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Before you read on:
PLEASE READ THE DISCLAIMER
Welcome to What Would Satan Do . com!
For those of you visiting for the first time, please read this before you go any further:
Unfortunately, I have discovered that most of my visitors, have no ability to read or see things for what they are. This site, for the most part, serves no purpose other than being a place for me to rant. It is obvious that no one EVER reads my disclaimer. So I am now changing it to a pre-requisite for those of you who wish to continue further inside my head.
and remember:
No one has the right to NOT be offended
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Link me with these banners please
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Witness to the crucifiction.
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I have a habit of seeing things or walking in on things that most others do not.
This past Saturday I took a trip out into the desert north of Los Angeles to the Vasquez Rocks.
Upon my arrival, THIS is what I see.
It ended up being just a film crew, shooting some lame ass Jesus movie.
Even the Soldiers who you see in headdress are in fucking blue jeans .
UGH!!
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Every once in awhile I will post a guest-rant, since my lazy ass is so fucking far behind on updating with my own rants. So here is a WWSD readers rant regarding growing up as a Jehovahs Witness:
The day I discovered there is a Hell.
Like most children growing up Jehovah's Witnesses, I just accepted everything on faith. That is just the way it is, after all - truth is what your sphere of influence dictates it to be. Anthropologically, we refer to this a socialization, the process by which a member of society is impressed with the world view of his culture and, most importantly, rules to live by, rituals to enact, and taboo to accept. Since JW's tightly control the association of their members by warning and implicit threat, I never had the benefit of doubt. Truth be told, this isn't particular to JW's by any stretch of the imagination - just a few dB more intense. With JW's, everything is a theocratic issue. Your life is dictated by the clock cycle of meetings, prayer, and service (also known as 'door-banging'). Among the various dogma the religion immerses itself in is the notion that there is no hell, only eternal and permanent destruction. Ironically, in the process of losing all belief in religion - and ultimately accepting that there is no hell - I first had to discover that there is one.
On the surface, one might postulate that hell is growing up a JW. This isn't necessarily true, since I basked comfortably in a loving family, and ignorance being bliss, I didn't realize just how hellish the myopia really was. Alas, life has a way of forcing the iris of viewpoint open with talon-like hooks of experience. First there was Kindergarten, where I burst into tears upon being forced to stand and explain why I couldn't draw a Santa-Claus. Next came 5th grade, and the first in a long series of massive crushes on girls who my parents explained quite calmly were as good as dead anyways, since they weren't believers - but if I really liked them, and wanted to help them, I should go and 'wittiness' to them. This set upon my young shoulders a massive crushing (pun not intended) weight, since the very nature of a secret crush is embarrassing, and by this time I had begun to feel somehow very different. Yet here I was, responsible for the salvation of these girls I had a crush on that I knew to be wrong. If I said nothing, then I was either 1) embarrassed of my faith and worthless; or 2) didn't really love them enough to overcome the natural bashfulness towards the other sex to give them a fighting chance at salvation. It wasn't until years later that I grew to understood that the best way to bring about a devastating form of cognitive dissonance is to set the core belief impressed upon someone at odds with the natural forces at work in the body. A decent form of worship explains nature, it doesn't give you crushing guilt about it.
Fast forward several years to the age of 17. Sexual prime. Every other waking moment I'm thinking of of sex, and every moment in between I'm thinking of it as a sin. This, I could deal with. Lindsay, I could not. Lindsay was the girl who sat behind me in Advanced English 7-8, a busty blonde cheerleader, a 'preppy', and one quanta better than me in just about every category one might possibly conceive, except possibly analytical thinking. Glutton for punishment, my mind decided that this monument of impossibility was now my object of desire, and I set about embarrassing myself in any number of ways in a desperate bid for attention that was ultimately doomed, since even if she asked me out, I'd have to decline like all the other times someone at or below my social strata had asked me out - with the lame explanation that my parents did not allow dating. This was embarrassing enough, but by this time I had long since discovered that using my parents as an excuse was preferable to explaining that I was a JW. If someone did ask if I was a JW, I'd just smile and reply that "it was my parent's religion," then I'd choke on guilt. By this time, the war in my mind was reaching a deafening crescendo, and right there at the front of the fighting was my raging desire for a girl who I'd never in a million years be good enough for.
Winter break, class of 1995. I received a drivers license, and I still was in love with Lindsay. It was right before Lindsay was going to go to Hawaii to perform with other cheerleaders around the country at the Pro-bowl. I was occupied with many details of young life, too occupied to notice that the group of people I'd elected to go out in service with were driving right into the subdivision where Lindsay lived. As I got out of the car, I looked up and realized where I was. My body went cold. My mind, numb with a dread beyond belief, quickly took stock of the situation. 4 people, two pairs, the odds of me ending up on her door were 50/50. Worse, the odds of my having to speak were 1/4. As my mind raced, I tried to anticipate which door we were starting at and then desperately tried to remember how many of those nice big houses were between her and our street around the corner. 3, no 4! wait, there are 8 here, but one is a corner house, so that is 11, and odd number, so whoever starts gets it - Wait! one other group, so does that subtract half or 1-half...too late. I couldn't finish my train of thought before I was up to the first door. Good, not interested. Next home. Good, no one home, no - BAD! that makes the inevitable sooner!
Soon, her home was in looming in sight, and my mind was racing. I drew a person who wanted to argue. Thank you, God! I let 25% of my mind contend with this haggler, and devoted the rest to sneaking peaks at the two ladies working the block with us. Where were they?! Why weren't they coming to the rescue and taking that door?! As I prolonged the discussion as long as I possibly could, I saw them from the corner of my eye, STANDING and TALKING to each other, just out of view. My mind screamed obscenities at them for being stupid, lazy idiots! HURRY!!! No such luck. Lindsay's house was three doors down, and we pulled the next one, while my parner knocked. The ladies got the next one, and within a moment, there I walked - right up the walkway of the girl for whom I would have done any unspeakable sin.
Time slows down when your mind races. In my time, right as I reached the porch, at least a dozen permutations of possible conversations played out in ten minute lengths. I knocked as lightly as I could. I gently rapped again. "They have a doorbell," says my partner, and rings it for me. I catch his action right as his finger contacts the ringer. A surge of adrenaline surges though me. This can't be happening! I think I hear footsteps, or is that just my mind, now racing and surging uncontrollably. A moment, a year, what is the difference? I sit there with a glassed look and wait for the inevitable when a sole thought breaks through the screaming silence and latches in the part of my subconscious reserved for - prayer? Am I praying? "Please God, please, please, please - don't let her be home."
And then it hits me like a pile of bricks. Did I just pray to god that he not let me do my job I've dedicated my life to do for him? Why am I even here, then? The silence is broken by my parnter saying "Guess no one is home." Relief. Gushing, surging, pouring, torrential floods of relief wash over me. No Lindsay, no embarrassment, no awkward contact, nothing. The terror Hell that I just experienced - in the name of God - is now over. I almost laugh out loud, and it occurs to me that it would have almost been laughable had she answered the door. It may have even cured me of the crush. I quickly reverse myself on this point, and decide that there is no greater shame than pray to god for help hiding from him. As great as the flood of relief was, even greater was the devastating sense of guilt that now consumes my soul utterly. I might have well just renounced my own faith - over a girl who never had, and never probably will even know I exist - except as a laughingstock for herself and her preppy friends. There is a Hell, and I am in it now.
Several years later, while recounting this story to a friend I worked with, I noted that there is no greater punishment that one experiences than that which they impose upon themselves. Faith, however, is the ultimate punishment that society imposes upon itself. Belief in that which is not based upon scientific rationale is an impregnable prison of the mind. When I think of this week in February of 1995, I can't help but smile and thank myself for escaping that prison. I have few people to thank except myself, my parents - who set up the inequality that was up to me to ultimately prove as having no solution set - and Lyndsay, who did me a favor by being unwavering in her below contempt treatment that fostered the positive feedback and intensified my crush - leading me to the very first in a short list of existential stepping stones to the path of agnostic enlightenment. Next time I see that woman, I'm buying her a drink.
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Am I really supposed to give a fuck who the dj’s at a club are? Am I supposed to care that they have “spun” in NYC, LA, SF, Milan, or my fucking ass?
When I was 5, I started playing all my parents vinyl: Sabbath, BTO, um Barbara Striesand, The Beatles, etc… Little did I know that had I only put up fliers around kindergarten or had access to Myspace, I could have had *"mad pussy" flowin in. You know what else? That record player I had back then could play 8 Tracks, and 78’s. That’s right motherfuckers, 78’s, and I’m gonna be at Star Shoes in Hollywood THIS Thursday only. There’s no cover, but you gotta use the password AQUAFINA, to get in…ugh
I appreciate anyone with decent musical tastes, but please forgive me for being NONE impressed that you can sit up in a booth and play records or even EASIER, fucking CD's. Once again, I was doing it at 5.
If you are a dj, I don’t care, I am not really ripping on you, but once you develop an ego about it, it’s time for you to go. And the people that promote you as being some fucking legendary musical genius need to get a grip. You want to impress me, play guitar, drums, bass. Hell, shit on stage and I’d be more impressed. I don’t fucking care that DJ Spinny Spinster from Guam is in town TONIGHT only!!! It’s just a dude playing records, acting like he’s a fucking rockstar
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Saturday nights, you SUCK!!!
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Staying in on Saturday nights is not just COOL, it is WAY FUCKING COOLER than dealing with the herd out at clubs or wherever thefuck. I made an effort to go out last night, and it was awful.
Oh the fucking HORROR that lies in the eyes of all the breeders I pass. All of them filled with nothing but the primal urge to mate and further degrade my planet and my species.
Being a recluse is really the only way to go.
So please come NOT join me in our reclusiveness.
Hail WWSD
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Why I am NOT buying you a drink
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To start, I am NOT trying to fuck you. No matter how hot you are.
I may enjoy fucking you, but if I don't get to, I honestly do not care.
I'll just let all the walking hardons buy you the drinks.
A girl last week was talking to me, and after a few minutes, ASKED me if I was going to buy her a drink.... Fuck you!!!
The most I care to do is make out with you and perhaps put a few dildo's in you.
And if I need to get you drunk to do ANY of this, then what's the point?
If you honestly think I am cool and want to be my friend, then the drink issue should never come up.
Fuckin LA cunts. Go down to the Standard and trade your vag for herpes and a BMW.
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I was watching TV and got to see some of the footage of Fallujah being blown to shit. They keep calling the Iraqis, "insurgents". I'm sorry, but aren't WE the insurgents? And we keep using the word "Terrorists". Just because an Iraqi is NOT an American, but has a gun, or explosives, or a need to defend an attack on the only way of life he has ever known, does NOT mean he is a "TERRORIST".
And what exactly is a TERRORIST?
I recall a bit of history where the Japanese attacked a MILITARY target in Hawaii. They had kamikaze pilots. Were they terrorists? I don't think so.
Then I recall the other part to that. You know, the part where WE, the USA decided we would drop the ultimate WMD on the Japanese.
But there was a catch. We didn't attack the Japanese Military. Instead we thought the best thing to do would be to just bomb an entire city.
The USA killed NOT 3000 innocent people, but TEN's of THOUSANDS of innocent people along with EVERY other life form in it's path. Most buildings were destroyed as well. NOT just TWO buildings, but ALL of them.
THEN, to finish it off, what did we do? We dropped ANOTHER fucking bomb in another city of Japan, killing TEN's of thousands more INNOCENT people.
After all of this, somewhere around 200,000 people were killed.
Look, I am not trying to defend anyone. Especially not Bin Laden, the Taliban, etc... But let's be honest here. We are really no better than any of them. We are ALL terrorists. We all have equally retarded beliefs in gods and goblins and devils. We all have a wet dream about an after-life paradise, virgins, angels, etc... And honestly, I am fucking fed up. The Iraqis can fuck off, the Taliban and Bin Laden can fuck off, al-Zarqawi can fuck off, America can fuck off, Michael Moore can fuck off, George Bush can fuck off, and yes, even YOU can fuck off.
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Karamba, Karacho, Ein Whisky.
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Recently I was introduced to the music of Heino. Check it out, it rules!!!
I know this song is about Whisky, gin and a woman names Dolores. But other than that, I have not a clue.
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WWSD/Jerker Vandals Unite!!!!!...
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There is a story and a few more pics to go along with this, so stay tuned and I will share.
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My most admired friend, Ryan has written a few things lately I feel deserve to read by all who enter this realm.
Below are a couple of these writings.
My Big Bicycle Balls
My big balls are so huge. I ride a bike with no brakes through the streets of Los Angeles. Dangerous? Actually, no, it's a faggot's sport. But remember how I told you that my balls were the BIG kind?
I only ride my bike at night. And when I do, I wait until 2 AM, when all the drunks are thrown out of the bars, and into their cars. That's when I hit the dark, cold, danger filled streets on my brake-less, black, fixed geared steel pony of death.
I never ride on the sidewalk, because it's too homo. I ride in the middle of the street. Did I mention this is LA? I blast at fullspeed dodging head-on with drunkin' actors, music geeks, mexicans, clubsters, Nolte, scenesters, childmolesters, rape junkies, faggots, dykes, pimps, bums, freaks, gypsys and sodomites of all sizes, backgrounds and colors...
I never wear a helmet. No lights or reflectors. That's donkeyshit.
Occasionally, I stop at 7-Eleven to eat 5 to 12 hotdogs. I drink a Coca-Cola Classic, smoke 2 Marlboros and 1 Camel.
Then its off to the closest Taco Truck for a whole lotta Carne. Tapatio, yes please and thank you, Ma'am.
After that, I'm all fueled up with junkfood and hate, so it's time to hit the streets again. I find the busy spots where I think there might be lots of boozers, nips, gooksters, slopes, dinks, chinks and other rebels against skilled driving.
Some people ride bikes as some sort of protest against cars' destruction to the environment. Not me. I have nothing against cars, destruction, or the environment. My life's viewpoint embraces all things, and excludes no one.
There's a thin line between life and death. I explore that line. Dangerous Fun is what I've found. Everytime I don't die, I come back with another Jewel of the Nile. I have bags of magic that I've earned. If you get close to me, you feel it.
You'd think midnight, Cinco de Mayo, downtown, would be a shitty time and place to go bike riding, right? Well, thats when I went riding on the 101 Freeway. I even ate shit when my front wheel went into a drain, causing me to flip over my handlebars, 2 inches from a speeding semi-truck. You know what I did about it? I lit up a smoke, cracked open a cold one, picked up my broken bike and started walking. You know why? Cause I was born a boy godamnit!
I play in the mud. I climb trees. I hunt food. I brew drink. I build. I provide for my woman. She looks great.
I sense some of you are turned-off. You're thinking I'm not very sensitive. Or maybe I'm an alpha male? Let me ask you something? Would an insensative alpha male know every song the Carpenters and Tori Amos ever wrote, by heart? Maybe...
Dear Pope
The girls like to wear boy underwears now. The boys wear girly panties even. Sometimes the boys will shave their armpits and the girls will let their armpit hair grow. And then the sex happens. Sometimes I see a pretty girl and my weiner will wake up and then she turns out to be a boy and then my insides feel icky. When are the robots coming to take over? Grandpa told me how once upon a time, there was not as many people, and they lived in smaller groups, and there was not much bad stuff, and cheeseburgers and donuts were good for you. He says that neighborhoods and cars and girls were all pretty and the boys were all tuff and people dressed nice. He says that now its popular to be a stupid victim because there are too many people and things to save a stupid victim from hurting themselves enough to learn lessons. Grandpa thinks most peoples are stupid and victims. He says that everyone is in a hurry. All the kids and teachers at school say that things are better nowadays because they can all wear eachothers underwears and let black people do whatever they want. But Grandpa says that its not a good idea to let retarded people and nigger people out of their cages because they will hurt themselves and other people. When are the robots coming, Pope? Maybe now that you are in heaven, you can remind God about us all down here and you can tell him to send the robots. Thanks Pope. Amen.
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It's funny how the same right-wing JESUS loving people who are fighting to prolong the pain and agony of Terry Shiavo on the basis that God would've taken her if it was her time, are the same murder supporting fucks who support every move on the part of the President to KILL thousands of fellow human beings in Iraq.
Using their own ideology that GOD would have taken her if it was her time, wouldn't GOD then have removed Saddam from power if it was HIS time? Wouldn't GOD have killed all the terrorists AND innocent humans WE have killed?
One thing Christians do not seem to understand is that you cannot pick and choose what you THINK god would and would not do.
Any Politician voicing their opinion on this matter who also voted FOR the invasion of Iraq, and supports the killing of the innocent and the death of our own soldiers is a fucking liar. It is sad that all Terry Shaivo boils down to in her life is being used as a tool by careless, faux Christian, two-faced politicians. None of them give a FUCK about Terry, YOU, the Soldiers in Iraq, etc.
It's a sad place we live. Remember, YOU do not matter. You serve ONE purpose in America, and that is TAXES, PERIOD.
Also, if we are going to use religion as a basis for her right to live, even as a vegetable, then we must use religion in the stance that her Husband will make the decision for her in a time she cannot. Biblically, once married, her parents no longer have a say in what happens. Her husband is not a man who tried to kill her or get rid of her. This is a man who has watched her suffer, watched her rot and turn into nothing. Perhaps when she was able to speak, prior to her accident, they had a discussion, as most married people do, wherein it was discussed that if one of them were do be injured in this way, that the other would let them go. Maybe she told her husband that she would want him to move on in life, that if she were no longer able to be there, that he should be happy in life, and move on. Maybe she knew of his love of children and would not want him to never have any just because she was in a coma for eternity.
This is what I would want for and from someone I cared for enough to marry. If I were fucked up beyond repair, I would not want the person I married to sit and rot with me. I would want them to move on and be happy they way WE had discussed. Her husband is not a man who walked away day one. This has been years. I am sure in his heart he is doing what he and Terry discussed together. I believe he honestly believes she will never return. I do not believe he is the monster he is being made out to be.
But to all the religious folk using their beliefs to support the prolonging of her suffering, pay attention to hypocrisy. When you use GOD, try to stick to a side. Otherwise your beliefs mean nothing.
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Please click the photo below to watch the film.
The Jerker
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Whoops, did I cross the line?
Like I fucking care.
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Attention people of Los Angeles.
It is only rain. You do NOT need to drive like you are 90 years old.
I really don’t get it. Most of you aren’t even from here. You are all from states, like I am, where you get TONS of rain, snow, ICE, etc… So why now that you moved to California, do you no longer know how to drive on wet road. I’ve driven numerous times on completely iced roads while it was snowing and got along just fine.
So after dealing with all you assholes on the drive home from work, I was thinking of ways to improve my night. Then someone instant messaged me a link to a song and HOLY FUCK, did it do the trick.
Here is the song. It is William Shatner doing Pulps "Common People"
Then I was watching TV and got to see some of the footage of Fallujah being blown to shit. They keep calling the Iraqis, "insurgents". I'm sorry, but aren't WE the insurgents? And we keep using the word "Terrorists". Just because an Iraqi is NOT an American, but has a gun, or explosives, or a need to defend the attack on the only way of life he has ever known, does NOT mean they are "TERRORISTS".
And what exactly is a TERRORIST? I recall a bit of history where the Japanese attacked a MILITARY target in Hawaii. They had kamikaze pilots. Were they terrorists? I don't think so.
Then I recall the other part to that. You know, the part where WE, the USA decided we would drop the ultimate WMD on the Japanese. But there was a catch. We didn't attack the Japanese Military. Instead we thought the best thing to do would be to just bomb an entire city. The USA killed NOT 3000 innocent people, but 70,000 innocent people along with EVERY building in the path. NOT just TWO buildings, but ALL of them.
THEN, to finish it off, what did we do? We dropped ANOTHER fucking bomb in another city of Japan, killing another 20,000 INNOCENT people.
Look, I am not trying to defend anyone. Especially not Bin Laden, the Taliban, etc... But let's be honest here. We are really no better than any of them. We are ALL terrorists. We all have equally retarded beliefs in gods and goblins and devils. We all have a wet dream about an after-life paradise, virgins, angels, etc... And honestly, I am fucking fed up. The Iraqis can fuck off, the Taliban and Bin Laden can fuck off, al-Zarqawi can fuck off, America can fuck off, Michael Moore can fuck off, George Bush can fuck off, and yes, even YOU can fuck off.
Oh and back to the traffic issue:
If your SUV or your monster truck is so high that you can't see me in the lane next to you, and you repeatedly cut me off, I am not asking you to fuck off, I am telling you to. And if you have spinners on your dumb ass truck...
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Dear Buzz, Love isn't a toy
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When I first moved to Los Angeles, I worked in the mailroom of Disney Studios. There would always be mail coming in from psychos who believe cartoon and show characters are real. Any regular reader of my site will recall the letter from Rollen Stewart (the Rainbow Man).
Well I no longer work there, but some friends do. Every once in a while they will give me some of the crazy fan letters.
This one is a postcard written to Buzz Lightyear. This is not the wrtiting of a child, but obviously an adult.
Goddamn I love shit like this.
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An Open Letter to the Cocksuckers Who Smashed My Car Window
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I hope one day we cross paths again....
What's funny about these idiots is that after they smashed in my window, as they tried to pry out my EASILY removeable stereo, they somehow ignored the digital camera which was under my seat, but that they obviously found since it was in clear view when I got back to the car.
Fucking retards!!!
I hope as you ran off, you got hit by a car. There is no need for wastes of space like you. YOU are the problem in this world. I need a Flux Capacitor so I can go back and stop your parents from fucking and causing the mistake that is your pathetic existence.
Oh Yeah!! And you fucked up my tint, ASSHOLES!!!!!
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In Traffic next to a white Mercedes today, with a magnet door label of a Star of David. I thought this was a bit of a conflict of interests. I mean it's odd enough that nearly every Jew in Los Angeles drives a German car, but to go even further and label the car as being driven by a Jew just seems odd. I would think you'd want to avoid the things Hitler liked doing like being in a Mercedes. Or maybe they are stronger than I would be and they are simply over it and have moved on. At a red light, I asked the guy if he thought about any of this before, 1: buying the car, and 2: sticking a star of David on it. He kindly told me to fuck myself. Gee dude, sorry for my concern that perhaps you are discracing your people with your vanity. But then again, I guess this is why we have stereotypes.
Speaking of Jews, check out the kind words about WhatWouldSatanDo.com on this Israeli website.
Scroll down a bit, you'll see it.
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It rained heavily in Los Angeles for many days last week. Now the weather is fantastic… The air is clean, the trees are green again. It reminds me of being a kid in Illinois, where the sky was never brown, and we had big fluffy clouds that morphed into indescribable colors as we rotated passed the sun. There were plenty of places to just disappear and wander. Plenty of places to go and truly be alone. To be able to just find a place and lie on the grass, perhaps falling asleep. But the kind of sleep where you are still fully aware of the beauty surrounding you as you slumber. This is the problem with LA, nowhere to just disappear. You CAN find desert and beach, but always someone will come along and destroy the solitude. And the last thing I would ever do ANYWHERE in LA is fall asleep without the cover of a well secured house. Of course I HAVE fallen asleep in Malibu before at Pt. Dume, but that was while surrounded by mansions and beach visitors.
So few people really ever get to be truly alone, or maybe they are all just to frightened to be "alone".
I spend a majority of my time outside of work, in solitude. Sure I have neighbors, but to be honest, I've never seen them. I just sit on the deck and watch birds and trees, listening to the sounds that simply just exist in nature. The true sound of life, not the sound of what we call life today: cars, bass, yelling, fighting, ringing, etc…
I once had a job out here where I discovered the top floor of the building was vacant. I would go up there with my lunch, or just with nothing and take a nap. I even spent the night there once, way above the San Fernando Valley, in silence. No people, no phone, nothing.
Then one day I discovered a stairway which led to the roof. And on this roof there was a helicopter pad which never seemed to get used. I would take lunch up there, nap up there, hell I even had sex up there. It was a wonderful location since I could see everything, but nothing could see me. Nothing but birds and the occasional airplane or helicopter flying overhead. I wonder what anyone who looked out and saw me thought. I would sometimes sit up there after work to watch the sun set over the mountains that divide LA from the Valley. But that all got fucked up when the company decided to move a few miles away to a building only 2 stories high and in the middle of a busy area.
I have always had this fantasy of getting a motorhome, or a tour bus type vehicle and driving across the country and Canada with nothing but my dog. Then last night I stumbled upon comedian Louis CK's site. It seems he periodically has to drive his dog from Los Angeles to New York and back. He has lived my fantasy a few times. I have never had the time or the funds to accomplish such a task.
By the way, if any of you are looking for any of those old WWII Nazis we never found, I believe they may be in Van Nuys.
Oh and YES, the title of this entry IS a reference to the Air Supply song I am currently enjoying... You got a fucking problem with that?
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If you smoke and you are retarded, clap your hands
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Look, I don’t care if you smoke, but can you all do me one favor?
Please, I’ll say it again, PLEASE, upon pulling into a gas station, do NOT throw your burning cigarette out the window and onto the ground.
I assume you all learned that the combination of flame and gasoline leads to fire/explosions, etc…
Perhaps we should pass a law which states that if you are seen tossing a burning cigarette, or ANY object for that matter, you go immediately to jail or get shipped off to the al-Zarqawi for proper punishment.
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I used to be obsessed with pencils, I hated that pencils rarely got used to the point of being useless, so I would hoard them. Eventually I had this box full of pencils which I have finally begun using. Like today, I am using pencils from grade school.
It's extremely satisfying to sharpen a dull old pencil that has been hiding for YEARS.
Sometimes better than fucking.
What the fuck is wrong with me???
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The Black and White Cookie
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Went to Hot Topic today at the Glendale Galleria. Had to get some toner for my hair bleah. The combo package they carry is called "White Out". I found it HILARIOUS that the cashier was a black guy. I'm not to sure anyone else saw or sees the humor in this.
Also helped rescue a coyote/fox/dog that was wandering around Burbank. Still not sure exactly sure what it is...
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Ya know, the air in Los Angeles isn't dirty enough, so PLEASE, lets hire every mexican we can find to use leaf blowers to spew up every particle of dust, shit, and fucking whatever else is on the ground BACK into the air.
I don't fucking get the point of this job.
They just blow shit around, with unregulated GAS powered blowers, covering my car in dirt, filling my lungs with shit=1 part per hundred.
Anyone got an explanation?
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ATTENTION: whores.
by Ryan |
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Because I get my kicks these days venting my MySpace pet peevs...
What the fuck is up with all the girls posting these topless photos, holding tits, pouty look on the face, razor haircutted, in the mirror...
Actually, nevermind. I don't hate those pictures so much as I just think the girls are retarded.
But what I do hate, is the dudes that take shirtless photos of themselves, all for the sake of showcasing their stupid, trendy tattoos. Seriously, you guys are blowing it.
Nobody but yourself thinks your tattoos are cool anymore. First off, tattoos don't mean shit. EVERYBODY has them. They don't mean you're a badass, if that's what you're thinking. Not when 17 year old girls are fully sleeved at the mall. They're no longer a sign of some rebelious lifestyle. If anything, it's come full circle, and they're actually a sign of conformity now.
But regardless of that, you guys look just like girls. You have the same star-y tattoos. Same lowcut jeans showing off your sexy middle. You have the same chick haircut. You use the same "product" that your girl does to keep your precious pretty hair in place. You actually use fucking product! And some of you even go to beauty school and cut your girl and boyfriend's hair. METROsexual. You know there's a car called a METRO and it doesn't have balls either.
You guys make Boy George look like Merle Haggard.
I imagine a remake of the movie Grease. Except now it's 2004, and this time Frenchy is singing "Beauty School Dropout" to a teary eyed Frankie Avalon that now looks more like Annette Funicello than Annette does. Even with those beautiful breasts of hers.
And you still try and pass for straight. I've seen you in your relationships. You play the bitch role. Your girlfriend treats you like you are her pet bitch. She doesn't respect you. You cry like a baby when she sneeks off to fuck me(and I'm a prick). And she does it again next week. And you forgive her again, because you believe her when she says you are The One.
You aren't The One, for any real woman. You're common now. You look like every dude up in the club. You have no self esteem, no sense of individuality, and no self respect. Your pretty face is going to hell. You look like you got sucker fucked by the Queer Eye fags. Where is your father? And why isn't he beating the shit out of you?
As a MAN, you have a responsibility to be strong, angry, and intolerant of bullshit. Bullshit is a weed that will poison the garden and destroy all that is good for us. MAN is the gardener. But MAN is becoming weak, inept, and apathetic. Now our place in the world is in danger, and that is not good for
anyone.
I play poker with your girl now. We watch hours and hours of Married With Children, wearing "NO MA'AM" t-shirts, and make fun of you while we fuck to Danzig. I used to feel bad for you, but not anymore. It is your responsibilty to not blow it as bad as you do. You are willful victims. Food for a superior animal. It's your own fault. I'm glad these girls are taking advantage of you, and getting theirs. They derserve to fuck pretty bitches more than you do. And that's what you are to them. And that's funny. You're funny. And you're blowing it.
note: If any of you pussys want to get in touch with your inner Tyler Durden, I recommend that you pick a fight with a moving train. If you happen to survive, you might find a clue on these websites.
aidangillformen.com/
officialdavidallancoe.com/
euronet.nl/users/wilfried/ww2/mussolin.htm
dreamsmith-graphics.com/wizglass/vlad.html
moderndrunkardmagazine.com/features/art_dictators.htm
cmu.edu/magazine/03fall/aralston.html
boxing-monthly.co.uk/content/0311/two.htm
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Nazi Logic: Still Works Today
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| 07/12/2004 - 7:23pm |
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FUCK YEAH DUDE...Fuck YEAH!!!!!
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| 06/21/2004 - 10:45am |
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Do I really need to say anything?
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Driving Down The 101 **UPDATED**
By Jared |
| 05/21/2004 - 12:17am |
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Driving down the 101 West the other day I was stuck in traffic when something caught my eye. What was it you ask? Well it was a big pink DILDO. Not a hard plastic vibrator, but a big rubber cock and balls. Well it was pink that first day. The next day it was looking a bit darker. Today I finally was going slow enough to get a clear shot.
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What Would Jesus Drink?
By Jared |
| 05/16/2004 - 3:15pm |
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Well well,
Here is another amazing example of Christian, church hypocrisy and contradiction.
I am sure we all know that caffeine is a DRUG. Legal, yes, but still a drug. A stimulant.
I am going to guess that JESUS would NOT drink coffee, and especially not $4 per cup coffee.
I really find it hard to believe that a group of church officials got together WITH the Starbucks people, and not one person pointed out the problem with this idea.
And how sad is it that the church would stoop to such a low level as to taunt potential church-goers with drugs.
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Site Updates
By Jared |
| 05/26/2004 - 4:14pm |
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Ok ok ok, I have finally given in to all the regulars here and put up a new message board. Please forgive me for fucking up the last one. I have also switched the format of the gallery. Now you can browse it MUCH easier and hey, you can even leave comments for each picture. I now also have new stickers, so be sure to request a couple from me...
The fact that you are all cheap fucks can't even stand in the way, as they are FREE!!!
Please go read this article. While reading, please keep in mind, that the "two young men" are myself, and a friend. Trust me, I am well aware this is EXTREMELY nerdy. This was back in 96, so fuck off!!!
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I Have No Legs
By Jared |
| 04/04/2004 - 6:28pm |
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I was in Las Vegas this weekend. While walking between Harrah's and Imperial Palace, I see this guy who hangs out in his wheel chair with a money jar. This guy has been there for at least 5 years. The thing about him is that he has no arms and no legs.
I swear, I heard at least 3 times, conversations as people walked by, discussing the fact that this guy has been out there for so many years. In each conversation I overheard
1st guy "oh man, poor guy"
2nd guy "oh, you know he must make a killing out here I wouldn't feel so bad for him"
Um HOLY FUCK, are you kidding me!!!!!! Who cares how much money the guy makes, HE HAS NO FUCKING LIMBS!!!!!
He's not missing ONE leg, or ONE arm, HE has NONE!!!
What fucking choice does this guy have but to hang out there and beg for money?
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Morons On Parade
By Jared |
| 04/24/2004 - 7:08pm |
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Today in Burbank there was a parade. I fucking hate ALL parades, but this one was exceptionally retarded.
See for yourself.
'nuff said...
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I Remember When...
By Jared |
| 03/15/2004 - 11:07pm |
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Don't pretend that the cycle just won't repeat itself
This would be Donald Rumsfeld and Saddam Hussein as they make a happy agreement to help each other exterminate those pesky Iranians.
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FUCK CLEAR CHANNEL!!!
By Jared |
| 03/14/2004 - 10:32am |
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Fuck CLEAR CHANNEL and their Christian, Fascist agenda.
I feel sorry for these pathetic Christian, cry-babies who do nothing but go around preaching all their bullshit, but cannot handle anyone else doing so.
Fuck Clear Channel!!! Fuck BUSH!!! Fuck the FCC!!!
On my way home this morning, I discovered this billboard along the exit ramp to my house
So let me get this straight. Clear Channel wants to censor what you, as an AMERICAN are allowed to hear on the radio?
I listen to Howard Stern everyday. As do MILLIONS of others. It makes my mood better, puts a smile on my face, makes tr | |
