Don’t Tell Me…. It’s Christmas

Posted in Disaster with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 18, 2010 by Suge White


Christmas is the holiday that best exemplifies my worst personal trait, which happens to be my penchant for procrastination. I will literally stop at a gas station and buy someone a scratch ticket right before a Christmas party. A scratch ticket is the best way to tell someone “I forgot about Christmas, my bad”. How could someone disapprove? Sure, your gift could end up being absolutely nothing but it could also be a million dollars. Think about that million dollars for a second. With a million dollars, you could by a lot of beer, a lot of drugs, and possibly Lindsay Lohan as your own personal prostitute because, lets be honest, she has nothing else going on right now. And if you play your cards right, she might even do a line of cocaine off your dick. Hell, before you know it, you will be playing beach volleyball with Jessica Alba, Lenny Dykstra, and Danny Glover’s father, while wearing nothing but a Speedo made out of a Scandinavian women’s face (first off, the Scandinavian woman would have willing sold you her face. Secondly, watch out for that Lenny Dykstra. I hear he’s broke these days).  My procrastination could lead to some true happiness in someone’s life. Who’d of thought?  Merry Christmas and Fuck You!


Mr. Womens Winter Wonderland

Posted in Stop with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 11, 2010 by Suge White


Somehow we’ve stumbled upon another winter and I woke up this morning to the site of snow on the ground. As a kid, I loved snow but only because it meant that school might get canceled. However, now that I’m an adult, snow just means that my drive to work is going to be dangerous. It also means that if I stand outside for too long, there is a good chance my dick is going to get cold. That is never a pleasant turn of events. I go to that place to gather warmth for my frozen fingers but a cold dick means cold hands. So if you come across me starting a friction fire in my trousers, while huddled behind the wood shed, its not because I’m sexually frustrated but rather because I’m freezing and my heater needs to be warmed up a bit before saving my digits from a frost bitten fate. No, seriously, I wasn’t jerking off! This brings me to another of life’s great mysteries. How do Eskimos procreate? When its that cold out, the last thing I want to do is expose my little friend to the elements. Getting kicked in the smallest extremity is no fun but I’d imagine fucking an ice box is much worse. Sorry Mrs. Claus, my sex elf is taking the day off because it’s just too fucking cold. You know who’s dick never gets cold? The answer is God. God’s dick is always the perfect temperature. How do I know? That’s simple, I’ve seen it in action. When I say I’ve seen it in action, I’m not saying I was sitting in the corner watching the man upstairs pound out the girl downstairs.  It also doesn’t mean that I was on the receiving end of some heavenly prison justice.  No, it means that I’ve watched Tom Brady lead the New England Patriots to victory, time and time again.  Is there any question that Mr. Brady is a living replica of God’s dick? I think not. He scores whenever he wants, he always stays cool in the pocket, and he is topped with the finest hair known to man. Sounds like God’s dick to me.

Put You All In Check

Posted in Shit We Do, Stop with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 4, 2010 by Suge White


I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve learned a thing or two about this world and the people in it during my short time on this earth. And if you’ve read any of my misanthropic musings in the past, then you should know that most of what I’ve learned has since been regurgitated from my brain in the form of pure, unadulterated, hate. Therefore, I think its only fair that I commence with the hatred. This week I was introduced to the idea of arsenic friendly bacteria and came away from this learning experience not caring anymore or any less about bacteria or arsenic. Who the fuck cares? I think someone needs to research these ‘scientists’ for any sign of a sex life. They say that this finding can aid our search for alien life forms. Something tells me that the last thing we want to see are alien life forms that are arsenic friendly. I have spent 27 years of my life trying not to get eaten by any of this planet’s animals and the last thing I need is another threat to my well being. I shouldn’t have to spend my time dodging gigantic lizard creatures that want to eat my brain and then bury their eggs in the rectum of my dead rotting carcass, all because some ‘scientists’ insisted on finding aliens.

Take It In The Face!

Posted in Fucked Up People, Shit We Do with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 21, 2010 by Suge White


As you may have figured out by now, much of my history is steeped in exasperated self loathing. Good old Irish Catholic.  I know right from wrong but I still do bad things and just hate myself later for it.  I’m like the guy working at a fast food joint who decides to blow a load in your food. Ok, maybe I’m nothing like that at all but I, at least, wanted to remind you that there’s a man somewhere out there just waiting to unknowingly feed you his “special sauce”. So be aware of that. Actually, it’s probably better to remain unaware. Awareness, in this situation, is downright terrifying. “My God, that looks like a mighty fine cheeseburger but I better not eat it in case Herman decided to make some love near it.” Wouldn’t we be better off not knowing?  I, for one, will not be inspecting every taco I order for signs of excessive protein. However, this also means that I’m at risk.  I’m taking my life into my own hands and possibly taking someone’s future life into my mouth just for the love of greasy and fattening mystery meats.  Do you see where I’m going here? I should inspect my food every time with the knowledge that I possess but I don’t want to take the time.  And what if I actually find some of Elmer’s glue smeared across my sandwhich?  I wouldn’t possibly be able to eat it, at which point, my idea of fast food will be ruined forever (not that the idea was too enticing in the first place).  Either way, this is where I get back to the self loathing.  I hate myself for not checking my food and I hate myself for being so afraid to destroy my mind’s view of minute foods.

Get Away From Me…. Or At Least Stop Talking

Posted in Fucked Up People, Stop with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 13, 2010 by Suge White


Let me reiterate to you how much I hate people.  I hate people so much that if I had a choice between talking to a stranger and getting fucked by a ravenous wombat, I would seriously consider subjecting myself to any number of sexually transmitted wombat diseases just to avoid talking to the likely idiot. Seriously, how bad could love with a syphilitic wombat be? However, if I talk to the stranger, he may tell me about his mortgage, about his job, or about his mothers arthritic hip. Lets be honest. Who wants to hear about any of that shit? Sorry pal, I don’t care about your kids and since you insisted on showing me a picture of them that you have stuffed away in your wallet, it’s only fair that I tell you that your daughter looks like Andre the Giant and your son looks like Boy George. Needless to say, you should pull out next time you hop in the sack with that handsome broad you call a wife. Perhaps my words are a little crass but so is the sight of your hideous children. This brings me back to my ultimate point. Please don’t talk to me. I don’t care if you’re Jesus fucking Christ. On a side note, I would imagine that talking to Jesus would be a real downer. He’s got all sorts of uncomfortable topics to discuss. “So my mother says I am the son of God but I’m pretty sure she just doesn’t want to tell me that she fucked the whole village and my father could be anyone but is probably the papyrus salesman with bad knees and a penchant for boy love. Oh and did I mention that I was crucified?”. For the love of your supposed father, shut the fuck up!  And no, I’m not interested in putting “the body of Christ” in my mouth, you fucking creep!

Hustle Womens 4 President!

Posted in Great American Pastimes with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 3, 2010 by Suge White


Another election season come and gone and nothing has changed for Mr. Womens. Let me break it down: Some rich people won and some rich people lost, the country is still uncomfortable with minorities and hateful towards gays, and weed is still illegal. What can I say? I’ve learned not to expect much from politics. Elections are like life. Many people come and go but very few, if any, make a lasting impression and the ones who do don’t always stick around to see it.  Some people will help you, some people will hurt you but, in the end, everyone is out for themselves. Never forget that! So if you are disappointed about the election results, GET THE FUCK OVER IT! If you live in Massachusetts and are unhappy, go buy some now-cheaper-because-of-the-election booze and drown your sorrows. If you live in Nevada and are unhappy, go bang a prostitute because that’s still legal. If you live in Kentucky and are unhappy, go make some whiskey because, lets be honest, that’s the only legal activity you are good at. If you live in Florida and are unhappy, do anything that doesn’t involve getting in a car because you are probably really old and so terrible at driving that you are a danger to everyone on the road, in any parking lot, or in any storefront that you could possibly drive into. Whatever the case may be, try to move on…. and try to keep your grandparents from driving (I can’t get over it).

Dream A Little Dream For Me

Posted in Disaster, Listen with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 30, 2010 by Suge White


Its another Saturday morning for me and I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that this is when I do my most delirious thinking. It feels like I’m stuck in a dream sequence. However, this isn’t an exciting dream. It’s actually quite boring. In a real dream, I would be riding a magical beast creature across Idaho and stealing potatoes from all the ungrateful land owners like an agricultural Robin Hood. This is not that dream. In this dream, I’m at work and my surroundings are poisoned with the stench of old coffee that smells and tastes like a mountain man’s asshole and even older people that also smell and taste like a mountain man’s asshole. These people’s belongings are littered with cigarette packs the brands of which if never even seen before. These cigarettes had names like Mustang and smells like a 60 year old carpet. This dream is like a nightmare but instead of bad things happening, I’m just subjected to a bombardment of annoying people with terrifying odors. Instead of loudly screaming for help, I’m quietly wishing that someone will go and take a shower. I think it’s time I go piss on the worlds biggest Cousy.