porkjerky plog
The Nomenclature Of Lovemaking
Kids today. They just throw out terms to be cool. Misusing them however they feel. For ‘shock value’ if you will. They have no regard for the historical context and underlying tomes of how and why certain phrases were introduced into the lexicon.
Certain phrases were first coined so that specific feelings, ideas and actions could be verbally communicated. However, every generation evolves the language. While that generally means expanding it, it also means the language effectively contracts by making synonyms out of words that once were distinct.
For example, in my day when you were making love to your soul mate, the person you pledged your undying love to, the one you were going to spend eternity with, when you and they were making sweet beautiful love and you punched that cunt in the back of the head while your dick was reaming their ass, we had a term for that specific act. That particular act of lovemaking was called a ‘donkey punch’.
Now though, that simple amorous phrase has been bastardized. It was a victim of its popularity. It was so great a term with such infrequent valid use, people are now shoehorning it into sentences and ideas it doesn’t belong just so they can use it. Its now synonymous with ‘bitch slap’ which itself was bastardized from its original meaning of a disciplinary action a pimp took upon one of his employees. Now both ‘donkey punch’ and ‘bitch slap’ are used to mean any admonishment by anyone upon another.
Or worse, it’s a political statement. About an eighth of the blog posts with the term ‘donkey punch’ in them in last 2 years also have the word ‘Obama’. Yet another reason why everyone should unregister to vote.
In the last 2 years, in blogs, the term ‘donkey punch” has been used a total of 16,482 times, which, is probably a factor of 1,000 off the actual number of times a biblical donkey punch has been executed during lovemaking over the same time period. Of course on a positive note, it turns out its also been used 10 times more often on blogs than the term ‘sexual abstinence’, so I guess the teeny boppers aren’t all that retarded.
The Turkey Baster Tribulations
Oh my god I was so blind. They aren’t completely vapid. Blogs aren’t as worthless as tits on a retard. They are as fun as tits on a retard.
It’s all about perspective. I couldn’t see the pussy for the vulva. Today though, I was able to take a step back and finally realize the best thing about them: Blogs allow people to share their stories of pain and misery with the world.
And god damn if I don’t enjoy other people’s pain and misery.
Near violent domestic disputes that happen in public are my movies. I still watch and laugh hysterically at the VHS tapes I made of my favorite Rescue 911 episodes. I adore children…who are being beaten in the toy aisle of Wal-Mart because they acted like little shits. I collect car wrecks for christ’s sake. When Maury does DNA testing, it’s like Christmas on my T.V. because I know someone, it doesn’t matter who, is going to be devastated when those results get read.
Unapologetically, other peoples’ pain and misery is my entertainment. And blogs, inherently shitty as they are, are the gifts that keep on giving that.
In that spirit, The Bring Us A Baby Blog is an excellent blog and the current winner of a Whenever Porkjerky.com Shitty Blog Award. It’s about a couple who told god to go fuck himself, because they know better than him, and are trying to conceive via in vitro fertilization. Of course, three years after they started, god’s still winning.
In terms of pure delight in other people’s misery, this site does not disappoint:
- She miscarried 2 weeks into her well publicized pregnancy.
- Its her fault, not his.
- Well, actually his sperm shoot their load kind of fast.
- It’s peppered with inspirational quotes. You can sense the depression and pain. Glorious.
- Sold out a posting to shill for a certain baby bag. Its not like they can give a testimonial or endorsement though.
- Wrote a letter to their 10 fertilized eggs waiting to be implanted in her that they loved them.
- One week later wrote a letter to their 5 day old embryo professing their love for it. FYI: the embryo never made it out of that barren wasteland she tries to pass off as a womb to read the letter. Actually, I guess it did make it out, just in the toilet as a blotch of bloody cells not a baby.
- Had a friend who uses abortion as a back up birth control plan. It broke her heart and cracked me up.
- Critiques the portrayal of in vitro fertilization in sit-coms.
Conscious getting the best of you and you’re starting to think this is over the line? Well here’s a little pallet cleanser to make mocking this bitch a little more appealing: In this post she espouses her love for Sarah Palin, believes Barack Obama is unpatriotic because he won’t wear a flag pin, she reveals that she works for an ambulance chaser, and she RANDOMLY capitalizes words FOR some reason.
Maybe god’s just as entertained by the misery of idiots as I am. If he is behind her infertility, he’s not working in a mysterious way this time; god’s working in a very pragmatic way. This lady shouldn’t reproduce.
Let’s all thank the good lord above that she’s chronicling her futile attempts at it though.
Not Retarded Enough
Can retards recognize one another? And do they size one another up to see whose retardeder?
Now, I’ve unfortunately meet a few retards. And I am talking grade A, USDA certified, literal retard not the everyday cut me off in traffic, blue tooth ear piece wearing, clove cigarette smoking figurative retards that permeate life. I mean medical grade, special Olympics eligible retards.
Can those retards recognize other retards? And do they go ‘Thank god, I’m not that retarded—that would suck’.
I’m sure it has to do with the amount of retarded they are. Super retarded, still shit my pants, throw temper trantrums when it rains retarded retards probably are incapable of that. I’ve meet some retards that were so retarded they were blissfully unaware they were. That’s enviable retarded. I could live my whole life that retarded. To be so retarded that in your entire existence you never realize nor care that you are retarded, much less recognize other retards would be the perfect level of retard.
I would think it would go without saying that a retard so retarded he can see he’s retarded wouldn’t be able to discern retardation in other retards.
The retards I feel sorry for are the ones who aren’t so retarded they are blissfully unaware of it. They know what retarded is and realize that’s them. Oh boy, that would suck hard. It’s not like blowing out your ACL or getting a hip replaced—there’s no amount of physical therapy you can undergo to make you less of a retard. Try all the algebra, Twain, chemistry and essays assignments you want, you’re not gritting your teeth and working through being retarded. And to know that would be horrible.
I remember when I was 12 and my brother called the local retard a retard. Corky went bat shit, super retard crazy. He was the bad kind of retarded—smart enough to know he was retarded and that retarded was bad, but still retarded. Like a fat chick who asked for and got the truth about if someone thought she was fat, he was livid.
Of course that doesn’t stop fat chicks from looking at, mocking and comparing themselves to fatter chicks. Are retards the same way? Are the lesser tards able to distinguish the more retarded among them and feel better about themselves?
I sure hope so. The key to a life is finding people worse of than yourself.
The Blogs To End All Blogs
Suppose you are starting to see my point of view and are coming around to the idea that blogs are only for neurotic shut-in retards with a misplaced sense of self-worth. But you’re still not 100% convinced and would like some more information on the subject.
Well guess what—there’s a blog posting that’s been written to help you decide when to stop writing blog posts:
http://lorelle.wordpress.com/2007/01/27/how-to-know-when-to-stop-blogging/
Hot fucking god damn.
Let’s suppose that’s the clincher. That blog posting about when to stop blogging sealed the deal. I have now won you over and you’re convinced blogs are for the shit brained megalomaniacs of the world. Now what? Well, as penance you say 41 hail marys, cripple your reproductive organs, promise not to communicate anything about your boring life ever again and take down your blog.
But how you say, do I take down my blog? Has anything been written that can guide me in doing that?
Why yes, yes there is a blog posting about how to end your blog:
http://www.problogger.net/archives/2006/06/09/how-to-kill-your-blog-successfully-the-methods/
In terms of redundancy, hypocrisy, futility, unnecessariness and just general retardation, nothing can come close to the beating blogs give dead horses.
Blogging Obliviously
The Stay Puff Marshmallow Theory of Shitty Blogs is alive and well. Any stupid idea you can think of for a blog—it already exists. Don’t believe me? Check out these retarded blogs.
Hey MENSA, if you if your so smart why do you have a blog? Fucking retards. All of them. All fucking retards. Of course they aren’t Porkjerky.com Shitty Blog Award-worthy, just counter-intuitive and hypocritical blogs that undermine their own existence.
God bless blogs.
Blogs Suck Ass For $800, Alex
Don’t try to out circlejerk blogs. You’ll just stand there with a sore, flaccid penis, throbbing balls, a pool of cum on your shoes and disappointment in your eyes as blogs continue to easily shoot out load after load of inanity.
Blogs can make a noose out of vapidness, loop it through the rafters of triteness, kick out the chair of intelligence while it blissfully jizzes vacuousness all over the internet as it slowly goes brain dead.
Allow me to prove it:
There are blogs about iphone apps.
There are iphone apps for blogging.
There are blogs about iphone apps for blogging.
However, there are no iphone apps for blogging about iphone apps.
Game, set, match; blogs.
Bitch Better Have My Money
Was watching my neice who’s still a crawler
She found some coins and gave one a swaller
Hoping for diarrhea
To free Sacagawea
If not, that bitch still owes me a dollar.
My Honorary MBA
My honorary MBA campaign was a huge fucking success. Oh wait, let me rephrase that. As us with MBA’s say—my ambitious pursuance of an exalted academic objective flourished beyond my initial eminent aspirations.
Hell fuck yeah.
First and penultimately, I got the 3rd ranked MBA school in the 2009 Us News and World Reports Business school rankings, Wharton, to lie to me. Then, they ignored me when I sent evidence exposing their lies.
Second, I was able to get my name into the long bureaucratic process at the University of Maryland University College (shit you not, that’s their actual name) to be considered for an honorary degree. It probably won’t be resolved until next April, but my names working its way through.
Third, I blew the lady’s mind at my alma matter by telling her I wanted an honorary degree. Never in her decades of working in the educational field had she ever heard of such a request, she explained what honorary degrees really were, how people traditionally were nominated for them, and how empty it would be for me. I told her she made a great salesman and now I wanted 2 honorary degrees. She reluctantly agreed to pass my request up the line if I insisted.
I insisted.
Hopefully I will have an MBA from them by Christmas or better yet, they will revoke the undergraduate degrees (yes, plural, you read that right.) they already conferred upon me.
And fourth and foremost, I got my MBA. The president of The Ohio College Of Clowning Arts got my letter, replied that he thought I was either an idiot or a savant and wanted to know what my objective with this thing was so he could determine which. I told him I sent that letter to prestigious business schools, educational institutions that didn’t offer graduate courses and organizations like his that obviously had nothing to do with classic academics. I said that I was certain to not get any response, much less an honorary degree from the self-proclaimed authoritative business schools, but had hoped that I could talk my way into getting a community or vocational college to offer me some sort of honorary MBA. Finally, I stated that his organization would be the dream though. An MBA from The Ohio College Of Clowning Arts would truly be the ultimate reflection of how I view MBA’s.
He obliged.
Butt Junkie
If I ever start to do drugs I’m jumping past all those pussy highs and going straight to heroin. It has to be awesome. Its transported via ass. I mean, if people go through that much trouble and ick to get some, that’s got to be good shit. Right?
Any drug a person would meticulously put in a balloon, cover in Crisco, swallow and shit out after they get through customs is the drug for me. Like a restaurant 2 hours out of town and with a 4 hour wait when you get there–the difficulty of it makes you want it even more.
The barrier for getting pot is ridiculously low–in high school some of the stupider kids actually grew it. Getting prescription pills isn’t much harder–just walk into your great grandmother’s hospice and snag her pills as she writhes in pain. Ecstasy and acid are passed out in middle school now. Mushrooms literally grow in crap. But heroin, heroin is so good and exclusive people have to use their digestive track as a delivery vehicle.
I’m sold.
Who was the first drug mule? I mean that was beyond intelligent. Despite what Nancy Reagan may think, that guy was a genius.
Ok, how about we put it the smack in plastic bags tape it behind my knees, in my ass crack and in my arm pits? And I just walk through customs. What could go wrong?
I don’t know, suppose a bag tears, they have drug dogs, or the tape doesn’t hold? There’s so much that could go wrong.
Ok. Ok… Well, lets see. Let’s see…. Oh shit I got it. We will pack it into balloons and I will either swallow them or lube up my ass and stick them directly up there. Then when its safe I simply shit the balloons out and bam there’s our heroin. Easy peasy mac and cheesy.
People go through so much trouble to get high from it, its got to be good. Disregarding the asshole courier method, you still have to climb huge hurdles to get high off the shit. There’s spoons to boil it on. You have to tie off your arm to get a vein. You have to know how to use a needle. You have to know what and to cook it with.
It’s so difficult to do, it just has to be mind-fucking awesome. Nothing can come close to it, unless they invent a drug that requires addicts to crack open new born baby’s skulls, dig through their brains, use paint thinner to lace it with and then take a hypodermic needles to inject the shit directly into their pupils. Until then, heroin is the gold standard for me.
Think Of, And Stalk, The Children
One one hand, as a fan of all things legal and immoral, I totally love The Celebrity Baby Blog. On the other hand….no, wait. There’s no other hand, The Celebrity Baby Blog is awesome through and through.
It quite literally is based on the idea that you can exploit children for a dollar. And not just any children—other people’s. Genius.
Hey, if Angelina Jolie’s kids didn’t want to be photographed and put on a shitty blog every time they go into public, then they should have thought of that before they let themselves get adopted from those 3rd world orphanages. They essentially asked to be stalked.
This blog is the female equivalent of overweight transsexual scat porn. On the surface its horrible that anyone would think to create it. But then you realize, they aren’t doing this as a hobby or as a charity or as part of their probation. They are doing it to make money—and they are. If no one gave them a nickel for what they were doing they’d quit doing it. But the paying public is essentially asking for fat she-males covered in shit and for a blog about information on movie stars’ kids.
That blog and that type of pornography are natural, unavoidable outcomes of the America we have created.
Best of all is the blog isn’t just some nutcase in Hollywood with a camera posting random pics to blogspot. No, its part of People Magazine both of which are owned by Time Inc.. Its part of an international media conglomerate.
The Celebrity Baby Blog is an actual business. It has employees. It hires photographers to take pictures of kids to exploit. Writers who write exploiting blog posts. Editors and layout artists who finalize and publish the pictures and stories exploiting kids. There’s probably an accounting department, a sales team, human resources, secretaries, I.T. and everything else that goes with every typical business.
Oh and it has lawyers. I know that. The fucking site has a privacy policy. That’s the height of obliviously incredulous. They want to allay any fears that I have about my personal information being used by their them for nefarious purposes. Delicious.
Here these fuckers are, waiting for children under 6 to go into public to get frozen yogurt so they can photograph, detail and post their excursions to their blog for the world to see. Yet they think a web page listing their privacy policy will instill confidence in their ethical behavior. What a stand up organization.
From idea to implementation everything about the The Celebrity Baby Blog is the best thing to happen to kids since late term abortion.
