Presidential Hopeful Bows Out in Disgrace

 “I’m not a rake”;

George Shrub leaving Campaign Headquarters in the middle of the night

 He has retracted his bid for the Presidency in the middle of the night, June 1st 2007, under a cloud of public disgrace and failure.  It seems the Commander in Chiefing was not prepared for the epic battle between right and wrong.  In violating his code of ethics and going back on his campaign promise of outlawing pre-marital sex with life imprisonment, he could no longer vie for the coveted position.  His political rivals quickly attacked his questionable morality, unsteadfast inner fortitude, and in old political jargon, his political wishy-washyness.  Furthermore, the promise of plasma screen TV’s for every American was quickly dismissed when sensitive financial documents revealed his net worth at $187.  Ironically, he spent all of his campaign contributions on phillip morris products, the major soft money contributor to the political slush fund known as the The Committee to Elect a President Who Smokes.  It is even rumored that he participated in free expression this past weekend while retreating in the sin filled capitol of Thailand.  He claims he will return to his father’s oil farm and redeem his sins through stern lecturing, old-fashioned farm work, and a non-indulgent residence.  It is also rumored he invited a one Stoney McStoneystein to join him because of the following’s fondness for stern lecturing. 

In the political vaccum created by dropping out of the clear favorite, as shown by the latest poll of the American public, approving nearly categorically of his arch-conservativism, war mongering and supposed morality, I, Lester von Cherrytree, am annoucing my candidacy.  I hope the public will support my l****al persuasion in their new found distrust of the right.  Published below is my first campaign speech.

It is no longer a time for our fathers to McGovern,

We have the responsibility to alter or abolish the old regime as we see fit for the future.

It is a new time, with new dynamics, that requires the trained but untested wills of children entering the grand forum.

No longer can we caged by familial reliance, unfounded defiance, or blind contrivance.

Only through blistered hands, broken backs, bee sings, and scraped knees will this lingering foreboding be addressed.

As children of the Republic we cherished our leaders and teachers.

We exceeded their expectations with our own resilience in dealing with the slaughtering of innocence.

And as we matured in this world, we were equipped with the instruments needed to understand it’s dynamic.

We must love it and care for it before it’s beacon is extinguished. 

*edited by the CIA  

 

Speech Writers

Random Weekly Video. Week 2: Kids are idiots

I understand that it is not yet Friday, but I have business to take care of tomorrow.  We all know kids are stupid, thus making them easy targets for hilarious hijincks and shenanigans.  Cement soccer balls, pure genius.  Also, the classic fake leapfrog makes an appearance. 

The hilarity of these pranks rises exponentially due to the fact that the kids take obscene running starts before they chew on Mother Earth.  There must be rat poison in the water of this town, because it’s hard to be so dense as not to notice that you are about to strike a ball of cement.  Faceplants galore!

Infinite bitching, at the 25th hour

Have you ever had one of those days when you wake up and the overwhelming feeling of a shitty day is upon you?  Of course you have, you’re human.  Well actually, 89% of our readers are human.  I had one of those mornings, just pissed off from minute one.  All the guests at work were assholes and the urge to go ape shit and call them out on their stupidity was overpowering.  But, if I did that, I would have gotten fired.  Then I wouldn’t be laying around with stacks of cash and women licking my toes.  So I surpressed the urge.

However, now that I have returned home, I believe I will vent with an Edward Norton style, “fuck you” rant that he did in, “25th Hour”.

Fuck whoever used my Jeep as their personal McDonalds dumpster.  After already waking up pissed off, this did not help my day by finding McDonalds garbage in my front seat coupled with the overwhelming stench of Egg McMuffin.

Fuck fitted sheets.  I washed my sheets yesterday, and then rage hit when I had to put them back on my bed.  If you own fitted sheets you know what I speak of.  These tease you by allowing you to get three corner on, and while trying to fit the fourth, one corner undoubtedly pops loose.  Have you ever been locked in that tug-o-war for an hour?

Fuck West Virginia.  How dare they steal a classic Toots & the Maytals song, “Take Me Home, Country Road” and use it to try and lure people to their ass backwards state.  Only, “Sublime” is allowed to cover, “Toots & the Maytals” songs.  West Virginia is the second worst state we have, Mississippi being the worst.  Mississippi is in a class on its own.  The last time I was in West Virginia, the second I crossed the border from Virginia, my olfactories were assaulted by an unnatural stench.  That stench my friends, is non savagery.

Fuck Santa Claus for not bringing me a Nintendo Wii last year.

Fuck beer for being so god damn delicious.

For that matter, fuck people who say GD as a euphemism for god damn.  We all know what you mean assholes, it is blasphemy all the same.  You are going to Hell just like the rest of us.

Fuck jeans that are sold pre-torn.  If you want jeans that look like they have just survived a nuclear holocaust, that’s what thrift stores are for.  Not to mention they are much cheaper.  If you live a rugged life, as I do, your jeans will get ripped up through your acts of savagery.

I can’t believe I had to go to the Abercrombie and Fitch website to find this garbage.  $398 for these jeans, are you fucking kidding me?  I would rather you use that money to invest in a lifetime supply of my homemade knuckle sandwiches. 

Fuck whoever reached our site by searching for, “bond, george dubya, bond.”  We have some weird, interesting, and sometimes downright scary searches coming into our site.  Yet, whoever typed this one needs to taste the back of my hand.

Fuck people who TyPe LiKe ThIs.  Even lobotomy patients on morphine, with crippling arthritis can type more coherently.  It’s not cute, all it does is force me to send you a virus. 

Fuck hair gel.  Yeah, we all went through a hair gel phase, when we were 5.  I don’t understand this “fashion statement” of making your hair look like you just stuck a fork in the toaster.  Girls like to run their fingers through your hair assholes, they don’t want to get their eyes poked out by your spikes.  If you use hair gel, I hate to break it to you…

Fuck shaving everyday.  Sometimes I wish I could be like Stoney, only needing to shave once a month.  However, the 5 o’clock shadow is quite savage.  It is like your body’s internal mechanism telling you when it’s time for Happy Hour.  Fuck shaving, grow a beard, be a man.

Fuck Madden 07 for having my created character blow his ACL.  My xbox had a near miss from Hurricane Roughty last night after my guy went down.  I was a shoe-in for my unprecedented 5th straight MVP, until some non savage chopped me down at the knees.  It’s OK though, my character punched a hole in the guy’s helmet, drop kicked each ref, and took a dump on the 50 yard line as he left the field under his own power.

Fuck any mascot not named, “Mr. Met”.  All you other mascots can do your tired speils, but nobody is as hard-ass as this whiskey guzzler.

This guy just screams, “What?  You wanna step?”  You can walk over, but you’ll be limping back.

Fuck all haters and nay-sayers.  Don’t be mad, it’s not our fault our site is infinitely excellent.  I just have one offer for you…

Fuck all other StoneyWageSlave members for not being as savage as I.  We all know it’s true, let’s just get it out in the open.

Most of all fuck you.

America vs. Brits: Who Rocks Harder?

Part 1 of a 2 part series.

The Beatles. Elvis. Jimi Hendrix.  The Doors. The Rolling Stones. Nirvana. The music will never stop. Ever.

One of my favorite quotes, from any song, is from the Libertines, “If you’ve lost your faith and love in music, then the end won’t be long.” People will never lose faith in the music, and rock and roll has been around for about 50 years now, and there are two schools of Rock. Brits and Americans.

Americans will always love British rock…Beatles, Stones, Radiohead, Zeppelin. Americans generally diss on their own kind, in favor of their tea-carrying pansy grandparents. I’m just going to lay it on you, and SCIENTIFICALLY PROVE that American rock and roll rocks harder than British shit does.

I admit, I used to be a Brit-head. At one time, the only bands I ever listened to were British rock bands…Beatles, Stones, Zeppelin, Radiohead, Libertines. It wasn’t out of “being cool” or being indie or any shit like that. I was just really into the Beatles, Zep and Radiohead, which then transferred into Stones, and then later, I found the Libertines, and listened to that shit non-stop. Non-Stop.

Let’s break it down, blow by blow. I am assuming you fucktards have listened to all of these bands, they aren’t that indie.

Brits First

The Beatles– the fucking Beatles. They invented the modern conception of what it means to be a rockstar. The Beatles’ influence on rock music, culture and history is undeniable. Something to note…The Beatles worked so hard on their music, copying American Rock and Roll that was going on at the time. They idolized Roy Orbison, Elvis and Bob Dylan. They were in love with America, and America was in love with the Beatles.

The Rolling Stones– the archetype badass band. Savage, country-western, badass fools.

Led Zeppelin- The Zep is the one of the most legendary bands of all time, with mysterious deaths, Satanism, dubious fish usage. Zep took the Stones’ wildness to another level, and that’s why Zep couldn’t last more than 10 years. They recorded Zep I and Zep II in the same year. It took them one night to record all of Zep I, one of the greatest rock albums of all time. How the fuck can you make a Joan Baez song rock? Zep did it.

That’s all the old people I’m going to get into. Fuck The Who.

Radiohead– Radiohead is arguably the greatest band in our generation, a serious attempt to create art through distortion pedals. Creep, although overplayed and made fun of, is one of the best rock songs ever. Just 4 chords over and over, what a fucking song.

Libertines/ Babyshambles– Pete Doherty is a modern-day savage, in the mold of the old American rock stars. He’s 28 now, which means he missed the CRUCIAL deadline of dying by overdose by the age of 27. Now, if he wants to keep his title of savage, he has to live until he’s 80, like Keith Richards. If he didn’t die yet, he shouldn’t die for a long time. To ignore the Libertines and Babyshambles because of his annoying habit of getting arrested and making headlines with supermodels, you are ignoring a force of nature.

In addition to the major savages, the Brits do carry a very, very solid lineup of lesser savages, who are nevertheless savages who carry the queen’s undies for a flag.

Ozzy- Prince of Darkness

Arctic Monkeys– Relatively Newbs…have you listened to these songs? They are NUTS.

Oasis– old hands in the kingdom of lesser savages. Bitter, gay brother bitch fights have reduced this band to a soap opera who sometimes plays guitar. Weak effort.

The Animals– House of the Rising Sun, anyone?

David Bowie– Transvestite savage, not from this planet I think

Queen– flaming homosexual rockstar. What a fucking badass. Roughty posted “another one bites the dust,” and it was nice.

The Who– suck

Sum-up for the Brits. The best old Brit bands are the ones who are the best at copying the American style (Stones, Beatles, Zep). These are the bands that grew up listening to Elvis, and old-school blues and country, and mashed it all up with a heavy amp, and distortion when necessary.

The new school of Brits, including Radiohead and the Babyshambles, are pushing into their own element. They are not so much copying Americans, as they are creating a whole new thing. The new Brits are really pushing the envelope of “What it means to Rock the Fuck out,” but sometimes, I feel like they get tripped up in their attempts of grandeur. I think Coldplay is a good example of a band that pushed too hard in one direction, and kind of turned into jelly in the stratosphere. Keep it simple, Brits, Keep it simple.

Overextension is a defining trait of the Brits, and one that often leads to their downfall. Think American Colonies, other colonies around the world, Iraq, and Spice Girls.

Fah-q Hai-kus continued

seventeen syllables, huh?  let’s ball, then. 

…open your ears,

and close your pie hole.

ripping you all

is my main goal.

Stoney —

burning l’s and tooting rails

helped you escape from your mental travails.

Roughty —

beer, nintendo — true classic case

could not dodge SJ’s punch to the face

Dankkk —

poems and smokes

hoes flock to his bed

his worst enemy

lives in his head

Suityourself —

up and down

stoic and clown

still burning trees

in the same fucking town

New Chapter

Bitches, here are your descriptive haikus, i tried to sum up everything i could about each of you, using just 17 syllables. i will label them for the outsiders.

Roughty

don’t have any friends
why? beat them up at lunch-time
they fucked your sister(s)

Suityourself

don’t be such a bitch
pass me the fucking blunt, ass
please, i bought the bag

Dank

sensitive savage
another poem written
darkly, i taught you

Stoney

i am the coolest
try as you may, you can’t touch
my abracadab

A Thievery: The Most Treacherous Roll Call

Hello, all. I stole this idea from Roughty. That’s right, you worthless Irish drunk, I stole your idea, and even used some of your examples…busted!

The Most Treacherous Roll Call represents the most-badass film and cartoon villains my stoned brain could think up, and research, while at work. I broke it down into two basic categories…cartoon and live-action.

Beebop and Rocksteady

Who doesn’t remember these clowns? Fucking Beebop and Rocksteady, the pig with piercings and the rhinoceros. To be honest, I don’t really remember the cartoon versions, but I do remember them from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Secret of the Ooze. “Num nums….num nums….” Shredder gets zero badass points for wearing a lawnmowing blades as a helmet, and being an overall bitchboy. Beepop and Rocksteady, salut!

Dr. Claw

You don’t fuck with Dr. Claw unless your name is Inspector Gadget. Why the fuck would you? He’s got a fat retarded cat, and a big claw that he uses to drive around his space ship in. Too bad, he never can seal the deal and just have gay robot sex with Inspector Gadget, that would have been a nice pair.

Frank, the treacherous savage from Blue Velvet

Oh Shit! Frank will fucking beat the shit out of you, kick you in the nuts, cut your ear off, let his buddies punch you in the face, sing Roy Orbinson songs to you, inhale a shitload of nitrous, make you sing weird songs, and then, fucking blow your face off, pop a pill and laugh about it with his boy. Frank is hands down one of the most treacherous assholes to ever walk the earth, the shit is NUTS.

Lone-Wolf, or Assassin with Son, or Shogun Assassin

You get the lowdown on this badass from his orphan son, Tiguro. Tiguro’s mom gets her ass cut in half, so Lone-wolf lays it down real simple for his son, the future maniac assassin killer. Lone-wolf puts Tiguro on the floor, and then puts a bright bouncy ball in front of him on one side, and a sword on the other. Then he tells Tiguro, who is about 1 1/2 years old, that if he chooses the ball, he gets to die and see his mom, and if he chooses the sword, he gets to go on the road with lone-wolf, and fuck up some ninjas. Tiguro obviously chooses the sword, which he picks up and starts killing ninjas immediately with. Lone-Wolf is a savage, and he’s kind of a good guy. His nasty streak runs too deep, though, for him to be a “real” good guy. We’ll let Ben Affleck take those parts.

Honorable Mention for Most Treacherous.

Rory Breaker, from Lock, Stock…

“If the milk turns sour, I ain’t the kind of pussy to drink it.”

He’s my weed-smoking candidate from this list too, because he’s got the sick chronizzles, slapdap dippidy.

The Strokes: A Dedication

I like my music. Roughty likes posting asinine, stupid videos. Here is an asinine, stupid video about music I like.

The Strokes are one of the defining bands of this generation. Period. Is This It? came out in 2001, and it was fucking nasty. Whether or not you like the strokes, or how they look and shit, you cannot deny the beats and the tunes. It’s like trying to deny Al Green or something, it just cannot be done, all matters of taste and opinion aside. If you are alive and listen to music, you cannot deny the strokes.

Watch this video of Jules, the lead singer. Jules is a fucking savage pimp, and all indie-hipsters who claim such recognition and categorization owe a large percentage of their self-identity and worth to this biotch. Fucking savage.

I would like to note a few things from this video. I only watched it once, and I’m at work, so I’ll try to paraphrase, and keep it fuzzy.

1. Note Jules’ excessive inebriation. He can barely speak. If I had to guess, he is real fucked up on a variety of drugs, which I won’t even try to put my finger on, because my guess is, it’s probably a lot worse than it looks. This guy is a fucking rockstar, and he is totally whacked out of his mind.

2. Note Blu-Blocker sunglasses. No coked-out, fucked up interview would be possible without the strongest, and biggest black UVA-blocking glasses on the market. In the general sense, I apply a simple rule for identifying when rockers are fucked up. The bigger the sunglasses, the more they are hiding. If you are wearing bright yellow, tiny trendy glasses to the show, then you are not hiding hideous, glaring red eyeballs with a black eye to boot. Jules is fucked up, and very much so. Rocker.

3. The guy asks Jules, “Remember that time when you put out Room on Fire, was it really just this huge whirlwind of drugs, booze and sex? Like they say it is? Was it really like that?” Jules goes, “Uhhhh ya.” Period. He’s not bragging about it. He hasn’t slept in days….”remember the good old days when you were a rockstar?”….uhhh you mean like what I did last night and what I’m doing tonight and the night after that? Ya I remember that, it’s called rock and roll, and that’s why you are a reporter, and I’m the star. Next question.

Anyway, I could keep going, but I won’t. This video is dedicated to Roughty, who loves the strokes more than me, and introduced me to this most excellent band.

Julian Casablancas = Savage

Also note, video is in French, excessive use of over-used clips of over-used songs, and again, how fucking wasted is Jules?

Again…am I a rockstar blogger? I like to think so.

Wash your hands, dirtballs.

Nobody likes getting sick, aside from the token missed day of work/school/jury duty, being sick is no picnic.  People are constantly in search for the miracle cure, or prevention from that yearly flu, or nagging head cold.  I have seen people guzzle vitamin C, swear off red meat, or enlist the services of the local black magic syndicate.  For all these ridiculous methods, I am always amazed to find that most people rarely take the most basic step of disease prevention; washing your hands.

I am not a clean or germ freak by any means, but I think it is an innately basic thing to wash your hands after you use the bathroom.   I see people always neglecting this important step after relieving themselves.  The most vicious cesspools known to man are public restrooms.  These places are just big assembly lines of human waste. 

You think you are clean and hygienic?  Marvelous, but what about Joe Bran-Fiber rushing to the corner stall, or Bobby McDrunk whose alcohol shakes force him to spray piss up to a three urinal radius?  Not to mention the little kids who strut in, insisting they are old enough to, “do it themselves” only to find themselves crying for daddy as they ruin another outfit. 

Personally, I treat public restrooms like I would a soccer match; no hands allowed.  Because, I have no idea what goes on in there before I enter.  Ahem…

  

 

 I’m I’m kicking up toilet seats, using my elbows to work the sink spigots, and shouldering the buttons on the automatic hand dryers.  There is no way I am placing my mitts on anything in there when I see countless people leave without washing their hands.  Then suddenly, I become the asshole when I won’t shake your hand just because you look like the type of mouth-breather who doesn’t lather up after fondling your no-no area.  Please, I don’t want to have your testicle sweat all over my hands. 

With our government controlling so many aspects of our lives, I am surprised that we have not seen sweeping legislation mandating proper cleanliness in public restrooms.  Washing hands is not just for doctors, cooks, or any other public servant.  We need to stock these restrooms with bruisers who enforce washing with an iron, well cleaned, fist.  You want the use of a free, public restroom?  You better believe you are going to wash your grimy hands afterward.  

Mikey the Grease

There was once a mythical young man named Mikey. Mikey Thrall. Mikey was a giant of unknown proportions, both in body and deed.

Once, there was a huge monster ravaging the woods of a true gem of history, culture and excellence. There was a town of Williamsburg, in the olden state of Virginia. When the pretty college lights dimmed, dark in the night, you could sometimes hear a huge thunder, a monstrous monstrosity who had never been seen.

What the people of the town did see, though, was a lot of people go missing if they went walking in the woods late at night. One night, Jimmy John Johannson (there was a small Swedish population in the town), went out to go midnight catfishing, taking a trail through the woods, and he never came back. Ever.

Another time, Sarah Jo Peasely went to visit her grandmother, who lived in the town next door to Williamsburg, Newport News. Grandma Peasely liked for Sarah Jo to stay late, but never let her stay over, so Sarah Jo would always have to walk back in the middle of the night, all alone and stinking like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Well one day, SHE NEVER GOT HOME.

People in the area started to realize that people who walked around late at night, in the woods between Williamsburg and Newport News, that they would sometimes never come home. At first, people in the town didn’t realize that anybody who went to the woods at night never came back, but then, all the sudden at a joint town meeting, they DID realize it!

The old people in the townhouse decided to call upon Mikey Thrall, the great conqueror of Mythical Proportions. They found Mikey living at his dad Marty’s house, lying on the couch and playing video games. Mikey would often lie around, and do nothing, in order to save his strength for his feats of daring and wonder.

“Mikey, the old people from the town are here! Get off your ass and get your shoes on, they need your help.”

Mikey got up slowly and unsurely; the night before he had stayed up late playing video games and smoking resin. Mikey put on his greasy shoes and plodded out the door. The old people from the town told him that there was a monster or something in the woods, hiding out and eating people, or at least taking them away. Mikey was kind of shocked, but then decided he would help out.

Mikey went inside back into Marty’s house, and grabbed his Super Paintball Gun with Exploding Acid that his mom had bought him at Wal-Mart. Then, he put on his best Battle T-Shirt that his grandma gave him for Christmas the year before, and that he always wore on days like this, when his fellow townspeople really need his help, and he was there for them. Then finally, he put on the hat that his dad had given him for safety protection….the Brown Hat of Safety.

Mikey went out into the woods with all his gear on, and that day, he emerged triumphant.