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Current Mood: Shitty (sweet Jesus H. Fuck I am witty)

I Ate That?

Whoa, holy shit when did I eat that? Look at that. Jesus Christ, how’d that get in there. I don’t remember that at all. That just doesn’t make sense.

Wait a minute. Oh wait. Maybe…Ok Ok, now it makes sense.

Yeah, that’s right. I had a midnight snack that consisted of turds. That’s why that’s in my stool. Never mind, false alarm.

Dog Shit Capitalism

Here’s a story behind the story.

Ok, everyone knows about the delicious irony of me having a blog so I can crap about how shitty blogs are. While I was trying to sell ads on this shithole plog of mine I googled/yahooed a bunch of keywords that related to it. I hoped to get ads that would lead me to companies that were spending money on advertising on poop-related terms. Words like, diuretic, diarrhea, enema, colon and other shit/ass related terms.

When the results were returned the right hand column had a list of advertisers—which is what I was after. These fucks, actually set up ad buying accounts, logged in and paid to have their ads displayed to every idiot who did a poop related searched. Obviously, anyone willing to pay a dime to have his or her site show up when a dumbass searched for shitty terms was probably stupid enough to buy advertising on my site.

God bless capitalism. My quest started out with a seemingly stupid idea, but was quite enlightening. It actually turned into a game: What retarded, disgusting term can I type into a search engine and get results that people paid to put there?

Try it:

I understand that people want to market their products. Competition and innovation are suppose to be great. But at some point, you’re a fucking idiot for being in business. Try this one:

I got 80 sponsored results. 80 different organizations are paying to have their ads returned in Google whenever someone searches for ‘Dog Toilet’. 1 Dog Toilet company would make me chuckle. 2 would too. 3-10 would start me thinking that I am a horrible pet owner for making my dog piss and shit outside. 11-20 makes me think that the dog toilet market just might be saturated.

But 80? 80 fucking companies that have a dog toilet related product just makes the whole fucking system stupid.

The world needs 80 different companies not only selling items related to ‘Dog Toilet’, but paying Google to have their sites come up when people type that in? At what point does the dog toilet industry get to big to fail and we all have to chip in 2.8 billion dollars to keep it afloat?

Romantic Verse Gone Wrong

Pooping To The Choir

How fucking stupid does it take to be illiterate? It’s like never learning how to shit.

Blind people can read for fuck’s sake.

Illiteracy is a lot like getting hit by a train—you actually have to go out of your way to do so. Oh everyone pretends it’s a tragedy and is sympathetic to illiterates/train wreck victims, but honestly you only have your own dumb ass to blame.

The government even does all it can for both those types of people. They build railroad crossings with warning lights and barricade arms. They build schools with libraries and teachers. At some point it’s the illiterates and the smashees faults for being illiterate and smashed.

Now, you’re probably going—but what about people with learning disabilities like dyslexia? Those people who are unable to easily read.

Well, I’m glad you brought that up because:

Sdyexliaa is a fncya meda-up wdro taht soochl cnuoselros ues so taht tehy d’not hvae to llet teh paertsn of spuitd, illertiate kdis that tierh kids aer stpudi illitreaets.

Give it a shot. You’ll get it.

And when you do, it proves itself. Any spuitd, illertiate fcuk can see that. Well, actually they can’t, but hopefully you’ll get the point.

And God Said, Let There Be Hair On Assholes

Ok, by now you’ve figured out how I know I have a hairy asshole and how I know how it stacks up to others’. Now on to the real philosophical question raised by hairy assholes.

Why?

If you’re a creationist, then life’s simple (real fucking simple). God put hair on our assholes—that’s all you need to know. Do not question. Do not try to understand. He obviously has a higher purpose for the follicles on our shit shafts, one that we need not understand. Maybe the time he spent coiffing our poop chutes could have been better used giving us an immune system resistant to A.I.D.S. and Cancer and Tuberculosis and any of the thousands of disease, disorders and syndromes we get. Or here’s a novel idea, not even create A.I.D.S. and Cancer and Tuberculosis or any of the thousands of diseases we get in the first place fuckhead. But no, creationism, compassionate god; good idea. The math definitely checks out on that one.

Again, hairy assholes like T.B., A.I.D.S., Eskimos and Cancer, is his will. Do not question, just accept. Case closed for creationists.

An evolutionary view of the world, however, makes the whole hairy asshole issue even hairier, so to speak. Not only do you have to answer why did nature allow us to evolve with hair on our shitters, you have to ask if the hair is coming or going? Are butt sphincters getting more or less hairy as time goes on? Or maybe, nature has allowed us to develop the perfect amount of hair there and human assholes have remained unchanged for the last million years because our silky sphincters reached the pinnacle of performance.

Unfortunately my great grandfather passed away before my asshole blossomed so bountifully and the question was raised in my mind. So, all I have is 3 generations of asshole hairiness to use. After much deliberation, analysis, complex mathematical equations and peering at mine, my pappy’s and my pappy’s pappy’s poopers, there is just not enough data to support any hypothesis conclusively.

So, in the end, the third panel of my poster board science experiment, the one where my conclusion should go, is blank. I have no clue.

My hairy asshole will continue to boggle my mind (insert your unwitty joke here).

Cornholerows

Now, I’m not the type of guy to who likes to overly brag. I don’t casually work into every conversation how great I am (awesomely great), how huge my cock is (disgustingly, almost unusably huge) or how much of a great gift I am to the world (move over Christ, there’s a new JC in town). So, I don’t want to come off as too conceited when I mention this, but I have a pretty hairy asshole.

I know, I know. See that’s why I prefaced it the way I did. Every guy always brags about how hairy his asshole is—trying to show his virility, demonstrating his machismo and trying to impress his grandparents. And I don’t want to be that guy. But, the fact of the matter is, my asshole is quite hairy.

Very hairy.

Amazingly hairy.

Supremely hairy.

Romantically hairy.

Divinely hairy.

Hairy like a fox.

Omnipotently hairy.

I’m just saying. And I will back it up too. I will put my money where my mouth and asshole hair is. I am taking on all comers. Bring your asshole over to my place, we will compare hairiness and my sphincter will put yours to shame. Again, not conceited, just stating facts.

Of course I do realize the hairiness of my asshole and my pride in it raises some important questions. Namely, which I will leave unanswered as a creative exercise to you, is: How do I know my asshole is so hairy?

Further, how am I able to accurately make a comparative statement about the hairiness of my asshole to the average asshole?

Congratulations, Its A Baby Turd

Now, I don’t want to get all Dead Poets Society on you, but isn’t a change of perspective awesome? Take just a second, stand back a little and look at the picture as a whole. Try not to see the shit or the toilet paper or pissy water or the porcelain. Just see the shapes.

Like most creative exercises, there is no right or wrong answer. However, the correct answer is it’s the world’s worst fucking egg. If you missed it you’re an idiot.

Pretty god damn awesome. It’s a cross section of the baby turd I just laid. The toilet rim is the outer oval shell. The inset bowl portion is the egg-white. The water is the yolk and the big steaming turd, well, that’s just a turd, Freud.

Now who wants to crack it against the bathtub, scramble it with a toilet brush and make me a Memphis Omelet?

Screwed By The Blood Of Jesus Christ

I am a dick in general. Oh, I talk a good game, write about dumbfucks and idiotards and stupid asses and retards and on and on and on. I even created an epithet generator to help others find the appropriate term to use on people they dislike. I make gratuitous, physically impossible, idle threats to people and groups of people in general. Occasionally, when warranted, I will email a specific person or organization and tell them why they suck.

But specifically, I’m really not such a douche. I’m like your racist great aunt. Oh she talks about how coloreds are ruining the world. How she keeps a nigger-knocker underneath her bed for protection. Retells stories from the news about black criminals in the area. And goes on and on about how a new batch of them moved in two blocks over and the neighborhood is going to shit.

But she’s just a racist in general. She never points to a specific black person she knows and tells you she hates them or even demonstrates it. In fact, all the specific black people she has ever met, she likes. She’ll tell you about the nice black man who helped carry her grocery bags to her car. How the black family down the street just had a new daughter and she’s cute as a button. Or how she gave a ride home to a black lady she just meet at church. She can never cites a specific black person she knows and dislikes. She just doesn’t like them in general.

That’s me. In general I am a prick. I have no trouble grouping people together and hating them ensemble. However, in specific, I give people the benefit of the doubt and actually do decent things. In real life the only people I am a prick to are pricks themselves, and then only when they warrant it.

Case in point; today I was walking my dog around 8 p.m. and see a car with its dome light on. I’ve been made a fool by these cars before so I walked past it, wait to see if it automatically dims after a couple seconds. It didn’t. So I being the specific nice guy I am, I go to the house it’s parked outside to let the owners know so the battery doesn’t drain overnight.

Or so I attempted. I get there, extend my index finger to ring the bell and notice it’s gone. The button holder’s there, but with a hole in the middle—the button itself was removed. It wasn’t a hovel with everything about the house in disarray. No, it seemed the doorbell had been purposely removed. Weird. I raise my arm, start to knock, but stop myself 2 inches from hitting the door. There was sign.

It was a whole sheet of paper with black ink. It said:

I wanted to think they were kidding, especially because of the blood of Christ non-sequitor, but I couldn’t give them the benefit of the doubt. The car had a jesus fish on it, they had a McCain/Palin sign still suck in their yard and had a couple cement religious figures in their yard as well. It added up to them being crazy.

How does that happen? I’m not talking about becoming a jesus nazi. I am talking about how people get the idea that when you live in a neighborhood publishing stuff like that to your front door is socially acceptable? Yeah, this from a dumbass posting pictures of his shit daily. How fucked up do you have to be to get criticized by that guy about the content you display to the world?

I live a couple blocks over and get the same amount of door-to-door salesmen—which is about 1 a month. No skin of my balls to be polite and say “No thank you” to a stranger who knocks on my door once every 30 days. Again, just a dick in general, I’m polite until you prove you need to be treated otherwise, and coming to my door asking me to buy whatever flavor of jesus your selling or some crappy product or service isn’t a punishable offense in my book. I simply say, “No thank you”.

That’s why I didn’t tell those uncivil fucks about their dome light. While I certainly hope some one eggs and tee pees them back to the stone ages and makes a habit of lighting bags of shit on their doorbellless stoop, I didn’t do it myself. I didn’t even give them a piece of my mind. All I did was quit being the nice guy and simply left cursing to myself about what dickbags lived there and how I hoped that the next morning they would be able to harness the blood of Jesus Christ to start their fucking car.

Shit I Found Beside The Road

Glory days are here again. The tow trucks have pulled away, the flares have burned out, I took another huge shit, funerals have been had, people have littered up our nations highways a little more and just put up some new roadside memorial pictures because of it all.

I like to think of this shitty plog as a sort of sorbet—a palette cleanser of images of shit. A nice little break from the meat and potatoes of the site—my R.I.P. section. That’s where the good stuff is.

I’m up to like 118 crosses and a lot of them have great stories. The kind of stories that are so true, it pisses people off. So, read through them, check out my sources (yeah motherfucker, for every cross I take a picture looking like a shit eating idiot next to I actually bust my ass researching), then come back here, and refresh your taste buds by nibbling on some nuggets here.

Bon appetite.

The Second Derivative Of Shitty Blogging

Fuck whore piss cunt turd ass booger shit.

What a fucking wasteland. The web was supposed to give rise to all our great potential as individuals. It was to give everyone a voice, to connect great minds and to let us collaborate upon our great ideas.

Turns out though, that its a shouting game where everyone tries to drown out everyone else, and when you finally do focus in on one voice you find out the motherfucker is speaking gibberish, just spouting nonsense about nothing.

Al Gore is surely rolling over in his grave. And Tipper’s going to code.

Over 2 months I have been writing in this shitty thing. Simultaneously trying to mock and demonstrate how shitty blogs are. I started because I found it holocaust-level horrible that people were regularly writing shitty things just to be writing shitty things regularly. They didn’t really have anything to say, any great ideas, they just wanted to say something.

That’s why I chose my shit. I figured everyday I would have a new post. And it was pretty god damn close to what people were junking up the net with everyday. How wrongly right I was.

Try as I might to explicitly and implicitly mock and demonstrate how shitty blogs are, the world’s not getting the message. In the lifespan of this plog, from January 1st of this year until now, there have been almost 88,000 blog postings indexed by Google in which the word poop, excrement or feces appeared.

That’s over 1350 postings a day.

56 an hour.

Every one minute and four seconds in 2009 a new blog posting has hit the internet that mentions poop, excrement or feces.

Now, I know I am part of the problem, in fact I actively choose to be and relish in the fact that I am. I’m just saying at least I’m in on the joke. Everyone else is oblivious, they genuinely are writing shitty posts (no pun, just sadness intended).

88,000 posts in 2009 referencing poop. This is how humanity is spending its time and abilities. Again, I am not one of these people saying that those efforts could be better spent solving a societal ill. Fuck that. I’m not even disillusioned into thinking I will ever change the world. I just genuinely enjoy reveling in the fact that so much of our resources are put into writing about shit.

I have won and lost at the same time.