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The love hate relationship

There is an arrogant charm to being a hypocritical shit.

There isn’t really a depth to my shallowness at this point.

Maybe, when I first started writing this blog, there was.

I might have felt an embarrassed flush if someone brought up a particularly heinous remark.

But now? I have no shame and pretty much take delight in the things that make most people cringe.

I will make up fact and polls and scientific findings, often for no reason other than to amuse myself.

You can call me out on it, but that is only going to make it worse.

I will laugh in your face and take the next hour to explain why you are the idiot.

Its like a moral anarchy that knows no boundary.

Thought in my head? (No matter how vile) Its on the page.

And it has caused a noticeable distance between some acquaintances and me.

And I didn’t say “friends” because I didn’t mean “Friends”.

Acquaintances fits.

And there is a part of me that, during those rare moments that I reflect with the innocence of a former alter boy, that I feel bad about it.

But then I move on and think of something evil about that person to justify the situation in a way that makes me the good guy.

As for friends, my true set of friends are a twisted bunch of fuckers.

Not only do they get it, there are a couple that feel the worst of the blog is much too tame.

Were they like that originally and we fell in together?

Or were we kids with diverse paths that fell in together due to geography and slowly warped each other?

Either way, here we are.

Moving on.

I find myself reading the hate mail again.

Like a heroin addict, I stayed clean for a few months, even shut down the email feature for the blog.

And they found me thru facebook.

They never missed a whiny beat.

And the email that set me down this path of reflection?

It was from one of the dedicated critics that was among the first to complain.

Tiny Mouse. You rotten bitch.

Tiny Mouse has about 60 cats and a retarded child and lives in New Zealand.

Why New Zealand? Probably to escape US Justice.

Animal rape is illegal in the US, always has been.

At least, that is my theory.

Tiny Mouse’s first email was over my use of the word “Retard”.

She maintains that it harms a child that cannot read in New Zealand if a blog from the US uses that word.

I have come to understand that she is retarded and her kid is most likely more normal by societal standards.

She also claims that a phrase that ignored all content around it was advocating violence towards cats.

She loves cats, I suspect in an unnatural way.

My response to her emails usually begin with a reply from me that is simply a photo of cat-themed road kill.

Its childish, and possibly a little beyond twisted, but it did accomplish my goal.

She lost her fucking mind.

She actually contacted my webhost and asked that the blog site be shut down.

I know this because tech support emailed me to let me know that they would not be honoring her request.

Thanks guys.

Fast forward to today.

Tiny Mouse sent me an email that talked about how she rarely reads the blog, but she did today. (She has written me almost 60 emails. I am ALL she reads.)

And she is going to stop reading me forever.

Boo fucking who.

I read that line in her email and got a chubby.

I think I even came a little bit.

I truly hope she stands by her principals on this one.

It will not happen, because she has sworn off the blog a few dozen times.

This blog is her meth, without the danger of losing her teeth.

Trust me, she will be back, probably because of this post.

I have mentioned the keywords.

“Retard”, “Cat rape”, “Roadkill”.

But I can still hope.

She needs me more than I need her.

She just doesn’t see that yet.

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Posted by on June 10, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Your child MIGHT be the Anti-Christ

I weep for the future.

 

I feel like I am beating a dead horse here.

Like I am harping on the same damn thing, again and again.

So let me say this again, and I will try to be clear.

Beat some sense into your fucking kids.

Soon.

Please.

Maybe its the local.

Panera Bakery has decent coffee, despite how it is made.

They brew it in back and then bring out urns of it periodically.

There is always a vile suspicion in the back of my head that someone is teabagging this lukewarm swill in the back room before trotting it out for the public.

No way to be sure, but there is always a flavor I can’t identify and my paranoia screams “SCROTUM!” each and every time.

But I am not here to talk about the coffee.

I am here to piss and moan about Armageddon.

And it has a name.

That name is Crandall.

Crandall is only 7 and is already a world class fuck-tard.

That is an amazing feat for a 7 year old.

Say what you like about me being a rotten human being, but this will be the one who’s finger pushes the button that destroys us all.

How do I know this? I don’t, but it would not shock me at all.

First off, his family is rich.

Not that kind of rich that is trying to make the world a better place.

Or even that hiding in the shadows, anonymous kind of rich.

Even worse, they are that, its all beneath us, you motherfuckers are shit kind of rich.

Mom has not quit whining since they hit the door.

She is not happy to be here.

News flash you vile slag, none of us are happy your here either.

The husband is living his life thru the bluetooth growing out of his ear like a techo-goiter.

Apparently there are those at his office that cannot take a shit without talking to mister big.

So he is working, and practicing his golf swing with his mercedes smart key.

We get it asshole, you golf. How the fuck else would you be spending your worthless time?

Are we all on the same page here?

Good.

Now, lets meet Crandall.

Crandall is wearing little lord Fauntleroy short pants, a look that went out of style when FDR was wheeling his ass out of office.

There is a 1 inch circle around his mouth that is always wet, like he either lipped a jar of Vaseline in the parking lot or he has been licking his lips for the last hour non-stop.

His eyes travel independently of each other, much like an iguana or a koi fish. Its unsettling to say the least.

He lacks common sense and even basic depth perception, as evidenced by his walking full speed into the baked goods case.

A full five minutes passed and he was still thrashing on the ground, fully absorbed in his fit.

And that was when he farted, loudly, for the first time.

His parents ignored it for the first 3 minutes, then got into an argument over who is to blame.

They ordered, collected their vile offspring and looked over no less than 3 different tables that the wife nixed before settling at one.

I have never prayed for a terrorist attack on any public place that I was at but I would be ok with someone with a vest made out of c4 detonating at the front door if it meant keeping Crandall from attaining breeding age.

I once heard a drill sergeant scream that the best part of someone ended up as a brown stain on a mattress.

I get that now.

I am not saying Crandall is the anti-christ, I am only saying he MIGHT be.

I posted up across the room just to watch this macabre little freakshow for myself.

When the wife would stop talking, and trust me, it was not often, her face would scrunch up in a disdainful mew like someone had farted and she was trying to figure out who.

Just as that thought hit my brain, Crandall farted, or quite possibly shit himself for the first or second time.

The bark of laughter that escaped me scared the shit out of everyone.

I did my best to stop laughing, but that only made it worse.

I didn’t hide it, I just stared rudely and laughed my ass off.

They got their food to go.

It was awesome.

I was sad that I had ruined the show, but I was also thrilled that they were no longer here.

Once they were gone, a peace descended over the building.

The planets aligned.

A lasting peace came to all people.

Somewhere, an angel got his wings.

And all was right with the world.

 
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Posted by on May 22, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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