Bush Hates Spics, Too!

WASHINGTON, April 28 – During a news briefing in the White House Rose Garden President Bush made it known that he does not support the Spanish version of “The Star-Spangled Banner” (“Nuestro Himno”), which is currently receiving heavy air-play on Hispanic radio.

Carlos Ponce, left, with Armando Perez during the recording of “Nuestro Himno.”

“America’s message of freedom should not be brought to other cultures,” said President Bush. “Our message of freedom is reserved for us – white, Anglo-Saxon Protestants . . . every other race and religion needs to get their own anthem.”

Bush suggested with a snicker that Hispanics adopt Shakira’s “Whenever, Wherever” as their national anthem.

“It couldn’t be more simpler,” continued the President. “The national anthem is a song about America, therefore, it should be sung in American, not Spanish – end of story.”

Besides opposing “Nuestro Himno,” President Bush also announced that he objects to any non-white/non-Baptist translation of the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

“I don’t want no niggers singing the national anthem at sporting events ever again,” continued the President. “I mean, they might be good at putting balls in baskets and tackling other niggers – but it’s just too soon for them to be claiming America’s national anthem as their own.”

Even when the President was informed that the majority of black Americans were born on American soil, his stance remained.

“You see, this country just isn’t for everybody,” said the President. “It’s for people who look and sound like me – a true American.”

Farting on Women

So, I try not to get too personal in these posts and I try to spend minimal time on bathroom humor, however, this is just too amusing to ignore. I’m not exactly sure how this came up, but I was chatting with my girlfriend (whom I will refer to as “Mary Tyler Moore” for the sake of this ridiculous post) about the reasons we would break up.

I said I would dump her if . . .

• She aged.
• She got ugly.
• She got wrinkles.
• She wanted to share a bank account.
• She become clingy and gross.
• She menstruated too much.
• She engaged in hardcore lesbian action without including me.
• She began menopause.

Then, Mary Tyler Moore said she would dump me if . . .

• I became boring.
• I was chronically unemployed.
• I continued losing my hair.
• I got too skinny.
• I screwed a stripper.
• I became an alcoholic.
• I killed a stripper.
• I became generally undesirable.
• I farted on her.

Now, as logical as all of Mary Tyler Moore’s reasons may be, her last reason struck me as slightly illogical. Mary said she would dump me and end our year and a half together . . . if I “farted on her.”

Does this seem a little drastic? Maybe it’s me.

I asked her to clarify her stance and she said, “If you intentionally aimed your ass at me and farted, I would break up with you in a heartbeat.”

To which I replied, “So, what if I unintentionally farted on you, then what would happen?” Mary said she would excuse accidental gas – however, intentional gas would most certainly result in my termination.

Honestly, I don’t believe her. Surely she wouldn’t break up with me over a single fart. That’s too radical. I mean, we’ve been together for a little while and have similar tastes in everything (except abortion: I want to kill babies, she doesn’t). Is a simple fart really enough to destroy a solid relationship?

Mary claims that the act sickens her so much that it would.

Now, here’s my problem. Because I don’t believe that she would follow through with dumping me over something so ridiculous, I now feel as if I must fart on her. I sincerely want to fart on her.

And even if she did get rid of me, wouldn’t it be amazing to be able to waltz around saying, “I dumped him because he farted on me.” (Or even vice-versa, “She dumped me because I farted on her.”)

Let’s just say the temptation is there and I’m torn over what to do. Am I reading too much into this?

Should I fart on Mary?

Don’t Smile at Me When I’m Not Smiling

So . . . not too long ago, a friend and I were going to grab a bite to eat in this cafeteria-style restaurant. We went in, got our food out of the trough and followed the assembly line. It was rather early in the morning and I had rolled out of bed about 30 minutes prior. I was tired and probably looked like it.

Anyway, as we slid our trays down the home stretch past the Jell-O, I noticed the cashier at the end of the line. She was probably 46 or so . . . dumpy . . . squatty . . . and way too optimistic for a lifelong cafeteria employee. Desperately trying to avoid the horrible small-talk that surely awaited me, I turned my face toward my tray to avoid the meaningless and unnecessary pleasantry-exchange for which I was most certainly not in the mood.

So, Miss Dumptruck (as I will call her from this sentence forth) tallied up my items, blurted-out some price that I’m sure she recites 300 times a week, snatched my credit card, swiped it, and then in all seriousness said, “You know, things go better with a smile.”

Then . . . she smiled.

As she handed me back my card, I used every ounce of strength and willpower I could muster to avoid BREAKING HER UGLY FUCKING FACE OPEN WITH THE EDGE OF MY HEAVY PLASTIC DINNER TRAY.

I am a non-violent person. I have been in one fight in my life and it took place in the 4^th grade (which I won because I fought dirty and hit my opponent in the nuts with a stick). Despite my non-violent tendencies, I really wanted to physically attack this woman.

She doesn’t know my personal life. What if I wasn’t just tired? What if my brother had just been murdered or kidnapped? What if I was on my way to prison? What if I’d killed someone in a car accident the day before? What if I was just diagnosed with cancer? What gave THIS DUMPTRUCKY BITCH the RIGHT to comment on my mood?

“Things go better with a smile”??!!!

Maybe in her fucked-up, over-medicated existence it only takes a simple facial contortion to make slaving away in a cafeteria for 18 years enjoyable, but for me, it takes a LITTLE MORE than a twitch of the lip to make even EATING in a cafeteria enjoyable.

As my receipt printed out I didn’t say a word . . . I just stood there in total disbelief. In my groggy state (which, after hearing her comment, began to quickly wane), I was having trouble digesting what had just happened.

Did she actually think her advice would be an eye-opener for me? She said it with total conviction, so I’m sure she wasn’t joking. What did she want me to say? “Things go better with a smile . . . you know what, this dumpy-ass cafeteria lady whom I’ve never met is right – if I just smiled all the time, then things would go better!”

I should have hit her with the dinner tray.

This Fat Pig-Ass Country

You know, when I heard about morons at county fairs deep-frying Snickers and Milky Way bars (see shithead, below) – I thought, “Wow, stupid Americans can’t get any dumber – it just won’t happen. It can’t happen – these toothless fucks are deep frying candy bars for Christ’s sake. They have definitely reached an all-time, nutritional low.”

Enter the Luther Burger.

Allow me to disclose the sickening details behind the Luther Burger. Take 1/3 pound of fatty-ass ground beef, slap on 2 slices of American cheese, cover the cheese with bacon, smother the bacon with mayonnaise, and THEN put it all on a FUCKING KRISPY KREME DONUT.

I SHIT YOU NOT. THIS IS NOT SOMETHING THAT SOME FILTHY NIGHT-ANIMAL PULLED OUT OF A DUMPSTER – NO – THIS THING IS ACTUALLY SOLD AND EATEN BY HUMANS.

The Luther Burger – in all its oozing nutritional glory.

This Stupid Fat-Ass Delicacy is currently available at the “Gateway Grizzlies” baseball stadium in Sauget, IL. “The Grizzlies” is a crappy minor-league baseball team that no one cares about. This Grizzly-apathy is probably what triggered some genius marketing team to pull this burger-donut publicity stunt. Unfortunately, this sly marketing ploy has actually succeeded in herding halfway-retarded rednecks (and their fat, malnourished families) into the Grizzlies Stadium – like pigs to a trough of smelly innards.

I can hear it now:

Uuhhh . . . it is absolutely unbelievable that an actual audience exists for this TOTAL garbage – and that’s what it is – GARBAGE – and people are cramming it into their fat little mouths. Just imagine yourself peering into a garbage can only to find a hamburger and a donut. It’s CLEARLY GARBAGE – not a potentially-glorious food combination.

Let’s break down a Luther Burger:

	CALORIES	FAT GRAMS
BURGER	500	40
CHEESE	300	26
BACON	150	10
MAYONNAISE	110	12
KRISPY CRÈME DONUT	220	13
GRUESOME TOTAL	1280	101

When looking at this gruesome chart keep this in mind – the average person needs 2200 calories per day. This LUTHER BURGER gives you 60% of your daily calories. Also, the average person should consume NO MORE than 75 grams of fat per day. This LUTHER BURGER provides you 45% MORE fat than your body needs. THIS IS ALL CONSUMED IN ONE GROSS SITTING.

Now, the problem here is not the fact that a Luther Burger is terrible for you. There are lots of things that are terrible for you (liquor, cigarettes, fried Milky Way bars). The problem is that this country has positioned the hamburger as a complete and satisfactory meal. Now to further ram home a message of UNYIELDING FAT, along comes this shit-ass minor-league baseball team that positions a bacon-cheeseburger on a FUCKING DONUT as a complete and satisfactory meal.

Eww . . . just the thought of combining sugar, meat and cheese makes me want to go into one of those “cleansing communes” where you ingest nothing but juice for six days while a snotty homosexual administers a saline enema.

WARNING: PUNK ROCKERS ARE FUCKING IDIOTS

So, I went to this party the other night and everything was going just swell. There was no chaos, the conversation was pleasant – I guess you could say that I was almost enjoying myself (which is rare because I’m usually in a constant rampage). Anyway, everything was just fine until . . . “the band” showed up.

By “the band” I mean a group of mildly-retarded, unclean, probably-dropout, early-20s shitheads who possess no real musical finesse (or purpose), yet flaunt themselves around like musical virtuosos. For some reason, these oblivious children assume that just because they finance $1400 amps (to make their talentless noise louder) they are somehow “important.” I, on the other hand, can think of nothing LESS important (except, of course, mosquitoes).

After speaking briefly with several party-goers, I quickly learned that the highlight of “the band’s” career was playing for a bunch of 14-year old suburban girls in an underage club – which is probably THE LOWEST FORM OF MINDLESS THROWAWAY ENTERTAINMENT since the WB.

Anyway, back to the bands’ rockstar behavior. Once they all got a few drinks in them, they replaced the Ella Fitzgerald that was unobtrusively playing through the stereo with some pointlessly boring pop-punk trash-rock.

This shortly progressed into them JUMPING ON THE FURNITURE and PLAYING AIR INSTRUMENTS. These forth-rate fucks were so desperate to impress their whored-out women that they actually resorted to miming their already piss-poor “talent” by playing air instruments.

What was even grosser was the fact that when they began miming the instruments, each band member “air-played” his respective instrument, which I’m assuming correlated with the one they actually played in their treehouse, going-nowhere punk-crock-of-shit band. One played guitar, the other bass, and the other drums . . . absolutely sickening.

Anyway, to make a long story short, they ended up slinging beer around, taking their shirts off, purposely falling around, licking each other, grabbing at each other’s balls, and throwing various garments into a ceiling fan.

Because I would have rather watched PIGS FUCK IN THEIR OWN SHIT, my annoyance peaked and I left.

So, to all you pseudo punk rockers out there: You’re not original and you’re most certainly not making any sort of statement – because any statement you could possibly make has already been made loud and clear by 1000 other dipshits. Understand that you have no real marketable skills and you will never be discovered. Quit your job at the record store and move on to YOUR INEVITABLE REALITY at the Oscar Meyer Weiner Factory on the Outskirts of Town. Oh, and one more thing: the story behind your tattoo is NOT the gateway to world peace.

(I realize I’ll probably get some post from some defensive punk rocker that says something to the effect of, “Man, you need to calm down – they’re just letting loose and being themselves. Let them enjoy themselves.” You see, they’re not enjoying themselves and they’re definitely not being themselves. They’ve been trained by a retarded subculture to act a certain way and they’re just following through and living up to the stereotype that I’d previously assigned to them.)

VH1’s Most Outrageous Pope Moments

This time last year, tens of thousands of mourners gathered outside the Vatican to pay their respects to the dying Pope John Paul II. This year, we would like to commemorate Pope John Paul’s life by remembering all the outrageous moments from his trivial, self-indulgent life. We even brought in a bunch of crappy VH1 writers to help us!

So without further ado, VH1 presents John Paul’s 13 Most Outrageous Pope Moments:

Pope Moment 13:
When John Paul appeared with J. Lo at mass.

Pope Moment 12:
When John Paul dangled his newborn baby over a balcony for the paparazzi.

Pope Moment 11:
When John Paul got so bored with his meaningless life that he tried to pay the Russian government to send him on a space odyssey.

Pope Moment 10:
When John Paul bit off Evander Holyfield’s ear!

Pope Moment 9:
When John Paul peed on the Alamo.

Pope Moment 8:
When John Paul was caught lip-syncing chants.

Pope Moment 7:
When John Paul got his arm ripped off in a car accident but still kept rockin’.

Pope Moment 6:
When John Paul married Lisa Marie Presley.

Pope Moment 5:
When John Paul passed on his fame and reputation to Britney with a slutty kiss.

Pope Moment 4:
When John Paul bit off the head of a dove during a Vatican Retreat.

Pope Moment 3:
When the Vatican uncovered John Paul’s naughty Pam Anderson sex tape.

Pope Moment 2:
When John Paul ripped a picture of Sinead O’Connor while performing on Saturday Night Live.

And the Most Outrageous Pope Moment Is:
When he died.