is it with these fucking movie studios trying to fool us with misleading movie posters, huh? It's like they're trying to cheat me out of my money? Who would have thunk that?

Anyways, I'm going to bed. It's not funny anymore.

Wednesday, February 06, 2002

The First FUQ

Q: Is your last name really Ham?
A:Yes it is. And I have heard all those jokes before. Bacon, burger, Ham & eggs… My favorite is, of course, Ham-boner.

Q:Do you really live on an island?
A: Yes I do. It’s a small island in the middle of the ocean. It’s 25 miles long at the longest, and 14 miles by its widest.

Q:What are your hobbies?
A:Like if no one has figured it out by now. Sex, sex, sex, sex, and computers.

Nothing Doing

I saw this "Behind The Scenes" thingie on 40 Days And 40 Nights on Starz! last night. All I can say is that this will only work if you look like Josh Harnett. If you, just by chance, happen to look like me, then chicks will care less.

By the way, this is the most evil website ever. Thanks to the the Gurls for the link.

Good Vibrations

I think I have mentioned before that any dream not involving me having sex is a nightmare. Well, the problem with that is that I seldom remember my dreams, no matter how good it is. Even though I might not remember specifically, I get a vague sense of having one of those “good” dreams in the morning, and generally feel good for at least a couple of hours.

Last night I remembered! And not only did I get laid once, I got laid by three different women in my dream! And the greatest thing? All the women were different. Now that’s my idea of a great dream. That’s enough to put me in a good mood for the rest of the week, unless I stumble across another wifebeater.

And I just realized this: my life has officially became boring. Back in the day, I wasn’t in a good mood unless I got drunk, high, or laid for real, preferably all done on the same night. Now, I’m happy if I dream about fucking and then remember it. I feel all depressed again…

Tuesday, February 05, 2002

Live Bait

I just ate some live sashimi!!! Woo-hoo!!! For those who don’t know what sashimi is, it’s those little slabs of raw fish that kinda looks like bait, but is tender. Think sushi without the rice.

Anyways, if you like raw fish, then once you tried fish that is still squirming around on the plate, you can’t go back to that frozen shit or even fish that has only been dead for a few hours. There’s nothing like the texture of fish that’s still breathing.

Feels Like Stuart

My dick is so big, it gets fan mail from the Lincoln Tunnel.

My dick is so big, it cause total solar eclipse across the northern hemisphere.

My dick is so big, it is worshipped as a god in four different cultures.

My dick is so big, I don't need to wear any mufflers or neckties.

Bach Issue

I noticed Sebastian Bach of Skid Row fame was on VH-1, hosting a show. You know, there’s nothing sadder than a former rock star reduced to exploiting his name so that he can host a lame show on VH-1. Back in the day, I used to like Skid Row. Honestly, I did. So at the post-Nirvana era, when all these hair metal bands were putting out all these ignored albums (Extreme, Poison, Slaughter, Warrant, etc.), I bought Skid Row’s album. And enjoyed it. I especially liked the song, “Eileen”. But they broke up, Sebastian had a solo career that went nowhere, and he’s now a TV host. At least Sebastian is still looking good and has all his hair, unlike David Lee Roth.

Monday, February 04, 2002

Entendre Hell

Yesterday’s dick jokes were inspired by Drew Carey. In his book, Dirty Jokes And Beer, he included a section about those same kind of dick jokes. I tried to come up with my own and not rip any off, but if I unwittingly had, I apologize. Anyways, I will try to post a few affirmations every few days until I wring myself dry. If you hate it, despise it, or loathe it, tough shit.

I won’t do it that many times in one go again, though. It took me about 20 minutes to come up with all that, but I don’t really wanna invest that much time again. It will more like 3~4 times each night. I just had to spew a little the first time, that’s all. Next time around, I’ll dribble less and less.

That minister application was sent via Email. I don’t know who thought I would be good minister material, but it goes to show you, at least some people have faith in me. I don’t wanna be a minister, anyways. What I really wanna be is a gynecologist. Man oh man, if I ever become a gynecologist I would RULE! I will be the lord of all gynecologist. The king of all vaginas. The Ayatollah of all labia. The miner-sixty-niner. I will call it Crunt & Prussy Gynecologist. And going to work each day will be such a pure joy, I probably will never leave the office.

I will be a much happier man. Weeeeeeeeeeee!

Sunday, February 03, 2002

Gonads And Strife

Now, this is my kinda Flash-ing.

Don't worry, it's not pornographic (awwwwww....), but it's still funny as hell.

All I can say is, weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Mail Order Minister

I am seriously considering sending my money here. Just for the comedy value of such a certificate will create.

We have the authority to make you a LEGALLY ORDAINED CLERGY/MINISTER today!!!!


As a member of the CLERGY, you will be authorized to perform the rites and ceremonies of the church!!

You can marry relatives, friends, and even earn Part-Time INCOME as couples are searching for a wedding officiate. Most states require that you register your certificate (THAT WE SEND YOU) with the state prior to conducting the ceremony. And we have thousands of inquiries each year requesting ministers all over the country to conduct weddings - we can place you in our database of available officiates! One pastor works full time as a wedding officiate, so can you!

People die every day providing a never-ending need for funeral officiates. Whether its for a friend, family member, or community member, you can fulfill a spiritual as well as community service. Don't settle for a minister you don't know!! Most states require that you register your certificate (THAT WE SEND YOU) with the state prior to conducting the ceremony.

You can say "WELCOME TO THE WORLD!!!! I AM YOUR MINISTER AND YOUR UNCLE!!" What a special way to welcome a child of God. As millions return to church and desire these official ceremonies, you are there to assist them! This adds to your part
or full time income as a minister!

Just clergy have for centuries been advisors, you too enjoy limited privileges as a pastoral counselor assisting individuals in their time of need. Of course, forgiveness of Sins is granted to all who ask in sincerity and willingness to change for the better and you can be the one to guide hurting individuals towards healing, love, and God.

Since you will be a Certified Minister, you can visit others in need!! Preach the Word of God to those who have strayed from the flock, who are ready to CHANGE their lives - You can play a major part in that decision!

After your LEGAL ORDINATION, you may start your own congregation!!

Street Bishops is an interdenominational/interfaith association. We have ordained Protestants, Catholics, Jews, and other traditions serving God. By serving people you serve the creator, within your own chosen tradition.

At this point you must be wondering how much the Certificate costs. Right? Well, let's talk about how much the program is worth. Considering the value of becoming a CERTIFIED CLERGY - since most wedding officiates are paid $200-$400 per wedding, I'd say the program is easily worth $100. Wouldn't you agree? However, it won't cost that much. Not even close! Our goal is to make this
life changing program affordable so average folks like you can benefit from the advantages of being ordained.

Since I know how much you want to help others, you're going to receive your Minister Certification for only $29.00.

For only $29.00 you will receive a professionally printed 8-inch by 10-inch color certificate and Proof of Minister Certification in your name.


Only $29.00 US dollars.
SHIPPING IS FREE!!! For Shipping OUTSIDE the US please add $15.00.

To place your order, complete the following form and fax to 1-413-487-7457.
We will not charge your credit card until the documents are in the mail.
For Cash, Check, or Money Order, complete the form below, make your check payable to "S.B. Ordination" and mail to

Ordination Committee
Florida Administrative Center
3206 South Hopkins Ave, PMB 89
Titusville, Florida 32780

Or call Brother Keith @ 202-368-7793 to submit your application via phone.

*Please allow 8 days to receive your certificate by mail. If you do not receive your order within 10 days, please send us a fax letting us know of the late arrival. We will then contact you to figure out why you have not received your

(Please print very clearly in dark ink)

------ Ordination Information --------------

Name of Applicant:


City, State, Zip Code:

Phone Number:

Email Address:

Denomination (if any):

Preferred Title: (example Rev., Pastor, Fr., Priest, etc) __________

-- Credit Card Order Form --

Name on Credit Card:



Your email address:

Charge my card:

_____ $29.00 for your Ministers' Certificate.
_____ $15.00 for shipping ourside of the US.

Type of Card, circle one (Visa, MasterCard, Discover)

Credit Card Number:
Sorry, we do not accept AMEX.

Date Credit Card Expires:

Phone Number:

Fax Number:

---- To order by Check or Money Order ----

*Please allow 8 days to receive your certificate by mail. This includes the time for out committee to meet, approve the ordination, prepare the certificate and postal progress. If you do not receive your order within 10 days, please send us a fax letting us know of the late arrival. We will then contact you to figure out why you have not received your order.

Fax to 1-413-487-7457

Daily Affirmations

My dick is so big, it has three sparrows and a crane nesting on it.

My dick is so big, it is registered with the U.S. Parks Service.

My dick is so big, I can fuck my neighbor’s daughter without leaving my room.

My dick is so big, I have to buy all my condoms at the hardware store.

My dick is so big, I need two pairs of pants-one for me and one for my dick.

My dick is so big, I’m an honorary black man.

My dick is so big, I get love letters from Richard Gere and George Michael every other day.

My dick is so big, I need to wear stilts whenever I take a leak so that my dick doesn’t touch the toilet water.

My dick is so big, I faint every time I get an erection.

My dick is so big, if I fuck you in the ass, you’ll get a sore throat.

My dick is so big, it’s the official totem pole for the Hugecockaw tribe in South Dakota.

My dick is so big, it’s illegal in 27 states.

My dick is so big, I get consultations from the power company whenever they need a temporary power pole.

My dick is so big, I need three bottles of sun block whenever I go to a nude beach.

My dick is so big, I don’t need a pillow when I’m sleeping.

My dig is so big, it needs warning lights to warn passing airplanes.

Saturday, February 02, 2002

Excuse Me?

Since I'm such a loser, I was going through the referrals page, and I have found that if you did a search for "chiseled gay men fucking" on yahoo, my blog comes up sixth.


Blocked Shot

Since I’ve recovered from my day working, there’s a couple of stories I wanna tell. So after work, I went with a couple of clients to dinner at this Korean restaurant. First of all, I don’t really understand the concept of cooking your own meat at the restaurant. C’mon, if I wanted to cook my own shit, I would stay home, and not come to your fucked up restaurant. “Dinner” was a nominal concept, since most of the nourishment we had was liquid in nature to begin with. We basically spent 5 hours seeing who can take the most shots of this foul Korean liquor. It’s called soju, and if you never tried it, don’t. It’s like the worst tasting, making you get drunk really fast shit in my life. And it leaves you with a severe hangover in the morning. Actually, if you’re a hot chick, and you’re with me, try some soju. I promise when you’re incoherent with severe alcohol poisoning, I won’t take advantage of you. I promise. Really.

So about 2 hours into “dinner”, 5 Japanese chicks walk in, with cameras hung over their necks. They were all young, and two of them were pretty hot looking, but the other three wasn’t too bad either, except for the really fat one. So anyways, both clients were like 40 and married, and since it be a small island they could not afford to be seen trying to pick up chicks at a restaurant. So I thought I would score for sure, since we all know no hot looking chicks would fall for a middle aged married man, right? Meanwhile, stuff is flying past my mind, like if I would have to nail the fat one first before I could get the hot looking ones or how long it would take me to nail all five chicks. (Answer: 17 hours) Amidst my elation, something I should have expected happened: I was DENIED! First of all, my skills at the Japanese language is minimal, and none of the chicks could speak English, those stupid bitches. So I ended up just making some crude gestures and gargling sounds. And by this time I was half in the bag already. With my face, I have enough problems trying to pick up chicks on my best behavior. The odds are about zero when I can’t talk, is already feeling no pain, and have been working all day. The legs of those chicks closed down faster than Dubya’s throat on a pretzel.

So I came home alone, and went straight to bed. I’m so pathetic.

On My Mind

I finally had some free time so that I can watch some TV today. And I only wanna say one word: SMURFS!!! Jesus Christ, is it fun. I haven’t had a chance to watch the Smurfs for a few years now, and it’s as good as I remember it. But I’m puzzled how can Smurfs reproduce, seeing they only have one chick among them and all. I’m guessing Smurfette is a very, very, very busy girl. Well, I guess since she’s a blonde, she’s pretty much used to wearing her ankles behind her ears.

And what happened to Liza Minelli’s face? She had so much worked done, and the face skin has been stretched so much that she couldn’t even talk properly. She’s kinda resembling a kewpie doll right about know, and Cher just called and suggested that maybe Liza should stop messing with the face anymore.

Friday, February 01, 2002

Excuse Note

To Whom It May Concern:

Please excuse Jun for not blogging yesterday, January 31, 2002. He did not blog yesterday because he was “working”. He had left the house at 8:00 AM in the morning and returned home at 11:00 PM, falling down drunk. He had told us that he was not able to get access to a computer because of his “work”.

We will try our best so that it won’t happen again.


Jun’s Parents

Thursday Mourning

Sadly, the girl that I wrote about 2 days ago was taken off life support yesterday.

Old Curmudgeon

I’m watching Britney Spears’ new video, “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman”, and aside from the child molester-esque connotations of the title, all I can think about is that she definitely needs to pick up her pants a little. It’s almost sliding off her ass. Well, I have no objections if it did slide down, but I can’t stand teases like that. It’s like your mom coming into your room right in the middle when you’re beating off, and you don’t notice until she clears her throat because you’re wrapped up in the heat of the moment. It’s just ain’t right.

Oh yeah, and it needs more scenes of Britney in that nightie.