Where it all began...

The first time I saw tits it was in Pet Sematary II. My mom covered my eyes as soon as the boobs were on screen and I wanted to bite all of her fingers off and spit them back into her face (literally biting the hand that feeds me).

I should've.

Tastes Metallic

Tonight I was haunted by the shadow people of Bushwick. These spooks are everywhere you go.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shadow_people

Whopper Freakout

I wish I could have felt those hideous teeth of yours biting down on this hard-on I have right now. But I'm supposed to be preparing a hamburger and I don't have time for old ghosts haunting my brain like the jazz of Albert Ayler. They're going to throw me in the river just like they did to him. The Burger King Corporation is NOT to be fucked with by anyone. Jazz musicians, Presidents, and average sacks of doughy flesh like me have all felt their wrath. I never signed up to be a statistic. I just wanted to flame-broil beef patties and serve them to old women and mexicans. But you had to show up with those gnarly chompers of yours. You had to fuck it all up for me. My manager is yelling all sorts of degrading things at me. About my weight and poverty, mostly. The spatula is slipping out of my hands because of all the fear sweat pouring down from my wrists. Fuck this, I never needed a spatula to hang out with my friends. Now I need one everyday. I am having trouble flipping the patties because of this non-stop barrage of verbal abuse. The burger blaze is getting higher now and it's creeping dangerously close to the bulge that's tenting my polyester work pants. Oh shit, are these pants flammable?!?!??! I guess I'm about to find out...

I LOVE FRIENDSHIP

KKKollege Life

"If we were still in high school, we'd totally be in love by now," I allowed those largely untrue words tumble out of my fat mouth like dice from the sweaty, desperate palms of a Peruvian businessman on a lost weekend. Let's hope I don't roll snake eyes! I leaned over and hit pause as the final seconds of "Dark Park Creeping" by Mo-Dettes tapered off like my interest in Moira's story about her brother's burgeoning career as a cagefighter.

"So he basically spends half his time running with a log," concluded Moira as I leafed through my CD wallet while feigning a knowing smile (really trying to locate my Dolly Mixture compilation CD-R).

"Wow! A log? What a wild man!" I exclaimed after exactly thirteen seconds of distracted silence. I decide to go with Marine Girls instead. No, no. Young Marble Giants would be perfect right now. Does she even know that Hole didn't write "Credit in the Straight World"? It would be fun to show her how much more I know about music than she does (again).

"Hey, you know that song from 'Live Through This'... 'Credit in the Straight World'?..." I lead in while placing the CD in my stereo.

"You mean, the Young Marble Giants cover?" she replied, almost too quickly. Had I already told her?

"Had I already told you that?" I asked as sweat began to rapidly form on my forehead and several blood vessels in my left eye spontaneously ruptured.

"Uh, no. Doesn't everyone know that?" Her words sailed over my skin like sentient cheese graters shaving off all my skin and leaving it at my feet in thick, bloody rinds. The Young Marble Giants CD exploded in my left palm and the shards severed a great deal of crucial nerve endings. I was left completely numb. I guess I would be going with the Marine Girls CD instead.

"Ooh, I like this. Who is this?" she asked as I thanked a higher power I enjoyed not believing in.

What's In Yr sKKKull

The one thing I regret most about you is never frenching by that lake. The way yr skin clung to yr bones. I so yearned to be like them (wet/inside you). Just like yr skull; I'll be with you when you come home.

KKKonsumers

Buy Nothing Day is a cute little idea for people too fucking lazy to actually be socially responsible for more than 24 hours straight. It is for horseshit-eating loser assholes. Basically, the day after Thanksgiving is the busiest shopping day of the year. So everyone is going to get together and not buy ANYTHING! WOW! That'll get 'em. Just go and live off those Thanksgiving leftovers for a day kids and say fuck you to consumer culture. Then y'know, return to the status quo the next day like the crummy idiot retard you are the next day.

Here is a better/painfully obvious idea: Spend yr money thoughtfully. If you want something, take the time out to figure out why you want it. I like comic books, marijuana, and eating. I buy those things because I like fiction, feeling rad, and not starving to death. I don't buy a whole fuck of a lot else really. Like, I would probably enjoy a Nintendo Wii but you see me running out and blowing a quarter of my paycheck on it because I just gotta have it. Keep it in yr fucking pants, y'know? And if I'm broke, I don't buy ANYTHING but food. I can do that. It doesn't feel like a Herculean exercise in will. I don't struggle to keep myself from hemmoraging money. Maybe it's because I'm poor and I understand the value of money?

I mean, whatever. Buy Nothing Day is a crummy, piss-swilling idea. All you need to know. But good luck with it, jerkoffs.

Gelatin Gloves

His away message reads "text if you need me".

No one needs you.

I can open my own jars now, Shawn. But I keep those closed anyway. Unless those jellyfish come back, I'll never need that much urine ever again. At this point, the eighteen tightly sealed mayonnaise jars full of pee pee will only be used for hilarious pranks. See, Shawn? I do have a sense humor. I love jokes. And archery. I have discovered a few loopholes in the Camp Chapa handbook that allows me to play urine-based pranks on the girls I supervise. I hope to erase the deep damage R. Kelly has inflicted on the relationship between young girls and piss. I'm doing it all by myself.

August

August is the most beautiful man alive. We could quench the thirst of a thousand thirsty Somalians with all of the pussy juice he has inspired the secretion of. I wish I could wake up every single morning to this adonis teabagging me. I'd call it an English Breakfast.

CFD3

SUMMER BLOCKBUSTER 1936

ANAIS NINJA vs THE SPIES IN THE HOUSE OF LOVE

Trailer forthcoming.

...

New Fxxxing Lion Shit

Check it out here.

The Chocolate Face Diaries Pt. 2

The Chocolate Face Diaries Pt. 1

Dennis Miller is so funny

I love Dennis Miller. He was so great in The Net and Monday Night Football. His jokes are as smart as I am too! We all know how it feels to hang around people who are intellectually inferior and can't hang with yr advanced joking techniques. It's like getting a handjob from Dostoevsky. Or maybe it's more like riding in the carpool lane with Zsa Zsa Gabor and Gorbachev. No no, it's like going to a Bread concert with Lech Kaczyński.

...

The oldest gorilla ever died on my 2nd birthday.

Interview with M.O.M.F.U.C.K. (Part One)

I first saw M.O.M.F.U.C.K. on MySpace. After repeated bulletins begging me to check out their new tunes, I decided to give them a listen. They listed themselves as "Tropical", "Trip Hop", and "Turntablism". I was disappointed to find out that those are apparently the three ingredients that combine into grindcore. With song titles such as "I Don't Give a Shit About Your Mom, She's Not the Fonz" and "Fast Times at Boner High", I felt utterly compelled to get into the minds of these four clever lads from Glen Rock, NJ. I finally got around to chatting with their bassist/singer Frankie "Fudge" Packard. Here is the Part One of our convo.

JS: So first off. That name. Goddamn it. How did you come up with that shit?

FFP: Well, our original name was Oedipus. But this metal band from West Newbury already had it, so we changed it to American Oedipus and that was taken by this singer songwriter whose legal name was actually American Oedipus. So we changed it to Amerikkkan Oedpius but that offended a lot of people, so then it was onto the less offensive Momfuck. We couldn't enter our school battle of the bands with that name so we changed it to Masters Of Mindless Functioning Ultimately Control Kids. We were hopping they'd abbreviate our name to the acronym, y'know, 'cause our name was so long and that the poster would say M.O.M.F.U.C.K.

JS: And did they?

FFP: They didn't end up making a poster for battle of the bands.

JS: But you didn't let that stop you.

FFP: As a band, you have to deal with a lot of crap. I guess, we just got our first taste. But no, it'll take a little bit more to stop M.O.M.F.U.C.K.

JS: How did you do?

FFP: We got disqualified when I said "fag" onstage.

PART TWO COMING SOON!

Yo, slam poetry is fucking hilarious.

Seriously, I have never heard a poem get slammed without laughing my dick off. Look at this, dude. HYSTERICAL!

High School Journal Keeper

Teen Teene Pt. 1

In the morning, shoving through hordes of nitwitted swaynes

I fall ill and suddenly aware of myriad pains

The buzzing like a hideous bee hive

Makes me wish I was not alive

Like coyotes thirsty for blood, they mingle

Dripping grins send my spine into tingles

One coyote, in particular, had the dullest fangs

Insecure about the regions where nothing good hangs

“I’ll make up for it by the loudest of howls!”

(And possibly a face that could move all bowels)

“I will hunt only the weak with my beady dead eyes

So what if I’m lacking between the thighs!”

And he hunted and hunted but to no avail

The arrogant bully routine has long grown stale.

Eelde Education

A phony intellectual with cruelty in her heart

A weak-minded audience to fake like she’s smart

Misspelling even the most common of words

Yet to no one does this seem absurd

“Let us mock our peers in public!” she proclaimed

While all but one mind thought this completely sane

“Let us set out these coyotes against each other

Let us make mourners of their mothers

For no one hear deserves to feel so great

What this place needs is even more hate!”

But those finals words fell on deaf ears as usual

Much like all her gestures, completely futile

“But what if someone gets hurt?” someone asks

“Why hurting someone is one of your main tasks!”

Teen Teene Pt. 2

The lumbering figure ambled down the hall

Like a sack of cottage cheese the size of a wall

On his mind, the naked torsos of girls

And that insipid leather ball he can’t help but hurl

Knuckles drag on tile like a hairless ape

As his ample skin hangs in a careless shape

But his disgusting body is immune to critique

As he eyes the girls around, his prospects are bleak

Who would touch such a bumbling beast?

Who let him get to second base at least?

The answer is no one and even he knows it

This is his life and he clearly chose it

Yr lungs are an organ wheezing a funeral dirge for my mental hygiene. I wonder if anyone else has friendship fantasies? Getting acquainted = sexy?? Why are ska bands leaving graffiti (skafitti?) on my doorstep?

CONSUMER DAY!

I bought a bunch of shit today. I helped America.

Lunch at the Wendy's fast food restaurant
Hazelnut iced coffee from McDonald's
Shellac - Excellent Italian Greyhound
Pissed Jeans - Hope For Men
No Age - Weirdo Rippers (this one was used! If you want a copy, ask me and I'll burn it for you because that shit costs like eighty dollars new.)
Box of Krusty-O's
Two six packs of Buzz Cola

Buying shit rules.

Love/Hate Continues

The love/hate rollercoaster ride involving me and Billy Corgan continues on. We're like Kane and Undertaker. For those keeping track, I love "Tarantula" and I think the video is awesome.

But seriously that new album has the most hideous cover I have ever seen in my whole life.

Someone Lost Fingers

Roisin Isner, drummer for the San Francisco band Tinkture lost her hand in Dolores Park last night watching the fireworks. Her dad sent the email below to some local media outlets...

Subject: Roisin Isner, Tinkture drummer

Hello,

I am Roisin's father. July 4th, Roisin and friends were in Dolores Park
watching fireworks. Some stupid piece of shit threw an M60 at them. It
landed on Roisin's right hand and blew it apart. She will undego surgery
later this morning but it doesn't look good. Most likely she will lose her
index finger; second and third fingers will also be permanently impaired and disfigured. Needless to say, her musical career is over.

I want this fucker.
Media attention will help flush him out. People know who did it and I'm offering $20,000 for a name. Please do whatever is necessary to get the story out. Do so and I will reward you as well.

Thank you,
Chris Isner


Most of the people I know and love use their hands for a living, so this certainly hits home. But after checking out Tinkture on MySpace, I sort of want to throw an M60 at her too. So I don't know who to side with on this.

Shaded Vice/Shaved Dice

“You’re supposed to grab them like this,” she said as her meaty fists clenched around the chicken’s throat. An instantaneous poultry homicide proceeded. I vomited in my own mouth but immediately swallowed back the acidic swell of inside juices. A single tear rolled out of my left eye and down into my beard. The salty optic discharge was now lost in the most sought after beard in all of New Jersey.

“Heh heh, sick,” I managed to choke out of my coppery mouth but the words were muffled behind seven pounds of facial hair. But still, I wanted to (and probably really needed to) get laid tonight. Not just tonight but also perhaps right the fuck now. The International Record Setter Convention was a great place to score all kinds of insane gash. I decided to grow the heaviest beard on the planet to gain access to this exotic collection of transmundane beauty queens. So bored was I of hot internet babes. The backpack wearers and the noseless poltergeists teeming with bones seeking to lock me in their ribcages to sing like an ailing aviary. Superlatives were the only way for me to get my rocks off. Everything else was a barrel full of cod and a pistol.

“So is that your… thing? You kill chickens the fastest or something?” I said while unbuttoning my shirt with my bloody gloved hands. An eagle medallion reveal went unnoticed much to my (perhaps too obvious) dismay. I heaved a vase at the base of her neck for not noticing my jewelry unveiling. She went down in a gnarly heap of orange skin and zebra-print spandex. My erection was undeniable. I began to undo my pants when a fist hit the side of my jaw like a tree falling in the woods and this time there were people around to make a sound. That sound being me yelling out the F-word while plucking teeth out of my beard. And there he stood right in front of me, Ricky “The Runner” Isiah, the fastest man on the planet.

“Now what in the hell were you about to pull, Most-Man?” he barked at me with far too much bass in his voice for my liking. How do these sonuvabitches keep finding me? Just in the last three months, this is the fourth time I’ve been busted by The Runner and his triumvirate of asinine associates. Before I can refer Runner as something derogatory, he will have kicked me in the face over 500 times. My nose is now completely broken. He’s ear-to-ear over my rapid blood loss. I can’t lose sight of my goals. Being goal-oriented got me far in life. You can’t be second best. I just wanted to come to this convention and accept my award for Heaviest Beard. That was seriously all I wanted. But no, Kevin “The Beardman” Baker had to beat me by six ounces. So I decided to set a new record: Most Heinous Crime of All-Time. It wasn’t easy killing and mauling all of those people. It took me over three hours to give this place the thorough once over.

“I love how you can smile at a time like this, Runner. Did you see all the sheer mayhem I caused? I must’ve killed thousands of people. Did you see the bodies, Runner? So, so many bodies,” I tried to muster up a maniacal laugh but I always found that part overrated and overdone. I instead opted to show him my middle finger (which was now caked in dried noseblood).

“I’m smiling, Most-Man, because this was all a setup. Hook, line, and sinker! You fell for it. What a joke! Those were all decoys. Dr. Courage made them in her lab. We knew you wouldn’t be able to resist so many superlatives under one roof. You’re going to jail for a long, long time. So yeah, I’m going to smile quite a bit!” beamed Runner with teeth that were as white as he wasn’t. And then they all revealed themselves, like an eagle medallion hidden by a polyester party shirt. Dr. Courage, a brilliant scientist and futurist, she was the smartest person on the planet. Brandon Irons wasn’t too far behind and for the longest time I could never figure out what his superlative power was. With his impeccable grooming skills and killer wardrobe, I had long considered him the gayest man on the planet but it turns out him and Dr. Courage were like Siamese twins connected at the crotch during the nighttime hours. Bringing up the rear was a lummox of about seven feet with simian features and maroon skin known to the world as Gorilla Red. You guessed it, the stronger person on the planet.