porkjerky plog
Viva The Revolution
2 weeks ago we made Blogger our bitch and brought her to her knees when everyone in the world registered for and got an account and just posted:
If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em;
then drown the motherfuckers in their own piss.
Now we are attacking Twitter. Sign up for an account and just tweet:
If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em;
then drown the motherfuckers in their own piss.
Here’s mine: https://twitter.com/porkjerky
Unfortunately, unlike blogger where accounts live indefinitely, Twitter actually purges inactive accounts after 6 months. Don’t worry every 5 and a half months I will twitter you to remind you to log on to your twitter account and retwitter so it doesn’t become inactive.
A lot of sometimes my geniusness even impress myself.
Felatio Philosophy
Which do you think is greater, the number of people who have never been on either end of a blow job or the number of people who have been on both ends of a blow job?
If you could only be in one group or the other, which one would you choose?
Absolute Yellow
I don’t mean to toot my own cock, but that’s some fine yellow peeing. It can’t get much yellower than that.
Can it? Sounds like another science experiment.
I wonder if there is an upper bound to how yellow piss can be. There’s an absolute zero, there’s terminal velocity and nothing can travel faster than the speed of light. Is there an absolute yellow?
I wonder what I can do to manipulate it to maximum yellow? Overdose on asparagus, drink nothing but olive oil, recycle it through myself until all the water in it is gone?
At what point does your urethra stop serving up liquid and start coughing out solid nuggets of piss?
Actually, now that I think about it I’m going to hold of on the fucking around with my dick and all it does until I stop getting boners. At that point there’s nothing to lose.
Still though, that’s some damn fine yellow peeing.
Pathetic Revenge Made Easy
This is why the internet rocks my balls off. No longer do you have to go through the trouble of owning or taking by gunpoint a mass media outlet if you want to smear someone’s name. Our lives have become so efficient, so advanced that within seconds, from our own homes, we can take our pathetic, petty little squabbles and label someone, anyone a pedophile with little and no evidence to back it up.
And it will stick.
Try it, google ‘Serge Benvenuti’.
The second link you get is the winner of this Infrequently Given Porkjerky.com Shitty Blog Award. Don’t let the name of The Pedophile Alert Blog fool you. It has only one purpose–to defame Serge Benvenuti. There are only 2 posts, neither of which have anything to do with an arrested, much less convicted sex offender.
Its really quite beautiful. Its such a transparent, horrible ‘fuck you’, you really have to feel embarrassed for the guy who put it up.
Have you ever seen an argument where there’s a witty guy and an idiot guy putting each other down? The idiot will call the witty guy a piece of shit. The witty guy will say something like ‘I certainly hope you wash out that filthy mouth of yours before you head to the rest area tonight and start sucking trucker cock for $10 a pop.’ And the idiot guy stands there, stammers, then thinks of the wittiest thing he can say, which ends up being ‘Fuck you’.
That’s what the Pedophile Alert Blog is. It’s an idiot’s horrible attempt to get back at someone. I can’t definitively say who, but if you check out 5th result in your ‘Serge Benvenuti it will give you some insight.
Again, Blogger, for making such petty vindictiveness so easy, god bless you. And The Pedophilia Alert blog, congratulations, you truly are a shining example of a Porkjerky.com Intermittent Shitty Blog Award Winner.
The Art Of Shitty Art
Some of my favorite pieces of art are in office buildings. You know those abstract paintings with non-threatening patterns, safe color schemes and void of anything remotely inspiring. The paintings whose sole purposes are to break up the drabness of a melancholy office wall with a different kind of drabness in a non-descript frame.
They are like a sorbet of soggy saltines in between courses of plain mashed potatoes and steamed rice.
Every time I see them they make me smile and I appreciate the artist for his work. No, not for the paintings in and of themselves—but for the whole process they went through to get that framed piece of crap on the mauve wall in the accounting department.
That just makes me smile.
There’s only two logical ways that that painting got created and both are excellent. The first is that there exists an artist somewhere and that is his job. To create/manufacture those worthless, vapid frame fillers that sit in corridor outside of cubicles everywhere. I like to think he himself is in a sterile office somewhere with his own cubicle.
The artist gets up at 7:30, showers, shaves and brushes his teeth. Then he gets in his Geo Metro and fights traffic for 30 miles, grabs his lanier with his work badge on it from his glove box, puts his lunch in the break room fridge and heads to his desk. He boots up his computer, checks for voicemails and then goes to get some coffee. He talks to the guy in HR about the weather or the local sports team for a minute or two and then heads back to his cube and breaks open an art pack. It contains a canvas and just enough bland colored paint necessary for him to create/manufacture a non-threatening piece of artwork. He whips through 10 or 15 of these, filling out the correct paper work as he goes along, occasionally answering emails about the status of certain items and then goes to the break room and gets his paper bag lunch that has 2 turkey sandwiches, a bag of plain chips and an apple.
After lunch he surfs the web for a while because he has a meeting at 1:30 and that’s not really enough time to get anything started. He goes to the meeting, takes some notes, doodles, gives updates on how his projects are progressing and goes back to doodling for the remainder of the meeting. After it he opens up and plows through 5 more painting packs. More web surfing. Takes a pee. Around 4 he delivers his daily work to his coordinator and gets her notes about yesterdays work. Goes back to his cube works on 2 or 3 more painting packs and calls it a day.
That just tickles me. I truly hope that is the story behind all the banal wall art I see in offices. It would delight me to no end.
However, the other way the worthless wall art got there is good too. Instead of a sell-out office drone, the artist is a nutjob who truly sees the meaning of life in each one of these paintings he creates. We all know that artist type—off kilter, most likely a psychological problem or two, can’t really function in the real world but devotes his life to art. However in this case, it’s the most, uninspired, uncreative art imaginable. But not to him. To him, these works are the meaning of life, poignant statements about society and going to genius collectors who understand the themes, motifs and ideas he is trying to convey. Of course they really aren’t. They were purchased in bulk because they will blend in perfectly with the mauve wall behind the receptionist’s desk.
That makes me smile too. Misplaced lack of talent focused like a laser beam.
Next time you look at a piece of worthless work art, just think to yourself that one of those two guys is behind it and you will see the true art within it. It always brightens my day to know that every banal piece of shit painting was actually worked on by a real person somewhere.
What Would Jesus Wipe With?
If some shady archaeologist offers to sell you a shit stained papyrus and tells you Jesus wiped his ass with it, it’s a scam. There is no T.P. of Turin.
In researching my latest doctoral thesis du jour, this one covering wiping our assholes, I came to learn that we didn’t always use toilet paper. The first documented instance of toilet paper was recorded in the 5th century A.D.. The first commercially available toilet paper wasn’t available in the United states until 1857.
That means people used a lot of other things to wipe their asses with, especially those born before 500 A.D. (I’m looking at you Christ). Things like wool, which makes sense, but shearing a sheep for every dump you took had to be a pain. Understandable as well are leaves. Also, animal furs, but how? Did they just have a cage full of rabbits next to the shitter and you snapped the neck of one after every crap? Wikipedia also says poor people used sand. Really? I got a grain of sand in my eye once and it scratched my cornea to shit. On accident, I once sand belted 7 of my finger tips off. I don’t imagine sand as something I want to rub on my sphincter.
The coup de grace though is corn cobs. Maybe that’s just some vandalism to the article, because I can’t imagine using a corn cob to clean my ass. Unless of course it was an uneaten cob of corn on my sister’s plate and she had just run to tell my parent’s I had given my meatloaf to the dog again. I still owe you bitch.
Other than that scenario, it’s got to be bullshit. It doesn’t even make sense. I live in the heartland of America, I’ve seen corn stalks. Of all the material that a stalk of corn produces the cob would be the last thing I would use to wipe my non-vengeful ass. There’s corn silk—soft, smooth. There’s the husk—paper-like, not too rough. The stalk itself is even probably a lot smoother and softer than the cob.
Plus, isn’t it unkosher to mix food like that? I mean a cheeseburger is unkempt because it mixes the meat of a cow with its milk. A chicken sandwich with mayonnaise is not kosher because it mixes eggs and chicken meat. Surely using a corn cob to clean your cornhole can’t be ok according to Judaic law?
Then again, fuck the jews, not only don’t they believe the son of god never wiped his ass with corn cobs, they don’t even believe his ass existed to be wiped. Blasphemers.
How would that even work. You put it in your ass and work it around in a clockwise motion (counter-clocwise for lefties) and just ground the shit into submission? A corn cob; even a quilted, 2-ply corn cob doesn’t seem to be the most absorbent material.
It so stupid it has to be true.
You know what? Its so stupid I think I’ve actually talked myself past the point of disgust and into intrigue. I am half-tempted to try and wipe my ass with a corn cob now.
Confessions Of An Asswiper
I have a horrible, horrible confession to make. For the first 2 to 3 years of my life, I didn’t use toilet paper.
At all.
I was totally aloof. No clue. Didn’t even cross my mind.
In fact, I didn’t do much at all when it came to shitting, except the shitting part. When I had to drop a log, I did. And that’s all I did. Didn’t use a commode, didn’t pull down my pants to avoid crapping all over myself and I definitely didn’t wipe afterward.
I crapped like the world was going to take care of it. Boy was I naive. I wish someone would have clued me in sooner. Oh well, I guess its just one of those things like ‘don’t eat a hooker’s pussy’ that you have to pick up on the street and learn the hard way.
I’ve matured though. Since I finally did pick up the habit of wiping my ass with toilet paper I’ve probably burned through 75,000 square feet of the stuff. However, in all honesty, if it wasn’t for others shaming, goading and rewarding me to do it I might have never picked up on using toilet paper. Which made me wonder, when did it become vogue for humankind as a whole?
At some point along the evolutionary/creationary tract of our culture, before our assholes made the leap from unbleached to bleached, they had to have made the leap from unwiped to wiped. At what point did we start using paper for that purpose?
So I turned to my good friend Wikipedia and found out the first recorded reference to wiping a human ass with paper was in the 6th Century A.D.. While homo sapiens and their butts have been around for approximately 200,000 years, we have only been wiping them with toilet paper after shitting for .75% of our existence.
Let me aptly put that in perspective. If personal hygiene were analogous to written communication, wiping our asses would be Twitter.
Pull The Plug
It always makes my vulva throb whenever I am watching the T.V. news and the cocksuckers refer me to their web site to get information necessary to the sound bite they just read. Like when they tell me I should call a government department or visit a certain organization’s web site for more information and then the dicklickers flash the T.V. station’s url and tell me to go there where they have links to that information.
So to get the information that was deathly important 2 seconds ago, I have to go to my computer, boot it up, log on, open a browser, type in their url, try and find a link to the internal page they set up for this and then hopefully get the information they could have shown me for 3 seconds instead of that fucking ‘visit our site for more information’ graphic.
Of course that would have made them trim down the weather to just 16 minutes 57 seconds of their 30 minute newscast.
Now the fucking newspapers are following suit. Pick up a newspaper and see what I mean. And by ‘pick up’ I mean go to a recycling dumpster or maybe the library or visit an elderly person who’s mentally incapable of canceling their subscription, so you can read the paper without having to spend one cent on it. Of course, if you make even 1/10th of minimum wage it will still be a rip off in terms of your time.
These fuckers are doing it too. Papers are going from 5 sections down to 2, going to 5 or 6 days a week instead of 7, using the AP feed more and more to fill their space, laying off reporters left and right, and the salvation to their imminent demise are blogs. Show me where these newspaper companies’ graves are going to be so I can be the first in line to piss on them.
Specifically I will use The Kansas City Star as an example, but I have seen this all over the country. When you get an actual hard copy newspaper the stories each have a caption at the end referring you to their website to read updates to this story via their blog and enticing you to comment on the story there as well. Worse, I have seen pages of some newspapers dedicated to their self selected best posts from their website from the prior day. Even worse than that worse, I have seen user comments about particular blog posts show up in their fucking print editions.
Nineteen. The Kansas City Star has 19 blogs. After the last round of layoffs, I don’t think they have 19 reporters anymore. I don’t think today’s paper was 19 pages. But no, those 19 blogs are going to save you. Those are the key to your future.
Let me preemptively (but not by much) say, good riddance and fuck off.
Justifiable Bludgeoning
Hey cunt: Open up your fucking purse, rifle through it to find your god damn pocket book, take it out, open it up to one of the many sections you tuck intricately folded currency into, either take out a bill larger than what you estimate your fucking purchase is going to be or start hunting for multiple bills that will accomplish the same thing, then open the fucking pocket that has your change and start thinking about the various permutations of coins that you might need to complete your transaction.
No, no, don’t do all that now. Wait until the absolute last second and then wait a little longer. Don’t even think about touching your purse until the cashier has finished scanning, bagging and explicitly tells you the amount you owe. And then don’t take her word for it. Peer at the monitor to verify her claim. Lean in closer, squint, repeat the amount in a questioning manner and make her confirm it.
Above all, take your time. Make sure you get this right.
Then verify that the amount seems right for the items you purchased. Now, you could have been doing this item by item while she was scanning shit and you were peering off into space not preparing to pay, but now’s a good time too. Don’t be afraid to question her or ask what the prices were for individual items despite the fact it’s up there on the monitor for all to see. Take your time, don’t rush into this.
Ok, she just verified that the amount she first said, the amount in big numbers on the monitor and the amount you restated in a questioning manner is in fact the amount your items cost. Give it a second. Let it sink in.
Ok, I see the light bulb clicking on. One and one are coming together to make two. Watershed moment in 3….2….1…
There you go. You get it now.
That’s right you stupid motherfucking cunt, you are going to have to pay. Who fucking knew? There was absolutely no way to neither foresee this moment nor plan for it. It has taken us all by surprise.
Good, good. Let it sink in for a moment or two. Ok, now. Now is the time to start the long task of hunting down money in your purse. Perfect. It was well worth the wait. Be sure to use as many pennies and single dollar bills as possible and to count them out painfully slow. Maybe drop a couple or lose your place so you have to start over.
Hopefully, as you dig in that jungle of a purse of yours you will find an expired coupon you have and can engage the cashier in a discussion of if she can accept it or not. With any luck you will escalate that conversation to her supervisor, up to the assistant manager all the way to the store manager until you get the answer you want about those 15 cents.
No. No problem at all.
Internet Ads For All
Well that’s why.
In embracing the shitfucks of the world and starting my Blogger blog, I came to understand why everyone has ads on their blogs and thinks they can make a crapton of money from them: Because Blogger makes it simple and tells them they can. There’s no conflict of interest there. If an organization (Blogger) which is owned by another organization that sells advertising (Google) tells you you can make a bunch of money by signing up for a blog and displaying ads on it, then I would definitely listen to them and sell out even my unborn, 6-month old zygote niece for the opportunity.
It actually makes sense. It’s still shitty and wrong, but understandable, even intelligent on their part. Google makes money on internet advertising. Google owns Blogger. Blogger lets people create blogs and convinces them that if they display the ads from which Google makes money, they will become rich because of their blog.
Nothing wrong with exploiting idiots. That’s the essence of our economy.
When you sign up to create your anti-Blogger Blogger blog, as per my instructions for doing so, you will see a tool bar on the dashboard. There are four tabs, the last of which is labeled ‘Monetize’. So, once you sign up for a Blogger blog, it literally takes 2 clicks to get ads on your blog.
They make it 10 times easier to put ads on the fucking thing than create a post. Granted, more often than not the ads are a lot more well-written and intriguing than 99% of the posts that show up on blogs.
Well, mystery solved. And be sure to sign up for your Blogger Blog today and start earning the literally bajillions of dollars you’ve been mislead to believe you’re due.
