The cowbell has a long and storied history, from literal roots to the modern day “Man the harpoons” alert. A long, long time ago, in a galaxy the same as the one we live in now, Little Bo Peep sat fisting her sheep. We all know this. However, it is little known that she had an older, meaner brother; an animal-raping creep. This brother, we’ll call him Bull the Reaper, had an affinity for cows. Grow them some grass, and you could rape rape rape all day long until the….well, i guess it wasn’t only the cows coming home. Many years passed, and the cows realized they weren’t the only ones getting a good milking on a daily basis. They began to scatter as much as they could without getting too far away from their food source. Bull needed a trick to keep track of them, as the technology we now know as a fence was still several centuries away. To keep tabs on his pre-hamburgers, Bull created that cow bell; also, he wouldn’t have to reap the goodies of Bo Peep while she fisted her sheep and tried not to weep.

Fast forward to the 1970’s. The Blue Oyster Cult is at the height of their popularity. Few people know that “Blue Oyster” is actually a direct reference to the divine goodies of young Bo Peep. To celebrate their crowning (or crown-breaking) achievements, the band members commemorated the memory of Bo Peep by using the cow bell in a song - the exact invention that had prevented wincest so long ago in this very exact galaxy. The reference is concrete: Don’t fear the reaper!

This very same decade, a very little known ABA team was created: The Little Rock Bo Peeps. They too knew the legend of the girl who fisted her sheep, and wished to ward away the evil spirits. Fans of the Bo Peeps brought cowbells to the arena to signify the finding of cows; meaning that Bull the Reaper would have no need to satisfy his greed while riding his steed through the weed to violate his sister while she recited the creed.

Fast forward to the 1990’s . Many fans of many teams have adapted the cowbell as the supreme form of annoyance, as fog horns have been outlawed country wide following a growing trend of tragic, unexplainable tugboat accidents. Successful teams everywhere tout the success of the cowbell; burger joints profit.

2000: GPS systems become commercially available. Many fans realize that if Bull the Reaper had used this technology, he wouldn’t have needed his cowbells. However, he probably would have kept ‘tagging’ his bovine boner bastions nonetheless. GPS can directly be attributed to the death of the cowbell at sporting events. Also listed as a reason in some historical memoirs is how fucking annoying they are and the dull ringing they leave in one’s ears following short or long term exposure.

2008: People in the Tampa Bay/St. Petersburg area flock to “The Trop,” which on Google Earth kind of looks like the destruct button someone should push to destroy the monstrosity. Many of them haven’t been to any sporting event in decades; especially not a baseball game. Most find it chic to bring cowbells in order to show their support, but mostly to make up for the fact that none of them know what the proper cheers are at a baseball game. I think one is “We want a pitcher, not a masturbating rapist,” but not many of them would know that. I played prison baseball for years, so i have a leg up. Also relevant is the fact that, when you live in God’s waiting room (florida), you probably don’t hear so well, so many fans don’t even realize the destruction the cowbells are causing. Bo Peep rolls in her grave, which the Trop was built on top of, because not even she can stand the sound of cowbells anymore. Fans around the country know, that like Will Ferrel’s career, the use of cowbell should have been outlawed a decade ago.

Dear folks in Tampa (i won’t call you fans): Please stop. You’re making my ears bleed….Ryan’s anus was already bleeding, I won’t blame that on you.

Okay, so down to it…some of the things that float through my skull throughout the day…

-If elton john was an ancient, and believed the sun to be a male god, i’ll bet he wouldn’t be so cavalier in recruiting people to keep the sun from going down on him

-We refer to female pubic hair as a runway or landing strip, but don’t have any popular airplane euphemisms for sex. Since making love to your loved one can be beautifully described as ‘trucking a bitch,’ shouldnt we instead start to call those patterns ‘on-ramps’ or, in the case of us who have to pay, ‘toll roads’ ? I suppose i should just be happy that i don’t have to worry about it being a six-lane superhighway.

-I never really interpreted things well as a kid. I could never understand why mom got mad when i spilled coffee on the coffee table, or why my dad would hate me for using a saw on a sawhorse. They should have less literal names! I won’t even begin to explain my problem with weed whacking.

-You can wear a parka to the park with no problem, but if you wear a jacket when you jack it someone is probably going to call the police. Goddammit though, because those kids really need to get picked up from daycare.

-If the term ‘road head’ is unambiguous, then how come ’shower head’ never illicits dirty thoughts?

-With a motto like ‘taste the rainbow,’ i can’t believe that gay clubs aren’t flocking to have Skittles as a sponsor.

-Why is eating tenderloin a delicacy, but having tender loins is a reason to see the doctor?

-I think replacing the keys on a piano with house keys would be a pretty painful practical joke, especially if your victim is playing something ‘forte’

-I believe in a contextual interpretation of the bible. Like, when Moses was talked to by the burning bush, i’ll bet he was really just getting propositioned by a redheaded prostitute.

-Why aren’t you allowed to accrue interest after making a deposit in a sperm bank?

-An ironic hiding case for a bomb would be a boombox. Ill bet that would result in lots of decapitated homeboys. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

-Living every week like it’s shark week is an okay idea, unless you’re on vacation and swimming in the ocean with a dead fish taped to your back.

-Since satellites have operational paths called orbits, why don’t hookers have operational paths called whorebits?

-I think a really bad refreshment to offer to a jaundice patient would be mellow yellow.

-If Brett Favre’s last name is pronounced ‘farve,’ how come we dont cavre the turkey or stavre ethiopians?

-I hate new flat panel tv’s, but only because i can no longer say boob everyday without being a pervert, as in ‘i’m going to watch the boob tube’ or ‘i’m going to motorboat that thirteen year old’s boobs’

-Would it be considered twice as sexist if you told a witch to quit flying around on her broom and use it to clean the kitchen?

-I love coincidences. Like, how Cinderella’s carriage turned into a pumpkin at midnight, and how the left eye of a pumpkin is exactly what the prince wouldve been fucking that night had he found out cinderella wasn’t really a princess. Hey, gourds need love too.

-I heard on the news that the next food crisis to hit america after the ecoli problem with tomatoes will be lemonaids.

Until next time, fuck off.

doing my best impression of terry schaivo and sam doing his best impression of me doing my best impression of terry schaivo

That’s where the problems really began. Once I had filled out the information, it said I was approved and I may now pick out my shipping method. Apparently “ships within 24 hours,” which has been visible all along, is useless information - The only two shipping methods give date RANGEs and neither will allow it to be overnighted. So apparently Apple’s belief is “If you get a Mac, we’ll ship it to you for free in like, say, 5-7 days or if you pay us $18 we’ll ship it to you in 2-3 days. ish. or thereabouts. We don’t overnight around here, that’s too convenient.” So I got to thinking how about I man up and do the 4 hour round trip to Chicago to get it from the Apple store.

That’s where the problems really, really began. Once you’ve applied for the 90 days no interest program on the website, you’ve used up your one chance at applying for NINETY DAYS. And here’s the kicker: the card cannot be used in the store for 7-10 days. So, in short, I’m unable to get this thing using the 90 days same as cash. Two hours on the phone later and I still can’t get my application voided and I can’t order the laptop online to be picked up at the store. Think about that. You can go to ANY OTHER RETAILER’S WEBSITE and order something for instore pickup - hell it’s even an option on most order forms. Some places like BestBuy even provide “in store pickup” signs for college students to steal and get misdemeanor charges. But Not Apple. The stores, they say, are a totally different system than their website. You can tell how good a company is by how internally synergetic it is. Apple? What a piece of shit company. They can’t even sell you a product they offer that’s in stock if you want to pick it up. By company policy, it must be shipped to you.

At this point I’m considering going back to Best Buy and using their TWO YEAR (note that some calendar systems that’s longer than 90 days) same as cash offer, but I keep my cool and I don’t. The cost of the laptop at Best Buy is about $100 more and doesn’t include the Apple Care program or a free 8gb Ipod touch ($528 value). It’s really a horrible deal.

So instead I’m about to just drive up and buy the damn thing in cash. I hate making purchases that large just in cash, it’s much less of a dent in the ol’ savings account to pay it off over 90 days since I haven’t been saving up for that particular purchase. Ugh.

Pushing the envelope and crossing the line doesn’t even come close to describe what Carlin did on stage. Subjects that general people are too uncomfortable to even think about would be carried to a level none of us knew existed. He called out the bullshit behind politics, religion, American culture, and everything in the world that pissed him off. Carlin made us rethink intentions and contexts of thing we looked past unnoticed every day.

Religion - “Religion has actually convinced people that there is an invisible man in the sky that watches everything that you do. And there ten things that he doesn’t want you to do. And if you do them then you will burn in a river of fire. But he loves you, and he needs your money. All-loving, all-knowing, all-powerful but he can’t handle a check book.” 

Politics - “Dan Quail is stupid, full of shit and fucking nuts. And where did he get that wife of his, at a Halloween party? She looks like Prince Charles. Does he actually have to fuck that woman? God help him, I wouldn’t fuck her with a stolen dick.”

Prostitution - “I do not understand why prostitution is illegal. How is something illegal to sell that is perfectly legal to give away?” In the army you get a medal for spraying napalm on people, as a civilian you go to jail for giving someone an orgasum. I can’t fallow the logic of that at all.”

Abortion - “Why is it when it happens to us it is abortion, when it happens to a chicken it’s an omelette. And don’t you think it’s just mildly ironic that most of the people against abortion are people that you wouldn’t want to fuck in the first place?”

Rape - “Rape at the North Pole is near impossible. Have you ever tried to get wet leather leggings off a woman who’s kicking? You would lose your hard on in the process, in the North Pole your dick would shrivel up like a stack of dimes.”

Dogs vs. Cats, Baseball vs. Football, Driving, Losing stuff, Racial Slurs. George Carlin has shown us a perspective that all of us here view life, and that is finding the sick aspects in everything, and life has never been more fun. Carlin’s most known act was “7 Words You Can’t Say On Television“ which after being aired on public radio was taken to the Supreme Court with the FCC.

We Bachelors raise our glasses to the man who made the sick, inappropriate, questionable and shocking funny. His one liners are traded like baseball cards and he will be sorely missed. All of us have experienced at least one of George Carlin’s jokes in real life. For me; “I’ve never fucked a 10 but one night I fucked five 2s.”

Thank You George.

I’m a high-tech lowlife, a state-of-the-art bi-coastal multitasker, and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond. I’m new wave, but I’m old school, and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice-activated and biodegradeble. I interface with my database, and my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive, and from time to time, I’m radioactive.

Behind the 8-ball, ahead of the curve, riding the wave, dodging the bullet, pushing the envelope. I’m on point, on task, on message, and off drugs. I got no need for coke and speed. I have no urge to binge and purge. I’m in the moment, on the edge, over the top, but under the radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistics missionary. A street-wise smart bomb, a top-gun bottom-feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps, I run victory laps.

I’m a totally ongoing bigfoot slamdunk rainmaker with a proactive outreach. A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic, out of rehab and in denial. I got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant, and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up, you can’t dumb me down, ’cause I’m tireless, and I’m wireless. I’m an alphamale on beta blockers.

I’m a non-believer and an overachiever, laid back, but fashion forward, up front, down home, low rent, high maintenance; super size, long lasting, high definition, fast acting, oven ready, and built to last. I’m a hands-on, footloose, kneejerk headcase, prematurly post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate mail. But I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing, a supportive, bonding, nurturing, primary caregiver.

My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on a long bond, and my revenue stream has its own cash flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds, I watch trash sports. I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user friendly, and lactose intolerant. I like rough sex, I like tough love, I use the F-word in my e-mails, and the software on my hard drive is hardcore, no soft porn.

I bought a microwave at a minimall, I bought a minivan at a megastore, I eat fast food in the slow lane. I’m tollfree, bite size, ready to wear, and I come in all sizes. A fully equipped, factory authorized, hospital tested, clinically proven, scientifically formulated medical miracle. I’ve been prewashed, precooked, preheated, prescreened, preapproved, postdated, freeze dried, double wrapped, vacuum packed, and I have an unlimited broadband capacity.

I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal, lean and mean, cocked, locked, and ready to rock; rough, tough, and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide, I got glide in my stride. Drivin’ and movin’, sailin’ and spinin’, jivin’ and groovin’, wailin’ and winnin’. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hardy, and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin’ in, there ain’t no doubt, and I’m hangin’ tough, over and out.”

— George Carlin, Life is Worth Losing

I know what you’re thinking. There’s absolutely no way John Rambo could have killed all those cops in the forest in First Blood, unless they were all cops like Jersey. But that’s beside the point. The point is, i’m about to take you on a journey…a journey to the deepest, darkest, wettest depths of love-induced hell: gazz’s nether-regions. Most of you may find it disgusting, but really, it’s a tale of seduction and love; the soundtrack of which sounds like a boot stuck in mud, only wetter. And no, no one had the chance to utter ‘be gentle’ before it all went down.

Let me paint you a picture with my imagination brush. The setting? Dayton, 2004. It was a few days after Valentine’s day, and love was still in the air. It was a clear night with a touch of wind kissing our cheeks. Mostly our buttcheeks, as we mooned people from the fifth floor of Sheehy, but I digress. Gazz was now 19, both old enough to drink in Canada and to be sent to Russia as a male order bride. I was randy and in the mood to both drink (not brandy) and be promiscuous (but still not with Brandy), as ben and I had just completed a rousing chorus of our favorite song, Genesis’ “Invisible Touch.” However, remember the time frame i’ve created…none of us were old enough to buy alcohol.

Then the most epic of conversations occurred:

d Is T eR 28 (10:07:20 PM): i feel like gettin drunk
eatmorefrogs (10:07:31 PM): get drunk!
d Is T eR 28 (10:07:38 PM): i have no resources:-(
eatmorefrogs (10:07:54 PM): stu would call me an alcoholic if i came and got drunk with you
d Is T eR 28 (10:08:04 PM): and you care?
eatmorefrogs (10:08:32 PM): lol
eatmorefrogs (10:08:57 PM): hold on….i own the steel reserves in the fridge, lemme IM the kid that owns the others to see if he wants them
d Is T eR 28 (10:09:10 PM): yes, we can drink 40’s and watch lion king
eatmorefrogs (10:09:14 PM): haha
eatmorefrogs (10:09:30 PM): fuck ‘em, i’ll just pay him back later on
d Is T eR 28 (10:09:35 PM): hahah yes
eatmorefrogs (10:09:37 PM): rgr rgr here comes steel
d Is T eR 28 (10:09:40 PM): YES
d Is T eR 28 (10:09:41 PM): YES
d Is T eR 28 (10:11:22 PM): FATTY
d Is T eR 28 (10:11:28 PM): LION KING COMMENCES AT 1030

Just as a side note, you should all know that children’s movies are simply the best thing in the world to drink to. Just the other night at the bar, I saw a gorgeous woman that looked like Ariel, and I asked her if she wanted to ‘comb her hair’ with my dinglehopper. She didn’t find it quite so funny (You’re a McDonald, not a whore!), but still let me stab her Ursula with my trident (be gentle!!). Besides, modern movies are about as useful as one of those sharpeners on the big crayon boxes.

So after our conversation, i searched high and low through the floors of Adele for a lady that would lend us the Lion King. Those ladies were slightly confused, because I was more interested in Timon, Pumba, and Simba then I was in their magnificent breasts. I had to explain so many times that yes, i was actually looking for the lion king, and not the pussy queen. I know cats are related, but come on, I know how to be specific. By 1030, I had found both the Lion King and Aladdin, and also a bottle of Kamchatka ( uh oh ) to supplant the Steel Reserve. I thought about drugging Gazzypants just to have my way with him, but I decided I’d let the night progress.

We started our romantic evening with Steel Reserve and Aladdin. As I thought about how much better things would be on a Magic Gazzerro Ride in a Whole Nude World, Gazz had a look on his face that conveyed one question : Just how good would it feel to be whipped in high-stakes (read: no safety word) bondage by Jafar’s magical whip? I’d rather be gentle and just rub the lamp until the Genie-shot, but hey, Gazz is crazy. No one has done anything that radical since Jesus used alternate forms of transportation. That’s even scarier than a shark riding on an elephant’s back, just trampling and eating everything they see.

By the end of Aladdin, we were pretty hammered because, well, that’ll happen. We began the Lion King, and when Simba collapses into a pile of leaves that spell out sex, I just couldn’t hold back. It turns out, when you ‘Follow Rafiki if you want to live!’ he really just takes you to the closest human butthole, and that happened to be Gazz’s butthole, and in his butthole, his mighty butthole, the lion slept that night.

It is at this point qthe details get hazy. I blacked out halfway through the Lion King, and Gazz did too. I woke up on the top bunk, naked, and Gazz woke up on our futon, naked, and covered in wetness. How did I make it to the top bunk? Was it radical monkey skills learned from watching cartoon jungle warfare? How did gazz end up naked? Did he lose he clothes in a death battle with Scar? Did he run away from that Whoopi Goldberg hyena so fast his clothes couldn’t keep up? Why was he wet? Was he the centerpiece of the Circle(jerk) of Life? Why have I referred to myself as ‘the lion?’ Why did I just make a ducktales ringtone? Why am I so raw? Why is the View still allowed on tv? Is it still gay if your balls don’t touch? How come Snakeeyes still doesn’t know what the page break button is? Why do people actually feel the need to sharpen crayons in the first place? So many questions were left unanswered.

d Is T eR 28 (5:54:13 PM): that better be the last time theres a naked gazzerro in my room
eatmorefrogs (5:54:30 PM): that’d better be the last time i’m naked in your room
eatmorefrogs (5:54:33 PM): i still can’t figure it out
d Is T eR 28 (5:54:36 PM): lol
d Is T eR 28 (5:54:44 PM): sick, sick man
eatmorefrogs (5:54:52 PM): DID I UNDRESS MYSELF?
d Is T eR 28 (5:54:59 PM): hahaha im guessing thats how it happened
d Is T eR 28 (5:55:05 PM): cause i know i didnt undress you
eatmorefrogs (5:55:09 PM): i guess that’d be the best way
d Is T eR 28 (5:55:12 PM): and unless theres something i dont know about ben
eatmorefrogs (5:55:16 PM): haha
eatmorefrogs (5:55:27 PM): he wasn’t drunk at all, he just wanted to rape us
d Is T eR 28 (5:55:34 PM): hahahah
eatmorefrogs (5:55:49 PM): i remember pouring my drink and then waking up naked not knowing exactly where the hell i was

That’s how we’ve left it for five years. We still don’t know what the wet substance was or how gazz ended up naked. Could this just an unmitigated case of guy love? I’ve told him for so long that there are no answers.

Or are there?

No, there arent. Gazz got drunk, peed our brand new futon, became one of my best friends in the process, and made me write this horrifying article. Also, I’m just trying to prep for a weekend of drinking while watching Charlotte’s Web. Gosh those pancakes look good.

Starting Pitcher:Jenny Finch- Her K/9 ratio will be unbelievable when you consider how many hitter will get lost in her eyes.

Catcher:Yogi Berra- Can you think of a better and more entertaining guy? The confusion he’ll cause while talking smack to the batters is enough, let alone, I’m pretty sure he played drunk for 18 years.

First Base:John Kruk-Sealed his spot on the team after being asked why so many players get hamstring injuries and he replied, “Babe Ruth never went on the DL with a pulled Hammy; eat a hot dog, drink a beer, you’ll be fine.” Will only be allowed to play WITH his mullet.

Second Base:Krazy Kousin Brendan- I love my cousin and God Damn it he’s got some cartoon character power at the plate, kinda resembles the guy on the right. Plus, I’ve never with my own eyes seen anyone drink as much as him. He’s a given, just trust me on this.

Shortstop:Ozzie Smith-Will be able to cover enough ground with moves like this.

Third Base:Pete Rose-Home games will be played in Las Vegas, Nevada. You do the math.

OF:Josh Hamilton- You want to party? This guy can party, but he can also hit like a Roy Hobbes.

OF:Albert Belle- Anyone want a bench clearing brawl? No? No takers, didn’t think so.

OF:Babe Ruth- Will bring his power and chubby charm to an already hard charging, hard drinking team. Promises not to play a single game with out a cigar in his mouth and a hangover clouding his judgement.

Utility:Mollie Schrank:(blush). She’s a slap hitting speedster that no one has heard of….therefore I call dibs.

Manager/Post-Game Drinking Coordinator: Billy Martin - Will be repeatedly fired for not being able to control this team.

 

Let me know your thoughts in the comments………

The progressive auto insurance check out counter lady, from the commercials: Now, I couldn’t find a video from this, but you know who I’m talking about. The ugly woman, wearing the bright red lipstick (You’re a McDonald, not a whore!), who is so cheery that she’ll give us all diabetes. You know: You saved 300 dollars! Wow. WOW! I Say it louder!!!……..Fuck you, you stupid dumb bitch. You’re the reason that fathers molest their children. If it wasn’t for women like you, bambi’s mother would still be alive, Cloverfield would’ve been more than a half hour long, and the car dump scene with the giant magnet in the brave little toaster wouldn’t have been so scary. I hope you lose your hands in a tragic conveyer belt accident. And when that happens, you don’t have insurance to pay your medical bills.

The Grandma from the goldkit commercials: Seriously. With all the money that’s coming out of my paychecks, you couldn’t just take my social security money (that i’ll never see), move to florida (god’s waiting room), and die namelessly? Instead, you have to make your way into one of tv’s most annoying fucking commercials and ruin my lunchbreak? I hope you actually tried to use the goldkit, mailed in your old gold, and then never got any money for it, you fucking sandbagger. And please, let’s stop the charade. Everyone knows you don’t have red hair anymore you zombie shedevil. Please die sooner than later so I don’t have to hear you panhandling for my mother’s jewelry in HD.

The ugly Kardashian Sister: Seriously? You have four super hot sisters. Two of them aren’t even teenagers yet, and as a whole they have two different fathers! This game of where’s Waldo is over way too fast, however you slice it. I guess it’s possible you could be the mailman’s daughter, if the mailman was a transvestite midget hooker from malaysia with a crab hand and a lisp (how’m i ssssspossssed to breav wif no airr?). I’m watching the show because you have four sisters, a mom, and a dad that i would seriously consider banging. I mean c’mon, your father was an olympic decathlete. Maybe if you participated in one or two of those events you could be some one-armed drunken vet’s beer-goggled mistake.

Tila Tequila: Or is it tila teckeela? Inside jokes aside, make up your mind. She likes boys. She likes girls. She likes scared little boys that wish that were girls. She likes scared little girls that rip the heads off dolls and cut all their own hair off. She likes to sit on buttered corn cobs she’s given names to. Get off my goddamn tv! I wish your family had never left Vietnam during the war. You and everyone on your show deserves to have a group shower of napalm and Agent Orange. A shot at love? I wish you’d get shot while looking for love. Move to Detroit, bitch.

Taylor Hanson: Enough said. Use whatever money you have left from that god forsaken mmmbop song and get the boob job you’ve wanted since you found out your penis wasn’t just a giant clitoris. In the words of Hanson, “Circle jerks with your brothers are much more fun if one of you gets to pretend to be the pizza.”

Sue Johanson: I hope everyone hates this woman. I have two major talking points here. First, and I think every guy knows this, she fucks with your programming guide. Who hasn’t been scanning the directv channel guide late at night, looking for some softcore to eat dinner to or put the baby to sleep with (euphemism? you decide), when all the sudden your peripheral vision provides you with a scan-spot of the word sex. Quick, turn it on! FUCK, ITS A 93 YEAR OLD WOMAN CHOMPING ON A BIG RED DILDO! Talk about a libido killer. Hell, even Brick can only whack to that for like, three minutes, max! Secondly, FUCK, ITS A 93 YEAR OLD WOMAN CHOMPING ON A BIG RED DILDO! The only thing worse is the idk my bff rose picture (you have to download the space porn package for that, ask gazzy pants). Anyways, the only 93 year old woman I want to see with a dildo, talking about sex, is the Queen of England. Only because that’s the price a country should pay for having people that talk like they do. And what better way to conduct foreign policy? The threat of the queen’s beef drapes on display should be enough for anyone to surrender their country to british submission, even if they do have a flag!

Chris Crocker: Taylor Hanson has a soulmate! But seriously, if you ask me, THIS is the reason people hate america. I don’t think the founding fathers had transexual coke mules on youtube in mind when they created the ‘freedom of expression’ clause. If you want to be a woman, like taylor hanson, just go all the way and get implants, for christ’s sake. That way, at least you can end up doing drugs in a hotel room with soccer phenom Ronaldo. What happened to the smarts trannies showed when we were kids? At least RuPaul had giant fake tits, despite the fact that he/she was 6′7 and had a voice like james earl jones.

I know, I know, i’m angry today. But, it’s mother’s day, and I can’t think of seven women more deserving of a chain that limits them to the laundry room and kitchen, and prevents them from being seen or heard by the public. Up next week, I tell you my plan to murder (and play around in the blood of) the creators of and actors in that goddamn go-phone commercial.