Going In With a Bang

Okay, I'm travelling through the winding mountain passes of North Carolina and this news flash comes on the radio, one so freaksihly bizarre that I could hardly believe my ears. Of course, fourteen hours later when I finally arrived home you know I just had to google this motherfucker to see if in fact it were really true.

I was pleased, and even a little more disturbed, to learn that a 44 year old Salvadoran woman was discovered smuggling a military grenade, as well as some marijuana, in a cylindrical container stuffed in her - get this - her vagina!

Holy shit! Now that's what I call a "Boom Box". Ba-dum-bum.

Can you believe that? Now I've known, and know of, some very dutiful girlfriends, but Jesus, stuffing explosives up your hoo-hoo? That's just fucking crazy! The pot I could believe, easily, but thats some other heavy duty ordance she was trying to get past security there. It certainly pushes that "stand by your man" bullshit through the roof, eh?

Here's the really funny part: officials subsequently raised the security level at jails across the country, after spokesman for the La Esperanza prison Alberto Uribe said that the discovery definitely showed that "the inmates are planning something."

Well, gee, do ya really think so, el dipshit? Man, I'm sure glad this guy is on the case.

Lidia Alvarado was visiting two inmates, serving 25 and 30 years. Each had been convicted of rape, robbery and illegal arms possession. Now there's one hell of a gangbang - literally.

Gives you the real warm fuzzies doesn't it?

More Preaching from the Perverted

Oh Lord, make it all end!

Please allow a speedy delivery for Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise and put the rest of us out of our misery about having to hear about it every waking moment of the day. We're ready to perform hari kare down here if we have to take any more!

Scientology this; and Scientology that. Who gives a flying shit anymore?

The latest news surrounding this celebrity spawning is that 'ol Tommy is going to allow 27 year old pregnant fiancee, Katie, to have her painkillers during the actual delivery of their demon seed. Well thats mighty big of 'ol Tommy, eh? "Whatever the woman wants. I'm not gonna tell Kate … you know, if she needs an epidural, she's gonna get her epidural."

So much for his unbending Scientology beliefs on medicine.

Tom had originally planned for a drug-free and scream-free delivery, as prescribed by his Scientology faith. Of course, it's not his genitalia that is going to be torn open in passing a fetus 10 times the size of the original orfice it came from. Oh, no! It's easy to talk big when all you're doing during the whole birthing process is passing out cigars, eh Tommy? Let's get real here, Tom. Considering the effects of the birthing process - you're going to need Mapquest to find Katie's g-spot once this is all finished and I'm pretty sure she's going to scream like a banshee, with, or without the drugs. But I'd say if you really want a "scream-free" experience, I'd be pumping her full of as many drugs as she pleases, post haste!

In the past he has criticised antidepressants, questioning Brooke Shields's revelation that she took them to help her get over post-natal depression. He even claimed to "know" all about this vicious circle represented by proscribed medications.

So, when it comes to Katie and birfing babies, it seems like 'ol Tom is liking to having his cake and eating it too, huh?

What a hypocritical dipshit.

He's just a know-it-all. No topic is too personal or too indulgent - we're all subject to Tom's open book life. Is the baby going to be born at the hospital, or his California mansion? Wouldn't you love to overhear that particular cellphone debate? "But, Katie, daaahling, I want you to have the baby by the pool. Mmmkay?"

No detail it seems is ever too small or insignificant to spare us.

He plans of eating Katie's placenta as well. Well, yummers. Why not just slap it between two pieces of toasted bread with some raspberry jam? "I thought that would be good," he told GQ magazine. "Very nutritious. I'm gonna eat the cord and the placenta right there." Better yet, why not give Emeril a call and see what kind of recipes he suggests for human placenta? That's an episode of the Iron Chef in the making for sure!

Cruise also spoke of his 'spectacular' sex life. The secret, he confided, is good communication.

"Sex is about the connection. Great sex is a by-product, for me, of a great relationship, where you have communication and it's an extension of that.

"Where it's just free. And that's how it should be. It's spectacular."

Oh, bullshit! He'd fuck a chain link fence if the opportunity should present itself. At least limit us the sanctimonious rhetoric, dude. None of us care anymore.

Go, spawn, and be done with it.

The Devil's Vibrator

Okay, as Swayer the Player has already noted, I've been a real slacker in updating this website lately. It's not that there arn't enough things to bitch about in this 'ol world - it's just that my computer has decided to take a technical sabbatical.

That is to say: it's crapped out big time.

There's people getting busted in Texas bars for being intoxicated for fuck sakes, and here I am fiddling with the connection settings on my idiots box. The Vice President even shot somebody in the face and all I'm worried about are these ridiculous program errors that keep popping up on my screen like digitalized blemishes. There's a Exxon CEO's being rewarded with $400 million retirement packages and I'm struggling with virus software. Just think of all the missed punchlines and bitter slanted viewpoints that are being wasted here - my head is ready to explode. There's no justice anymore I tell you!

I fucking HATE computers!

In this brave new technological world of ours; I am but a mere technical peon. The sum of all my efforts to fix this damnable devil's vibrator so far have been to poke at it with a stick and wait for the obelisk to fall from the sky.

Fixing computers is apparently "soooo easy" according to everybody else. But for me it's like trying to play guitar while wearing a pair of oven mitts. I'm beyond frustrated. Computers are about as cryptic to me as Dennis Miller covering a Democratic Convention after one too many roofies. And they're even less funny.

I have attempted to seek help from other, more knowledgable computer-types, but I need a damn translator just to decipher what they're telling me. If I had Internet access, perhaps I could lgo to www.speakfuckingenglish.com, or something, to figure out what in the hell they're suggesting. But noooooo, here I am fruitlessly pounding away at the keyboard like a halfwit.

So please bear with me, dear readers, your beloved Skeevy Internet Superhero will be back with a vengenance just as soon as I am able. In the meantime, go forth and leave me behind. Seek out horseshit everywhere and ridicule it for the foul, stinky, news excrament it is.

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light!"

Too dramatic?