Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Shortening list

Well, add London to the long list of places I'll never go, as free speech there is dead as ol' Henry IV's dick.

Are we living in a police state now?  Thank you, you motherfucking Muslim, ass-raping, goat-humping, clit-chopping assholes.  Thanks a bunch there!  Rot in hell you fuckers!


I don't know who this actor is, but he has clearly certified himself as a first-class douchebag.


Anyone who votes for this idiot next time around should be shackled, strung up, slathered in Miracle Whip, and have let loose upon them a crazed, beastly menagerie of intoxicated aardvarks.

So much for that transparency he was always harping about.

Seems the powers that be in La Casa Blanca have a bit to hide, don't you agree?

Monday, February 27, 2012


But your tax dollars hard at work.

Click through each article about the appearance and disappearance and reappearance of information concerning government grants to an unethical turd.

Has the time come to disappear the EPA?  Me thinks so.

Only in AmeriKKKa

Only a dim-witted, poorly-spoken, angry derelict of a human being would believe in such foolish economics.  What's worse is the large majority of people just like him believe this bullshit to be the truth.

Yes indeed America,  there are large majorities of stupid, worthless and lazy people that shiftlessly amble through life with a confounding ignorance that allows them to believe that more people on food stamps is good for the economy.

I don't know what is worse:  them or the people who foist these illogical lies upon them.

Down is up

Only in today's world would this traitorous, cock-sucking punk be nominated for anything, much less the Nobel Peace Prize.  But, after it was awarded to Obama, any credibility the Nobel nomination committee had is long since gone.

Oh, and I forgot about Arafat!  We all remember how peaceful that shithead was, right?

Friday, February 24, 2012

Very cool

and very sad at the same time.


so sticky sweet, you'll need a gallon of hot axolotl piss to wash it down with.

God, I love our politicians.

Color me green

and call me watermelonhead.

I am so unsurprised by this that I could probably startle myself better by jumping at my own reflection in a mirror.

Music executive, huh?  Yeah, that'd be my choice for an ambassadorship too.

Inept Inept.  Inept.

And not surprisingly, people still intend to vote for the idiot doofus.

Monday, February 20, 2012


I mean really, dude.

I guess this doofus is too stupid to realize that converting to Islam doesn't make one some kind of religious tri-athlete (claims he was raised in a Jewish/Christian household), it makes you a Muslim.  And being a Muslin means that you foresake all other religions because Islam is the only true religion.  Also, it is a religion that worships death, subjugates women and marginalizes everything and anything that is deemed "un-Islamic."

Piss on you and your elitist whining. . .we are sick of people like you who are born into wealth and seek to undermine all things American and Christian.  Maybe you and Sean Penn should hook up and spread your wealth to some foreign hellhole where human rights area an afterthought.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Chapter 1

She stood in front of the mirror looking at herself.  Her narrow fingers pulled on her long, dark, curled hair as she examined carefully the straight line of her jaw that rounded into a perfect chin with a small perfect dimple. Something bothered her about the curious shading underneath her jawline cast in a sick green/black void from the fluorescent lights in the garage.  But she didn't know what it was.  It was just there and her mind couldn't be forced to think much beyond that.

She always hated her jaw because it reminded her of Mother.  Mother was a bitch.  A tall, mean, good-looking, forceful bitch. A ten-megaton bitch of royal bitch lineage passed down at least fourteen bitch generations with a bitchcraft so refined that it could be taught in liberal colleges for two thousand dollars a semester credit. And the young, un-liberated, Patchouli oiled, freshmen teen girls would line up around the block for a chance to learn.

A brief, crooked smile flashed across her face as she imagined a throbbing mass of cackling, innocent girls relentlessly clubbing one another in front of the student union as they fought for placement in the class, but then she caught glimpse of the red crescent across her blouse.  She looked at her hands speckled with drips of red and the floor behind her where she saw him and a spreading pool of blood.

Contemptuously she whispered, "How do you feel now, Sporto?"

His body lay sprawled across the garage floor, pants around his knees, his prior bulge underneath the leopard-print Perry Ellis bikinis gone.  One arm was stretched out and above his head, tied off by a scarf to a workbench laden with various tools and implements.  His other arm lay free, his hand blood stained and crooked.  His eyes were empty, sunken slightly and his hair still remarkably coiffed considering the struggle.  A small tool, a screwdriver perhaps, protruded from his neck and although she was certain he was long dead it seemed the blood still coursed from his wound by a weak heartbeat.  Maybe she was imagining that, a nearly imperceptible pumping.

She focused on herself in the mirror again.  Goddamn she was pretty.  Painful beauty. The kind that felt to a man like a swift kick in the gut.  Her features were sharp with high cheek bones, a slightly upturned and narrow nose, pale blue green eyes awash in tiny flecks of gold, and long, flowing black hair with big curls.  A traffic-stopping beauty.  She turned her head left and admired the rosy mark from when his other hand got loose, but as a child she had been hit harder by her brother and knocked into the previous month by her dad. She was tough and this won't bruise she thought.  Even if it did, a little dab of concealer here and there would cover it.

She turned to him, "Now what do we do with you, Sporto?"

She walked across the room gracefully and sat with proper posture on a small stool, the kind mechanics use that have a tool company name or some hip, hypnotic design on the seat pad .  She wished it was Hello Kitty.  She crossed her legs and sat at attention tamping down the seething anger that her original plan had been thwarted by her lack of mastery of knot tying.  She really wanted to cut his manhood off but that fact did not take away from her ultimate goal of killing the sonofabitch.  She was glad he was dead even though he didn't die by her "approved method" of slow painful death by unexpected cock removal.  She guessed a screwdriver to the jugular was just as good even though the shock factor to him was muted.

"I really wanted to cut your dick off, Sporto," she hissed.

 Then she saw the gasoline. . .


Losted the lost losses

I wouldn't want to take away from the sweat equity of the average American automobile worker, but shouldn't the priority be to pay off the taxpayer first, then bonus out your employees?  I mean, after all, every taxpayer in America sacrificed (as Obama likes to champion) a little money here and there to save the entire company.  And with the government still owning a large chunk of the GM pie, you would think that upper management would be interested in getting Uncle Sam out of their back pocket.  Stranger things happen though.

On another note, in a moment of deep thought and clarity the other day whilst I was perusing the non-fat yogurt selection in Kroger I thunked that maybe Barack Obama and his legions of economic advisors are onto something by doling out billions and billions of loans to these solar companies that are going belly up faster that Nicaraguan hookers at a Moose Lodge convention in Managua.  Maybe, just maybe, they need billions, possibly trillions of dollars to just fucking vanish into the black hole of bad business model economics to control inflation.  It's just a thought and I have no further data to back it up.

These are just the kinds of things I think of while purchasing low-fat yogurt.  Sue me.  I'm weird.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Only in Texas

When I come across stories like this I always hold out hope for a smoking hot six foot blonde with blue eyes and a giant set of, uh, brains.....brains....brainz.  But then an acute sense of irony sets in and I realize that my fantasy is nearly impossible simply because more than half of America is plain fucking stupid and 95% of them are gibbons walking backwards ugly.

Anyway, they don't call it "Nuts" County, Texas for nothing.

Sigh.  Oh well.  There's always this convict chick for a palate cleanser.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Execute this!

Mohammed was a bi-sexual child predator.  Go fuck you, go fuck him, go fuck all you ass-backward 7th century heathens.  You can take your false outrage over all things offensive to Islam and shove it up a camel's pussy.

Until you people stop sawing off people's limbs, keeping women in bondage, raping children, destroying your own history, and stop the indiscriminate bombing of innocent civilians worldwide, you and your beloved pedophile Mohammed can kiss my lily-white ballsack!

Friday, February 10, 2012


Did I mention that we have a new cat?

Her name is Shadow and she's a doll, except when she is relentlessly trying to let your blood for you.

Other than that minor drawback, she's become a nice little addition to our cat family which had been whittled down to the lone Wildcat.

He's been a lonely little guy since the sad departure of Bobcat some months ago.  But Nature has a way of making balance where there isn't and Wildcat has finally met his match.  A match made in Kitty Heaven.

The Thing

This motherfucking heinous contraption of plastic and more plastic should be a crime against humanity.  This was a free gift to us when we upgraded our large output main office copier three years ago.  And since day one, since the day this machine first saw light outside of the box it was shipped in, it has not worked correctly.  For three years, I've put up with craptastic smudgy copies, strange vibrating and clunking noises, paper jams at every pivot point, and every other error, kink, uh oh, and oopsie daisy that a copier can do.  If the tech guy can't make this thing work properly next week, then they will take it back and if they can't do either of those, I'm going to take it home a disassemble it with a .44 magnum.

Ricoh sucks dick.  Free Ricoh sucks monkey dicks.

We are so last

the we even come in behind the last of all lasts.

First, it was our governor, and why he did this is anyone's best guess.

But then we have this dickweed with my apologies to all previous dickweeds.

We should just call it the Fatback River and the Gulf of Bacon.


This is what I think:

Thursday, February 9, 2012


A comment by Backwards Boy on the capitulationof the Liberal Left on drone use and the still open Gitmo:

Conveniently missing from this is the Geneva Conventions and their outlines for the treatment of non-uniformed, illegal combatants, which is what all of the Gitmo detainees are, IINM. These illegal enemy combatants do not have the rights of a POW and may be executed at any time.

I find it curious that the bleeding heart, anti-war lefties who are so insistent upon the US adopting International Law routinely ignore that little tidbit.

If Bush'd had any balls, he'd have executed every one of the Gitmo detainees to show our enemies how they'd be dealt with if they took up arms against us. If he'd done that, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have to be groped in our own airports or treated as a threat to national security by our own damnedgovernment.

This times 10000000000000.

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Friday, February 3, 2012

Point taken

Below is the first comment I read in relation to this article.  Some folks are just brilliant:

If you sat in your back yard with a high powered rifle and a scope. And, your crazy azz neighbor sat in his back yard yelling he was going to "wipe you off the face of the earth". You call ther police and they talk to your neighbor but, next day, he's back at it. You call the police and they keep threatening to arrest your neighbor but he claims he isn't doing anything wrong. What would you do? Then, one day, you saw he had a high powered rifle, with a scope but it was all in pieces. Now what would you do? Every day he sat in his back yard telling the whole neighborhood he was going to wipe you off the face of the Earth and, each day he got a little closer to getting that rifle together. How long would you wait to take him out? Until he had the rifle all together? Until he loaded it? Until he pointed it at you? Until he pulled the trigger? 

Comment by wozerd

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


As you may have noticed around here, I don't do movie reviews.  And this is kinda sorta because a) I don't get paid for it and b) go fuck yourself.  Furthermore, and I quote Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry character in Magnum Force, c) "A good man always has to know his limitations."

However today I make exception and step outside the boundaries of things I am good at like cooking, shooting guns, growing tomatoes, and drinking Heineken with Jagermeister shooters until I am blind, mumbling and passing out in the flower bed near the front porch.

Last night I watched the movie Drive which stars Ryan Gosling as a quiet, introspective and haunted stunt driver, mechanic and moonlighting driver for nefarious criminals and their illegal activities.  Now, before I go any further, I will state for the record that I have never seen a Ryan Gosling movie that I was aware of until I saw The Ides of March last week.  In Ides, Gosling plays a pricktastic campaign manager for a presidential candidate who gets caught up in, well, politics.  Politics of the dirty, back-stabbing, don't trust a single motherfucking soul variety.  In the end, I didn't know whether to hate the fucker or feel sorry for him, but nevertheless I felt I had seen a brilliantly crafted character due to Gosling's superb acting.

In Drive, much more of the same spectacular acting, but this time instead of a self-absorbed arrogant turd, Gosling portrays a quiet and difficult to define unnamed character who hides behind a stone front while hiding from an unknown past.  As the movie progresses and his love relationship blossoms, one can't help but feel the "hero" side of this dark knight and the viewer could almost throw aside the character's bleak shortcomings in hopes that what is seen in him then is the true man.  But all of this is viciously put to rest during a non-violent exchange with a prior client of his where the cracked and sinister alter ego of Gosling's character freezes the moment with cold unambiguous evil.  It is then, in that brief moment of clarity, where his true nature is revealed and it is unnerving.  The viewer's conflict has begun.

Oddly and unexpectedly, the movie dialogue is sparse, generalized, and much of the character development is a canvas left largely unpainted with direct and obvious plot works and relies more upon mood and the subtle psychological nature of simple human interaction.  A slight raise of the brow or glance from one character to another or an angled shot of holding hands was enough to convey volumes of story, backstory and plot.  I found this to be a nice diversion from another tough guy slinging zippy one-liners in a fast car type flick of high action, low skill and no drama.

Not to say that the movie did not excite, because it did and in some scenes very much so.  At times I was tense, nervous, utterly disgusted, and hopeful.  Emotions ran the gamut and were quick to turn as the story progressed to the movie's end where I felt myself pulled in so many directions emotionally that I found it difficult to sleep.  Infrequently, I come across something, whether it is a music album or a movie or a moment of time captured in a photograph that reaches down and gently masticates on those tender parts of the soul, heart or mind which in turn releases a wash of crisp feelings and thoughts not often considered.  I guess if this happened every day it would make artful creations such as this movie seem mundane, ordinary and vacuous.  I believe they call it being "special."

I won't give away any plot details or spoil anything for those of you that haven't seen it.  I'll just say that this movie is not for everyone and many people will find the lack of dialogue to be boring and uninteresting, but that is where I find the glory.  The movie allows you to paint your own picture instead of the movie trying to dictate the character to you tediously and thereby muddling the purity of their true nature.

And as an added bonus, although she only has 10 minutes of screen time, this movie also features the scorching and sultry Christina Hendricks, which had I known this beforehand, I would have banished the better-half to some unnecessary shoe shopping so I could enjoy the film alone.  And lubricated in clarified butter.

And here is one of the most spectacular car maneuvers I have ever seen, which happens at the end of this chase scene.  A reverse 270 degree J-turn at speed with three braking actions and burnout powerslide through the finish.  Fucking expert I tell you.

Last train

Don Cornelius dead.

Helluva way to start black history month. Rest in peace soul brother.

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Location:Last Train