Archive for the 'domestication' Category

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


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…



doom-restroom.jpg 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.  

Rubber Matches, Growing Up, Other Reflections and another Roll Call

the first category tag i clicked was worthless friday, cuz that’s what i’m in.  it’s fantastic.  finally some time to interact with the tech-junkies, alcoholics and weed-fiends who read this link-laden, anti-american, diaperlicious bloghole. 

has anybody noticed that politics are continuing to play a large role in our blog?!  i can’t believe that shit.  if you knew, (and most of you do), the authors, you’d be as surprised as me.  four years in the burg, and we never talked about it.  now it’s all over everything.  i think that comes along with growing older.  things we never cared about before are starting to look more and more important.  we’re all realizing our global citizenship, and i think it’s pretty encouraging.  now all we have to do is change the minds of all the fuckos in general society *(see stoney’s note about the a&f models on the airplane… these are the dipshits to whom i’m referring.) 

on another very different topic, there’s this issue going on in the baseball world.  my boy john smoltz won his 200th career decision last night.  i don’t need to remind any of you who the braves defeated.  i don’t need to tell you that they beat the metropolitans.  further, i don’t need to explain to any of you that this win brough the braves record against the mets to 6 wins and 3 losses on the season.  no, i don’t need to mention any of these things.  why am i talking about it then?  to hurt your sensitive yankee feelings?  no.  to rub salt into your still-smarting wounds from last october?  of course not.  well, i’ll tell you why.  the braves are currently recruiting new fans, and if you all have been converted over the past few days, just let me know, and i’ll be happy to provide a letter of recommendation.  no guarantees, but it’s at least a 50-50 they’ll accept you.  last night’s prodigious victory over the hated mets was a rubber match.  “what is a rubber match?” all of you except the sport-savvy roughty might be asking yourselves.  again, i’ll explain it for you.  in a 3-game series, if each team wins one of the first two games, game three is the rubber match.  in a 7-game series that’s tied at three games each, game seven is the rubber match.  check out this helpful wiki article on the topic.

what’s the point of this discussion? it’s not just to make fun of the sucky mets.  in fact, i want to bring it back to politics.  since i’ve been old enough to think about politics, there have been two presidents.  (during bush the elder’s administration, i didn’t understand anything at all about it.)  these presidents have been billy clinton and george dubya bush — a democrat and a republican.  in 2008, we’ll have the rubber match between these two political powerhouses.  as in sports, this rubber match will play a big role on the way our generation will be viewed.  will our generation be defined by the shitty republicans or the shitty democrats?  lord only knows.  i got a guess, but it’s just that — a guess.  so i won’t even mention it here.  in a baseball rubber match, all we can do is drink beer and root for our own version of the good guys.  last night, my team won, and i was happy.  roughty’s team lost, and i’m sure he drowned on his tears.  in politics, however, we can play the game and get involved.  we can be the shortstop who turns the double play, or we can be the asshole who lets the ball roll right between his legs.  (by the by, what team was he on again?  hahaha.)  either way, in politics, we don’t have to sit on the sidelines.  we can cast our votes and join in the action, right?  here’s the other big difference.  if i make a throwing error, and the winning run scores for the other team, the game is over and i immediately know who won.  if i hit the walk-off homer, it’s conclusive.  i’m the big winner.  with politics, it’s not so cut and dry.  i might cast my vote and be all happy for a couple years after my selected puppet wins.  then, out of nowhere, he blows some country off the map, and my walk-off homer turns into a “you-blew-it” game ending error. that’s why, when this year’s political rubber match comes along, i’ll be drinking beer and watching from the sidelines.  the punchline of this discourse — do yourself a favor and don’t vote.  vote for your favorite amer. idol.  vote for which of the stars dances best.  vote for the best apple pie you ate at the county fair.  don’t vote for the president.  you’ll invariably be sorry!

thus ends the politics of this post.

i’m still going to school.  it still sucks.  i also work at a school.  that, too, is no good.  i am trying to learn about the material required for my degree, but all i keep learning about is that everybody only cares about money.  the only question my peers and superiors ask themselves is, “how can i make the most money off this situation?”  it’s sad to think that this is the world we’re trying to earn membership into.  maybe the solution is to drop out and move to an island and try to grow coconuts for food and decorative brassieres.  my ridiculous boss’s boss’s boss’s boss volunteered me today to take part in some terrible task around the office.  my autonomy is non-existant.  i don’t decide what i do at all.  they tell me what to do, and i do it.  it’s bad for one’s psychology.  you’ve all been there.  i guess the right thing to do is just grin and bear it until retirement… in like 60 years.  one more thing about work, i had to make a presentation yesterday to a room full of suits.  i wore a rainbow colored (ambiguously androgenous) plaid shirt untucked and my oldest, rattiest pants.  i gave a great presentation.  (probably because dank wasn’t there flicking his damned zippo to distract me.)  after this, i got an email from my boss’s boss who told me that i should have dressed nicer.  this is a big old problem in our society.  why in the world do people still judge you based on the clothes you wear?  i’ll tell you.  it’s because they’re terrible idiots who don’t know any better.  and these are the people who i’m scrambling to compete with as a peer…  sad.

well, mr dank nuggets is in, so let the fun begin.  in honor of him, i’m taking this opportunity to post yet another savage roll call.  feast your eyes on the following collection:

most savage cartoon character:  Monterey Jack — he’ll whip your ass and then console you in a lovely aussie accent.

honorable mention:  Nermal — fresh off the boat from abu dhabi

least savage cartoon character:  Rita and Runt — an ill-fated space-filler in an otherwise exceptional show

most savage world leader:  Queen of Jordan — rules with an iron fist and a lovely pair of jumblies

honorable mention:  Stalin — (translation of caption:  respect the moustache.  fear the moustache.  obey the moustache.)

least savage world leader:  Jacques Chirac (someone either just snuck up him, or he was presented with a lovely quiche.)

most savage cereal mascot:  Sonny (cocoa puffs) — this guy has “junkie” written all over his face

honorable mention:  Andy Milonakis (fruity pebbles)

least savage ceareal mascot:  Tony (frosted flakes) — why don’t you find a gayer bandana.  we’re not all convinced you’re a homo yet.

most savage car model of all times:  AMC Eagle (no competition)

honorable mention:  El Camino (the original cross-over vehicle)

least savage car model of all times:  ford tempo (my first car)

most savage blogger:  suityourself (no photo available)

least savage blogger:  you (look in the mirror and recognize your inferiority.)

finally, most savage drugs:  steriods

least savage drugs:  whipits (you’ll freeze your lungs)

Huggies Cool Alerts promote cool heads

I was sitting in my room this evening gearing up for another heated contest between the Mets and Braves (which the Mets unfortunately lost, yes Suit, I will admit defeat at times) when the first round of commercials hit.  Naturally, my bullshit detector was primed to be assaulted.  And rightfully so, because by the third commercial I was introduced to the newest innovation from Huggies; Pull-Ups Cool Alert diapers.  For those unlucky readers who missed this life changing promotion for child rearing, here are some of the specs for these new diapers.

That’s right, you did not read that wrong, the diapers give a cooling sensation when your child wets his or her pants.  This breakthrough in diaper technology actually alerts your toddler when his or her pants have been pissed.  Brilliant!  Unfortunately we are still a few years away from the diapers that can give a preemptive alert, but we will just have to cope for the time being.   

I don’t know about you, but as a frequent pants pisser, I don’t need to rely on a cooling sensation to know when I have just ruined another first date, business acquisition, or family dinner.  I was not aware that it was that hard to tell if you had sprung a sudden leak, that this diaper technology was so imminently imperative.  Let me tell you parents, if your child is having trouble discerning whether his or her pants have been leaked upon, your kid has bigger problems than smelling like a urinal. 

Additionally, Huggies contends that this cooling sensation will be so uncomfortable for your child, further reinforcing the need for expedient potty training.  I suppose the warming sensation of urine in their drawers was not enough to shock them into learning how to function like an adult.  Not to mention the embarrassment of having a huge wet spot covering their nether regions. 

I commend Huggies for also listing on their website certain triggers to alert parents as to when their child has just shamed the family.  These include: 

Walking funny after wetting

Stopping activity and stand(ing) still

Making a funny face

Pulling on pant(s) more than usual

Asking to be changed more frequently or to use the potty 

If you noticed the parentheses, I took the liberty of making some grammatical changes from the Huggies website.  Apparently, Huggies is so invested in child development, that they have their target consumers write for them. 

I love these alerts to parents.  Not everyone can be fathers of the year, so it is necessary to let these delinquent parents know how their children act once they have wet themselves.  I especially like, “making a funny face” because come on, when do children NOT make a funny face.  I also like the visual image of kids goose-stepping after they wet their pants.  We all know that diapers severely inhibit a child’s capability for normal bipedal motion.  Basically, Huggies is telling us that children always have urine soaked pants, thus making their product extremely necessary.  Now that’s smart business! 

I do have a concern about these new diapers though.  What are children who reside in cooler climates supposed to do when winter rolls around?  Huggies is setting up children, especially male children, for severely frozen genitalia.  I can see the news reports and recalls now.  “Huggies puts a freeze on Cool Alert sales after toddlers testicles freeze to diaper.”  This just seems cruel.  Your kids may not be able to reproduce after the tender age of three, but at least they learned how to piss in the pot.  That will show them. 

After viewing this commercial, I am not too sure how much farther we have to evolve in diaper development.  Clearly we have come to the apex of diaper technology, but I was also preaching this belief after the release of the first Pull-Ups.  “I’m a big kid now!” 

P.S.  My favorite diapers would still have to be, “Fergie’s Rockin’ Adult Diapers.” 


What more could you want than the teaming of a grizzled “Black-Eyed Peas” dancer and adult urinary problems?  Plus, you get a free, “Black-Eyed Peas” CD.  So, while you piss your pants as you listen to this drivel, you will simultaneously be covered for your everyday activities.  It’s win-win.  Kudos to Fergie’s manager for this endorsement choice, and for managing someone with a single name.  The single name celebrity is such trite, it’s not as though Fergie is a Brazilian soccer star.  

It’s like that TalkingHeads song that’s really a Tom-Tom Club song

And now, readers, I turn to serious matters. What do I do everyday? What is it that occupies my waking hours, and my dreams when I am sleeping?  To be perfectly honest, it is my girl, my own baby, my goober, my old lady. At such a young age, I have been domesticated, and you know what? I like it. 

T has been coming down on me lately for leaving her out on this blog. It’s not a selfish thing on her part, and it’s not a bad thing, but it is true. Everyday, I share everything with my girl. I leave my house at 4:50 and kiss her goodbye, and I pick her up from work on my way home at 2:30.  We eat dinner every night together, we have a dog named Chompy Dinosaur, and we live on Venice Beach together, and it is quite like a dream.

One of the stipulations of my blog from the beginning was that it would be T-rated. I have begun to take this more and more seriously, so this is an effort to stay on track.

So when you think of me, dear readers, do not think of me as an alone savage, standing on a rock wearing Abercrombie gear, stiffly gelled hair bristling in the wind.  Think of me sitting at home, watching The Three Amigos with my “girlfriend”, and loving the fact that I don’t have an empty hole in my head anymore, and that I can be calm and relaxed instead of on the edge of reality. 

This all ties in with the “I am lying to you” post.  “Keep your WITS about you,” I say…’s really just a joke.  The guy who told me that was a 35 year old, overweight, lonely old party animal who was just spouting his routine at the bar, on his way home to his Hollywood hill sick ass pad by himself. Alone, and feeling it real hard…that’s an example of me leaving something out, that a so-called mentor I portrayed was really just a sad joke of existence.

Houseparty used to call me “a sensitive little guy,” all the time, and that’s because that’s exactly what I am.  It creates a wall, a fake image that I project to protect myself.  When I talk about the time I went to Raconteurs show and was so twisted off, I wasn’t alone.  T was there too, and it was a special time for us because it was my birthday, and we were together, and it was our concert, not just mine. 

That readers, concludes this episode of sentimental reality.  It all boils down to the fact that I love my girl, and that she is my half, the other part of my life.  Yes, that sounds really gay, but guess what, fuckheads, it’s true.  If it wasn’t for my old lady, you would not be reading about me unless you were reading the obituaries of small Texas border towns. That, dear readers, is a smack of truth.  I am done for the weekend. Peace, and to all you people who came on account of my manipulation, how you like them apples, bitches?