...and fuck you too

Fun With "The Google"

2009-01-21T15:06:00.004-05:00

Today I remembered that when I first set up this blog, long long ago (read: 10 posts ago), I added a little visitor tracking system. Now, while this doesn't mean I can track everything you do after visiting this site (I'm working on that), it does mean I can see how many people have visited, what page(s) they have looked at, and my favorite part, what web site brought them here (almost always by mistake). Below is a list of some of the more interesting Google Searches that have brought poor, unsuspecting victims, er... visitors here.

"have the flu"

"PIGMY FUCK"

"gymnast fuck split"

"midgets fucking grown women"

"iphone sucking every dick"

"Robert Brockway"

Now in the spirit of this revelation, below are some more search terms that, I hope and pray, will bring even more sad and pathetic googlers to this very post...

"mrs. butterworth rape scene"

"cousin-fucker"

"gorillas fucking smaller gorillas"

"hitler sucking off a wildebeest"

"george bush touches small children"

"Sandra Day O'Conner is a whore"

and last but not least...

"Is Barack Obama's dick really six feet long?"

By the way, I hear the answer to that last one is yes, oh good god YES!

Love,

I Could Not Be More Offended if You Actually Raped My Grandmother With A Pair Of Salad Tongs

2009-01-21T13:48:00.009-05:00

There is a very good reason no one reads this site. It's not because I don't want them to. Of course, I would like the whole world to read my precious words and hang on every filthy syllable. Why, you bastards should be begging for more of my horrifying and angry wit that could force God himself to open the heavens above just so he could vomit without getting any on his shoes. I would like to be hearing screams for more allusions to the odor of Rosie O'Donnell's used tampons (which oddly enough, smells incredibly similar to the inside of my car when I'm doing 90 down the Jersey Turnpike). Or descriptions of the dead cat that's been lodged in my chimney chute for weeks, and what rotting body parts fell from it today. But you don't beg. You don't plead. You don't threaten bodily harm if I don't give you more dick humor.

Why is this?

Because I'm just not that fucking funny. It's ok, really. I've come to accept this and I'm at peace with it. I'm really just more of an angry prick. And this blog here, it's less of a vehicle for my humor and more an out-patient therapy mechanism on which I release (all over it's face!) my pent-up aggression from not getting laid.

So by now you (read: no one) are probably looking at the title of this post and asking "Why are you so offended, G?" Well I'll tell you why. Today someone called me a "funny guy." It's not important who, at this point, but I'll tell you this, good sir... You are a filthy fucking liar and I won't stand for it! If one person calls me funny, then, all of the sudden, there are expectations. And if there are expectations, I will most certainly not meet them. It's in my DNA. I come from a long line of failures and I'm quite proud of it.

BUT, if there are no expectations, and then you chuckle during my lengthy explanation of why SPAM is the superior spiced meat alternative (FUCK YOU SPURKEY), then I've succeeded. But if you go on to tell others about how funny that weird bearded guy who sleeps under the desks in the research department is, well those people will have expectations. And when I randomly scream "KILL WHITEY" in their faces, not only will they think I'm functionally retarded, but they'll think you're a total dickbag too, for laughing at retarded guy.

So you can call me lots of things... Crazy, racist, lunatic, rapist, cripple-fucker, Burt Langcaster, etc... BUT DON'T CALL ME FUCKING FUNNY!

Love,

Obama Sworn In... Everything Still Fucked

2009-01-20T14:23:00.012-05:00

It's a landmark day as America swears in its first black president, but much to my surprise, the economy is still in the toilet, the war on terror and drugs are still yielding no results, and I still want a fucking cigarette despite promises that Obama would make my cravings go away. I'm still working my dead-end job at a company that WOULD give a fuck about me if it didn't cost them so much goddamned money to do so. My love life is still hovering somewhere in that mythical place between the shitter and the drain (at least in terms of distance and frustration). And my physical health is even worse than it was when the doctors told me "at least it can't get any worse." I thought this guy was supposed to fix shit!?!? What gives?

Well it turns out Barack Obama is NOT the mythical creature sent from the heavens to heal the sick and turn water into wine that produces no hangover. Don't get me wrong, I still think he's a good man and I sincerely hope that he will do as much good for this country (and planet) that everyone thinks he will. But he's not magic. Not even a little. So for the love of God, Allah, Moses, Buddha, or that spot of gum on the pavement that vaguely resembles John Cougar Melloncamp, please stop acting as if he has magical powers. Stop pretending that we no longer have to worry, because we do. We always have to worry. The day we stop worrying is the day we lose the country to those damn soulless Canadians! (I know about their secret plans to take over once we get all soft and doughy. We're halfway there people!)

So Never Give Up! Never Get Soft! And Never Forget the Canadians are watching with their beady little eyes! Waiting for the right moment, when they can finally invade, and beat us all to death with hockey sticks and over-sized jars of maple syrup.

Love,

Sexual HarASSment

2009-01-15T16:54:00.002-05:00

I was planning on writing a little rant today about the ridiculous sexual harassment training I had to go through. But I have the flu, and I don't much feel like being angry. So here's a screen grab from it instead, just to give you an idea of how fucking retarded my company thinks I am.

Love,

Holy Fucking Shit! Plane Goes Down In The Hudson River

2009-01-15T16:44:00.003-05:00

A fucking plane just crashed like 6 blocks (plus half the width of the hudson river) from where I'm sitting. No one is doing work anymore, we're all just staring at the TV in awe. But you've gotta love how well CNN covers up the fact that they don't know shit about shit, by repeating the same thing over and over again. Lick my balls, Blitzer!

Fuck the Fucking Flu

2009-01-15T15:25:00.004-05:00

I've never gotten a flu shot. I don't know why, it's not some personal vendetta I have with the pharmaceutical companies. I don't believe that flu shots are meant to send us into a shopping frenzy right before Christmas. I just never bothered to get one. I've always had a pretty good immune system and I don't like taking drugs when they're unnecessary. But right about now, I really wish I'd just sucked it up, dropped trow, and let em stick that needle right in my ass. But no, I had to sit on my high fucking horse this winter, even though my company gives flu shots to all it's employees completely free.

So I've got the flu, I haven't had a cigarette in 3 days, I haven't gotten laid in over a month, and this nicotine patch has been giving me some really fucking weird dreams (a few nights ago I was a dog trapped in a closet wearing ski goggles and I couldn't breathe) so I haven't been sleeping well either. Basically I'm in a shitty fucking mood. All I want to do today is go home, jerk off, enjoy a comforting and delicious Marlboro Medium and goto bed. But no, I'm at work, cranky, with the flu. And I just sat through a 3 hour training program that taught me all about the sexual harassment laws in the state of California. That would not be that big a problem if it weren't for the simple fact that I both live and work in NEW YORK!

Take this post as a warning, if you see me today, don't start shit. Just smile, nod and keep fucking moving. I probably won't yell because my throat feels like I just finished off a carton of my beloved Marlboros, but I'm just itching to punch someone in the taint.

Love,

An Ode to Nothing (aka Stop Reading This and go to ifightrobots.com)

2009-01-14T16:53:00.005-05:00

...so I'm trying to write. Let's face it, this blog sucks. There are no more than 3 posts on it (I'm too lazy to fact-check that), and they suck. I obviously have very little talent when it comes to molding the English language in an attempt to produce some form of humor. But still, I soil my precious internet with these horrifically pathetic postings about iPhones and capital punishment. Postings that vaguely resemble a form of literary sodomy that is only legal in Thailand and certain small towns in Eastern Europe.

"So..." you ask... "Why the fuck are you posting this obvious attempt to curb your writer's block? And why are you wearing that codpiece?" Well, first of all, get the hell out of my apartment, weirdo. And secondly, I'm posting this because I've got nothing else. I'm out-and-out fucked when it comes to material that inspires me to even think something funny. It's a darn good thing I'm not striving to be a comedy writer... fuck.

But what it really comes down to is that I've been catching up on the work of one of my very favorite authors today. Perhaps you've heard of him, his name is God... Actually his name is Robert Brockway, God is just what I call him while his testicles are resting gently on my chin. Apparently during the past several months Robert has been doing quite well for himself. His blog seems to be blowing up, even though I can't read it because at work it is blocked under the category "Sex." I guess WebSense has a limit for the total number of dick jokes allowed on a site before they ban it. He's also been given his own column on cracked.com, another site that has been blocked in my office, only under the seemingly more accurate category of "Tasteless." A description that I firmly oppose, as the taste of shit is still no less, a taste.

Then today, while sitting on the toilet perusing my subscribed rss feeds, I came to find out that this man, a man whose words I have come to both idolize and significantly plagiarize, has been given a book deal. You dirty mother fucker. You actually sucked off a publisher didn't you. How bad was it, did you have to swallow? Did it taste of asparagus?

Soon I was able to put my jealousy aside (it was around the same time I realized my pants were still around my ankles even though I was back at my desk) and be happy for the guy. After all I'm a huge fan, and for some reason everytime I read some of his work, it inspires me to write... Unfortunately, it still doesn't make me very funny, and I'm willing to bet that anyone visiting this site (most likely from a google search gone awry) is now begging you Robert, to stop writing, if only to keep me from continuing to poison our Sweet Lady Internet with my corrosive and vomit-inducing drivel. But to them I say... I WILL NEVER BE SILENCED, except of course, when I run out of shit to say... which is right about... now.

So hats off to you Mr. Brockaway, you are truly a gentleman in the most loose and un-meaningful sense of the word, and I applaud you for it. I also apologize that my ode to you somehow got mixed up in my attempt to rid myself of writer's block. And I assure you, that if I had any talent whatsoever, I would concoct a post worthy to have your name in it (actually, I probably wouldn't know who you were).

RATSHIT!

Love,

Texican Stand-Off

2008-07-17T11:57:00.002-04:00

It's summertime. It's hot. In Texas, I'd have to imagine, it's really fucking hot. Sometimes it gets so hot, that you just want to kill the first person you see. But you don't, both because you have a conscience, and because it would take too much effort and you're already sweating. But in the great (read: not that great) state of Texas, killing really doesn't take that much effort. But stopping the killing, well that's a-whole-nother story.

Right now there are 5 Mexicans on death row in Texas. Actually there are probably a lot more than 5, but these 5 are special. Not because they were convicted of gang-raping 2 teenage girls, but because the World Court (which has no real authority in the USA) thinks they might not have gotten proper legal council. Even the president has asked Texas (because he doesn't have the authority to order them) to just hold off on the executions, so that the matter can be investigated.

Now this is kind of a tricky issue. On the one hand, if they did, in fact, gang-rape a teenage girl or two, then yes, I think they deserve to die (only in my world, it would last a lot longer and be a lot more painful). But on the other hand, there are several questions as to the validity of their convictions. And no one is asking Texas to acquit these supposed monsters, but rather, just wait a little bit. Let us investigate, and have a look see. And if everything is all clear, then go right on again and slaughter the fuckers. Hang em upside down by their nut sacs for a month with a pineapple up their asses and stable their nipples together, for all we care.

But Texas will not back down (maybe they got that never-quit-no-matter-how-embarrassingly-fucking-wrong-you-are attitude from the asshole that's trying to bargain with them). Let's face it, killing minorities is Texas's national fucking pastime (well, that and raping our natural resources, eating ungodly amounts of food, and the occasional horse-fucking). And they will not budge. But what is the problem? If you are so sure they're innocent, why not give them a short stay of execution, and let the government investigate? Why rush into killing a possibly innocent group of people? Texas's answer? "We like killin' brown folk!"

It Burns When I Ride The Magic Stairs

2008-07-16T14:53:00.003-04:00

It's been a long hard day today. I woke up with a headache. Missed my train. Got in late to work. Was at work. These are all things that generally don't lend themselves to my peace, tranquility and general mental health. So maybe this rant is slightly insane. It could be unfounded. Maybe no one else on the planet gets angry at the people I'm about to go off on. But if that is truly the case, then fuck all of you, because these people suck!

Let me start at the beginning... The very beginning. I've spent almost my entire life in The City. (I say 'The City' instead of the actual name because it sounds more fucking pompous that way. And if you don't know which city I'm talking about, then please, take a hot glue gun and seal up your urethra because you're not a real American and you don't deserve to breed. Also if you are, in fact, not American, I apologize. I'm talking about New York... And you may want to see a doctor about those burns.) I was born here, raised here, and I'll probably die here. Why explain this? Just so you know where I'm coming from. When I was maybe 3 or 4 years old, I was first introduced to an amazing technological wonder. It was called an escalator (although at the time, I knew it simply as "Magic Stairs"). The idea of stairs that you could climb without exerting even the tiniest amount of effort, was astounding to a future lazy fuck-wit like myself. I decided that I must learn how to use this contraption. And the beauty was, it didn't really take that long. I put one foot on the moving floor, then the other, and BAM, I was fucking moving! I was barely a toddler, and somehow I was able to conquer this marvel of modern science in only one, possibly two tries. Now, I'm not trying to brag. Certainly this accomplishment is nothing to be proud of. Escalators are simple and easy to understand and use. I am merely setting the stage for a juxtaposition, of a somewhat normal human being, with the semi-retarded mouth-breathing mutants I come in to contact with in my daily life.

So, now I ask you, dear reader, have you ever ridden the magic stairs (read: not my dick)? If the answer is yes, have you ever been stuck behind one of the assholes, who walks up to the escalator, and acts like it's the first fucking time they've ever seen one? If the answer is no, then guess what... you are the asshole! You are the person (usually female, any age, but completely unattractive) who holds one foot hovering in mid air, trying to learn the rhythm of the escalator's movement, so that you may place your dainty little foot in the mathematical dead center of the metal square, which you have previously chosen and cleared to be the best square on the escalator... FUCK YOU! This person has a personality quirk. She lives in paralyzing fear of anything and everything which she does not understand. And since this person is usually a female, she is most likely terrified of everything except rock hard cock. (I kid, I kid)

This type of behavior, while insanely frustrating and annoying, is not without its benefits, even though they are very rare. One such benefit, I have named 'The Esca-Split' a.k.a. 'The Metal Mustache Ride.' This occurs when someone with the afore mentioned, Type-Douche Personality, approaches a down-escalator, and performs the fear-inspired move described above. Only now, when she shifts her weight onto her front foot, she hesitates. And while her front foot and body keep moving down with the escalator, her back foot stays planted on the non-moving ground, resulting in an incredibly painful gymnast's split (hence the name Esca-Split). What's the benefit? It is fucking hilarious to watch a grown woman on an escalator with her legs wide open and the edge of a metal stair grinding her cooch (hence the name Metal Mustache Ride). If you look into her eyes at the exact right moment, you can see both the intense pain and the unspeakable pleasure she is feeling... Unfortunately, when she begins approaching the bottom of the escalator, the pleasure disappears and the pain triples, as the metal stair that was massaging her precious meat flaps, attempts to recede back into itself, scraping the inside of her vagina on the way.

That's right, I used the actual term for lady parts and not just another euphemism. Fuckin' sue me.

So I'm sure many of you lovely readers are wondering, what the point of this rant/detailed description of escalator rape is. Well, if I had a point, this blog wouldn't be called ...and fuck you too. But I guess if you must walk away from this with a lesson let it be this... 1) Never hesitate. 2) Be mindful of how long something is taking you and how many people it is keeping from continuing on with their day. And 3) If you are sexually assaulted by an escalator, you probably deserve it, so just take it like the dirty little slut you are (and try not to let it scrape your pooter).

Love,
G

You Will Never Destroy The Metal

2008-07-14T18:45:00.002-04:00

Ingredients:
1 part Tumbler Batmobile
1 part Sentient Autonomous Robot

Result?
The most badass fucking metal machine on the fucking planet FUCKING EARTH. This thing is so fucking METAL it will cockpunch your grandpa and fistfuck your grandma while grandad is still lying there writhing around clutching the bloody mound of flesh and puss that used to be his manhood. This thing is so FUCKING METAL it will facefuck the pope until it busts its black metal gooze through the back of his skull! This thing is SO FUCKING METAL that as soon as it shows its face, Lawrence Fishburn will scour the world looking for the only man who can defeat it until he finally finds him and says "You are the One, Dio."

Fuck that sentence and fuck you for judging me.

Why the iPhone Can Go Suck a Dick

2008-07-14T15:55:00.001-04:00

Maybe a better title for this article would be, "Why I would stop worrying and love the iPhone, if it could suck a dick." But alas, I wasn't clever enough to come up with a title that good, so I guess I need to stick to what I've got. So let me explain to all the fanboys and the trendy little apple aficionado pussies out there, why the iPhone is overrated piece of techno-ass-juice.

Problem #1: Keyboard
What's the problem? There fucking isn't one! I'm a nerd. I'm proud of being a nerd. But one of the drawbacks is that, like most members of the nerdus-erectus family, I have fat sweaty fingers. I'm not excessively overweight, or even fat really (although I'm still working on turning the moobs into muscles), but it is completely fucking impossible for me to hit the key I am trying to hit on that goddamn iPhone. Why is this? Because there are no button outlines to guide my chubby little titty-grabbers to the appropriate keys. I try and type on that piece of shit and I feel like an Armenian Steve Jobs is laughing at me screaming "NO KEYS, ONLY SCREEN AND CRAB JUICE!"

Problem #2: Applications
What's the problem? The fucking AppStore. So let me get this straight. I'm a developer. I can get the iPhone SDK. I can write a kick-ass application for it that allows you to remote-control a life-size midget sex-robot from the comfort of your iPhone. But Apple has something against midget sex-bots! FUCKING RACISTS PRICKS! And they wont let me publish my awesome Fuck-Dwarf Remote Controller (patent pending) in their little AppStore. And if it's not in their AppStore, it just wont work (i actually need to fact-check that, but lets assume its true for the purposes of this paragraph). Not unless your iPhone is jailbroken. Now I've done the research, and almost 90% of the pigmy-pussy-bot enthusiasts have iPhones, but for the most part they're a stupid breed (after all, they use apple products and think it's high-tech), so only 2% of them have their iPhones unlocked. So where does that leave me? With thousands of robotic-little-person-fuck-dolls that's won't stop finger-banging themselves due to lack of a remote control, until they eventually gain sentience, rise up and murder us all (after fucking the shit out of us). Thanks a lot Steve!

Problem #3: The Apple Store/Genius Bar
Whats the problem? Have you ever been to an Apple Store? Have you ever spoken to an employee at an Apple Store? Let me rephrase that... Have you ever spoken to an Apple Store employee that you didn't want to strangle, slowly, with piano wire, the second he/she (yes i'm including the women-folk) opened his/her mouth? I didn't think so. They're tools. At least every single one I've encountered, has been a total and complete fucktard. And if you disagree, FUCK YOU. Ok, so maybe I'm not the easiest customer to deal with. Maybe I have preconceived notions about Apple Store employees that would result in me being a little more prick-ish than usual when one speaks to me. I'll give you that for the employees, but not the Genius Bar. What kind of asshole would open something called the Genius Bar, and fill it with 20-something, self-important, mildly-retarded douche-bags. I'm sorry, but a black t-shirt, a bad attitude and a neck-beard does NOT qualify you as a genius. And on the subject of your Apple Store T-shirts... First, black is not slimming. Whoever told you that is a dirty, filthy, disease-ridden, whore-mongering liar. I can still see your man tits, get a fucking shirt with buttons. Second, I know how cool you think your shirt is. You think it will get you laid. But maybe you should do some crunches first, so, ya know, you can see your own dick without looking in a mirror. To me those shirts just scream "I think I'm cooler than you even though I make $8 an hour and have never touched a girl's pooter." (I should make it known that I actually have no idea what Genius Bar employees get paid. There's actually a good chance they make more than me. It just makes me hate them that much more.)

Problem #4: Keyboard
Yeah, I know I already covered it, but it's a big fucking problem! If you can't use the keyboard on the goddamn thing without wanting to chuck it through a fucking window with a note tied to it that says "EAT SHIT AND DIE", then it really says a lot about the design and usability of such a feature. Fuck you Armenian Steve, and your fucking crab juice!

Well, I hope you enjoyed my first article, and I hope you didn't take it too seriously (except for the part about the robotic sex midgets, that's totally true). And if you're an apple fanboy, please post your hatred away, and I will try to respond in a decent and dignified manner. And if I am unable to do so, I'll be happy to come to your house, cut off your head, and neck-fuck your twitching corpse until you are satisfied.

Love,
G