porkjerky plog
Douchebag Insurance
One of my absolute fears in life is not burning enough bridges.
Being polite, holding back and not telling people to suck my dick. Figuratively that is, when I tell people to suck my dick it’s a lot more eloquent, personalized, insightful and mean than those 3 words. I cringe everytime I miss an opportunity to.
Fuck caution, I say you should always err on the side of wishing gang rape upon someone and their children and praying for them to all contract AIDS because of it. Discretion doesn’t mean always refraining from calling stupid pieces of shit ‘stupid pieces of shit. Discretion means knowing when too.
I swear to fuck I would absolutely hate to turn 50, say to myself ‘You know, I really think I could make a difference if I ran for some sort of elected office’. No matter how true it was. Just shoot me in the face now if you can see the future and know that’s mine. And be sure to call an ambulance because people like that shouldn’t die, but live in constant pain as a reminder and punishment of who they are.
While I trust myself not to run for office now, I want to be 100% sure it doesn’t happen in the future. Kinda of like how people always find Jesus on their deathbed or in prison. So, to prevent myself from ever becoming that guy, I need to burn a few bridges, take some pictures of roadside memorials, photograph a year’s worth of my shit, unregister people to vote and send letters off to pretentious, piece of shit schools.
Take that future me. May I and my children be gang raped and get AIDS because of it.
Extra Sensory Poo
I don’t believe in the occult: Ghosts, destiny, the holocaust, Ouija boards, human equality, telekinesis, dyslexia, horoscopes, democracy, poltergeists, chiropractors or any of that other mystical bullshit. But, I think my crap is trying to tell me something.
I pooped an arrow.
Not to get all high and mighty, Ace of Base on you; but that’s a sign. I don’t know what of, but its a sign.
Now, while I don’t believe in that shit, I figure its better to be safe than sorry with this shit. So, I am seeking professional advice about it from world renowned experts who placed ads on google.
Hi, my name is Jason and I was interested in your services. Specifically, I believe the technical term for what I need done is tassology-fortune telling by interpreting patterns.
I know this is traditionally done with tea and some cases wine or coffee sediment, but my situation is somewhat unique. What I need done is similar to those methods in that it deals with seemingly random residue and my subtle, karmic influence over it. But its not traditional residue.
I believe my feces contains a message. Specifically the bowel movement I had on 8/12/2009. I have shown it to all my friends, family and coworkers, all of whom have confirmed my initial interpretation of it being an arrow.
From there, there is great disagreement as to what it specifically means, so I decided to seek the advice of an expert, you. I have attached an image of it to this email and would be more than happy to provide you with any information (height/weight/birthdate/social security number/mother’s maiden name etc.) that you need to do this reading. I also have a higher resolution image of it that would allow you to see the feces in finer detail as well as images of all the bowel movements I have had since.
With the economy as it is, many of my family members getting on in age and a new school year getting ready to start, I just want to make sure I don’t miss anything that the universe is trying to tell me.
Thank you,
Jason Curless
A Turd By Any Other Name
‘African-American’ is the new ‘colored’.
We (which as usual means white people) all have that 80 year old person in our lives (I’m not naming any great aunts by name, but you know who you are) who, to be polite and respectful when referencing black people uses the term they were taught was the least offensive: ‘colored’. And it makes the rest of us (again, white people) cringe.
Its not that they hate blacks, just the opposite. They are trying to be respectful and in their day of fire hoses, German Shepards, and Aryan Major League Baseball; ‘colored’ was the least derogatory term.
Hell, the main association promoting black people, founded 100 years ago, even uses that term for themselves. Obviously at one point they explicitly chose ‘colored’ as the word to best describe them collectively. You can’t fault anyone who took a cue from them and adopted their term as their own.
However, time and the collective vocabulary marched on, and some people just didn’t keep up. Using the word ‘colored’ doesn’t make someone a Klan member-just kind of, but really not at all-all at the same time. A person who uses ‘colored’, most likely through circumstances somewhat in their control, have had no or very little interaction with black people and thus had no way of staying abreast of the current nomenclature for them. Kind of racist, but really not at all-all at the same time. They aren’t calling for the world to be divided by race, but it wouldn’t affect their lives nor would they care any if it was.
So, whenever you hear an old white person use the term ‘colored’, it just says something about their life and how white bred it is. ‘African American’ does the same thing. It’s the ‘colored’ of a new generation.
I cringe just the same, even worse, when I hear white people under 50 use it as I do people over 50 using ‘colored’. When used, you just know that person knows no black people, doesn’t want to and is really afraid of them. So, to not anger them and trigger the race war they know is coming, they try to use the most respectful word they know of, ‘African American’.
It’s very similar to the way most people talk to really old people, other peoples’ kids and retards. So overly respectful it’s condescending. They talk to them like they aren’t the person they are, but this placeholder of a person. They talk almost at them, except they are trying so hard to not seem like they are talking at them, its uncomfortable. Pay attention the next time someone who is uncomfortable around retards, kids or the elderly has to talk to one and you will see what I mean. So overly respectful it’s condescending.
MBA Here I Come
My motivation in life to do something is a function of how retarded people will think I am for doing it, how easy it is and the satisfaction I would get from the range of outcomes it produces. The more stupid an idea, the less I have to work to achieve it and the more aweseome it could end, the more likely I am going to do it.
Mathematically speaking, the likelihood of me following through on an idea (and how you should start living your own life as well) is best represented like this:
Likelihood=(Retardedness + Results)/Work
Take college for instance. While it wasn’t that retarded, I got a degree out of it and I didn’t have to work that hard. So I did it. Last year I got an awesome idea to drag a microwave out to a field and nuke a bunch of crap (bottles of wine, soap, light bulbs, can of hairspray): a decent amount of work, super retarded idea and being able to watch crap blow up, melt down and light up was well worth it. Chronicling roadside crosses is 5 levels beyond the highest retardation level humans can perceive, a fuckton of work and christmaslike results. It was close, but I had to jump on that. Same with this poop blog.
Friday’s shit post gave me the idea to get an MBA. And not by the stupid way of paying for it, attending classes and reciting rhetoric back at my professors, but by requesting an honorary one from various illustrous and unillustrous educational organizations. I plugged in the retarded value (very high), the work component (fairly low) and the range of possible outcomes (sweet to extremely awesome), crunched the numbers and decided to go for it.
I drew up a letter, merged in a bunch of school data, printed them, hand addressed envelopes, included my shit chart from Friday and dropped them in the U.S. mail today. Here’s the schools that have been given the glorious opportunity of bestowing on me an honorary MBA:
And Heres the letter:
Dear –SCHOOLNAME–,
My name is Jason Curless and I would like to extend an invitation to your prestigious institution the opportunity to bestow upon me an honorary MBA. Such a designation would be mutually beneficial, nay universally beneficial. Obviously, I would benefit by receiving such an august acknowledgement from your renowned school; –SCHOOLNAME– would get the recognition that goes with having such a magnificent alumnus and the world in general would be a better place for the synergy our combined efficacies would yield.
Make no mistake; I am not looking for anything I do not deserve. An honorary MBA from your illustrious institution would merely be formal recognition of the skills, knowledge, intelligence and disciplined determination I already have. It would simply be the most expedient and efficient path to another of my many, inevitable achievements. An honorary MBA from –SCHOOLNAME– would prevent the squandering of our valuable resources (our time and energies) on an achievement that is for me, quite figuratively, ‘academic’.
To wit, I graduated Summa Cum Laude from Park University (nee Park College) while obtaining undergraduate degrees in both Mathematics and Communications as well as completing their Honors Program. I run a society improving website (porkjerky.com) that among other altruistic endeavors has successfully helped hundreds of people unregister to vote, brought attention to highway littering, provided concrete financial plans to help people out from under their debt and is a central resource people can use to do their part to help end hunger ending programs. Lastly, despite suffering from myopia since early childhood, I qualified for, ran in and finished the 2009 Boston Marathon.
To attest to my business administration acumen, I am attaching a recent project I completed and had published. Essentially it is a chart that tracks trends over time. This project demonstrates my ability to overuse Excel, my ability to reduce data to pretty graphical representations and my ability to aggrandize my importance through ostentatiously pretentious vocabulary while conveying vacuous ideas. The latter can be surmised from this self-referencing, self-fulfilling sentence which utilizes words like ‘utilizes’ and ‘behoove’ to behoove my demonstration of my ability to convey vacuous ideas with ostentatiously pretentious vocabulary. If neither that sentence nor the chart suffices, I would be more than happy to integrate both into an impressively exhilarating implementation of a spectacular multimedia showcase (a Power Point presentation).
As you can see, I am an excellent candidate for an honorary MBA from your resplendent institution and someone with whom –SCHOOLNAME– would benefit being associated. Further, I would be happy for any quid pro quo arrangement. Whether that be displaying my eloquence in a commencement speech, providing my likeness and endorsement in marketing materials or any manner that benefits –SCHOOLNAME–.
Please let me know how, when and where I may receive my honorary MBA.
Thank you,
Jason Curless, P. Db. W.L.A.M.N.
Mobius Shit
I think I crapped an M.C. Escher. What a paradoxical poop. There’s no end and no beginning. How did that shit come out my butt and end up like that? There’s no rational explanation.
Its like 2 hands drawing another. Except with poop instead of hands. Or the physically impossible waterfall. Except with turds instead of a waterfall. Or the stairs that circle back on themselves. Except with crap instead of stairs. Or a dragon eating its tail. Except with shit instead of ….you probably get the idea.
If I wasn’t on the toilet when it happened, I wouldn’t think it would be physically possible to shit that way. Each turd overlapping the one before it, no way to tell which was first nor last.
This poop defies logic. It knows no bounds. We can’t control it, we can only hope to contain it. I crapped infinity.
Expect to see this picture on College dorm room posters, nerds’ t-shirts, science fair flyers, math books and the Louvre real soon.
Blogging Out And Of My Ass
As soon as I save up 3 months salary from sucking trucker dick behind the Waffle House, I am going to buy a ring and ask Google Blog Search to marry me.
That’s legal in Iowa right?
It’s paradoxical: Blogs are this sea of turds, just a shitty pool of totally worthless human waste yet using Google Blog Search to wade threw that enormous pile of shit is so much fun. And rewarding.
Today I decided to google specific shit-related phrases and see how the frequency of their use in the past year compares with their use in similar timeframes of past years. For example, since August 6, 2008 until now, how many times was the phrase ‘my ass’ used in blogs? How about from August 6, 2007 until August 6, 2008? How about the phrase ‘my poop’?
Below is a chart that displays my results. If anything is to be learned from my research and chart its that I would make a great douchebag. Look at all those fucking $45 words.
Man my dick is huge.
In all vanity, I would make a great pompous, self-righteous piece of shit. I think I am going to submit this to a bunch of schools to see if they will give me an honorary MBA. Honestly my work above merits it.
Actually, now that I think about that…..
Stay tuned.
Pop Shit
Cash me in, color me up, give me my 15 minutes so I can sell them for smokes.
Compared to the fucks I found yesterday, I have been doing an absolutely horrible, quarter-assed job of selling this plog out. I feel like a hooker with a heart of gold on her period—I know there’s so much more I could do to make a buck, but it just doesn’t feel right. I really think I need a pimp to slap me around, make me slip into something that rides up my ass, pushes my tits into my throat and then throw me out on a corner to strut my stuff to get paid.
So in that vein, and in honor of the king of unabashed pop sell-out who’s birthday is today, I am putting some lipstick on this pig of a blog, dressing up my shit in some color, ripping him off, calling it art and trying again. I’ve decided to take a page out of Andy Warhol’s book in the hopes idiots will fall for it and give me some money.
He truly was a genius. He colorized, blew up, copied and then sold figurative shit that people see everyday as art. I’m just trying to do that with literal shit. If I could follow in just .1% of his footsteps I would be happy. Of course I could live with out being shot by a crazy feminist cunt. But destiny is destiny.
Altruism For Sale, Dirt Cheap
The one thing that never fails to bring a smile to my face when it comes to blogs is how quickly they get sold out. No matter how altruistic the topic or noble the intentions are when they get started, everyone tries to make a dollar from the shit they puke onto the internet.
Somewhere, somehow; someone started this baseless idea that everyone with even a shitty 2 page site makes tons of money from it. That idea took hold and grew. Kind of like all humans are created equal, baseball is entertaining, women have orgasms and no matter how shit-ignorant you are your vote matters. People wanted all those to be true so they just accepted them as fact.
It goes without saying that if you have a site, no matter how uncommercially exploitable it seems, you need to try and make some cash off it or you’re an idiot. So I came up with a game to have some fun with that premise:
Within 10 minutes see how many blogs you can find dealing with subjects that would be morally reprehensible to try and make a buck off of them, trying to make a buck off of them through belonging to an ad network.
Here’s how I did:
Down Syndrome-The Real Story Blog
Not bad, people selling out the bible, whoring out child abuse and leeching off racism to try and sell advertising to make a buck. Brings a smile to my face. Everytime.
Of course, I really wanted a pro-life blog with aborted feti pictures and/or a communist blog with ads on it, but I ran out of time.
Pork Barrel Blogs
Here’s a scary question I’m afraid to know the answer to:
How many blog do my tax dollars fund?
I’m cool with all the 3rd World abortions, nuclear bombs, bridges to nowhere, bank bailouts, public schools and murder of foreign brown people my taxes underwrite, but blogging? May Thomas Jefferson’s undead corpse have mercy on your souls.
For god knows what reason I was on http://www.usa.gov and noticed they had a blog. And that blog had 7 federal employee bloggers. Not elected officials who have to pander and market themselves to the populace, federal “you-can’t-fire-me-no-matter-how-many-times-I-smear-shit-on-my-cubicle-walls” employees.
It gets worse. On that site was a page that linked to over 50 other federal government blogs. I ‘m too nauseous to do the math and every time I tried to do a search for blogs on the state level a little bile gets thrown up into my throat preventing me from completing my query.
And then there are city governments that I am sure have blogs. And school districts. And then county governments. Not to mention all the leech organizations that exist solely because of government grants. Then if you threw in all the individual pieces of shit politicians in this country who are drawing a salary and have a blog…
I’m going to go lay down.
Pompous Fucks
Its about time. All my life I have been waiting for this and finally it has been delivered to me. I can now die in peace.
35 and a half years I have been on this earth and not until now could I watch some fat dude in Spokane plow his ugly wife. Amen.
Humanity has reached its pinnacle. We won. We figured out the purpose of life. Our time here is over, we did what god sent us to accomplish. Everyone fill your cups up with some Kool-Aid and/or cut your genitals off, our ability to effortlessly make and distribute amateur pornography is our ticket on the next comet home to him. We did it, we reached enlightment.
I forget if I was looking for actual porn or if I was searching for something unporn related. But half of all the results I kept getting included amateur porn blogs. Which in turn quickly led me to amateur videos the quality of which would have made a blind man flaccid.
Amateur porn, how pompous is that?
Hey honey, Thursday morning shave your pussy real good because next Saturday night night I am fucking you 13 ways to Albuquerque. And filming it. No, no. There’s no need to Oxyclean your ass. I love you for you; stubbly snatch, stretch marks, pimpled ass and all.
Ok, everyone wants to be a porn star. I get that. Making a tape of you drilling someone is a turn on in theory. In theory. Or maybe its like professional sports where you made the tapes so that you could review it later to see where you need to improve. Whichever the case, you recorded a fuck session.
That’s still a step or two away from making it available for me and the world to watch.
Jesus Christ, That’s some fine fucking honey. We were in the zone. God damn, you took that cock like a champ. And I wasn’t doing to bad either. You know kids today could learn a thing or two from us. That’s gold medal worthy fucking we are doing there. It just goes to show you that you don’t have to be “in-shape”, “well-endowed”, “hygienic”, “disease-free” or any of the other buzzwords floating around today to be a great fuck. You know, I almost feel selfish keeping this video to ourselves. That settles it, I’m posting it to the net. We owe it to the world to get this out. Let’s let others learn from us. It’s the least we can do. For the children.
