Its The End Of The World

In case you haven’t noticed, 2012 is bearing down on us like an out of control station wagon with a coked-up James Brown behind the wheel.  We are all watching as massive earthquakes, tsunamis, and hurricanes rock our tranquility.  All the while, Charlie Sheen is running around like some half assed anti-christ trying to corrupt our youthful exuberance.  Seriously people, we need to put down the crack pipes and pick up the shovels. We should be building bomb shelters… or space ships… or some really cool kind of oven that runs on the decaying remnants of our hopes and dreams.  The bottom line is that we should be preparing for our Armageddon.  And even if we can’t save our selves, we should at least be trying to live it up while we are still here.  With that being said, go out and try some new things.  I’ve never helped an old lady cross a street with her groceries, so guess what is first on my list of things to do? If you guessed ‘helping an old lady cross the street’, you are an idiot for thinking I’m going to waste my final days helping out those that have lived much more life than I will ever see.  Sorry, grandma but I’m going to steal your groceries and pawn them off to buy some heroin.  I’ve never done heroin before, nor have I ever wanted to, but hell, the world is going to end and I’m interested to see what all the hype is about.  I’ll have a needle in my arm, a crack pipe in my mouth (which I picked up after accepting my impending doom), and a dirty chick on the end of my dick.  No more caring and no more thoughts.  All that will be left is black tar and hideous lower back tattoos.  Get like me and accept the inevitable.

Sex, Drugs, and Sheen

Can we please stop talking about Charlie Sheen?  I will admit that I do it myself but there’s no denying that it’s a worn out story.  Infatuation is down right unhealthy.  We shouldn’t spend so much otherwise liveable time hemorrhaging over the downfall of a single drug infested individual.  Charlie Sheen is hardly the first celebrity to meet the downfall of drugs.  Let us not forget Keith Richards, Bobby and Whitney, or all of those “that kid who was in all those movies”.  They are all just people… who occasionally smoke crack and fantasize about creating sex mansions.  I think that it’s time that we all start living like celebrities because, obviously, that’s what peaks the interest Americans.  We should go out, do our own drugs, fuck our own hookers, and create our own temporarily quotable moments of pure insanity.  I don’t know about you but while I may not be able to afford a suitecase filled with blow, I could probably afford to fill a camera case or a small jewelry box if I really wanted… and lets be honest, that’s still alot of blow (or so I’ve heard…. from other people).

Get Me Out Of Here

Right now, it’s cold enough to melt fire.  All winter long, the snow has been accumalting like our national debt but it’s the bone chilling wind that really bothers me.  This wind could rip the nipples off a rhino.  With climate change ready to bust it’s load all over planet earth, I fear this sort of torture will become more common.  A hasty retreat may be my only option but where should I go? Perhaps Libya?  If Qaddafi has taught me anything, it is that you can find some really nice sunglasses in Libya.  Maybe I could go to the Ivory Coast.  They have an internationally recognized president who does nothing and then they have guy who just runs shit.  Sounds like Bush and Cheney. What about Amsterdam?  Supposedly they are now trying to limit drug use amongst foreigners.  So in other words, I will not be going there.  Iowa? Okay, that’s a joke.  Who the fuck would want to live in Iowa? For some unknown reason, when I think Iowa, I think hobo hotbed.  If I don’t know how to hop a train or how to cook beans over a dumpster fire, I don’t think I’d survive a week in Iowa.  That leaves me with Texas. The land of steers and queers, or so they say.  Which gets me thinking, if Texas has both queers and steers, it would beg to reason that there must be some segment of the population that’s is both queer and steer.  With that being said, what does a gay cow taste like and would I want to eat it?  I’m certainly not prejudiced against cows or bulls that chose to live an alternative lifestyle but I also don’t want my cow to taste like it spent it’s life fighting for acceptance in a cruel world, while simultaneously playing women’s hockey.  And if I’m eating a bull and it tastes like it enjoyed a good bubble bath, a night of dancing, and a stiff cosmopolitan,  I’m not sure how I’ll react.  If nothing else, at least it’ll be rich in protein, I guess. 

I Have Some Reservations

Today, I will offer up a first at hustlewomens.com. I will give a review on my favorite television show, No Reservations. This needs to be done, if only because Anthony Bourdain has crushed my less than conciliatory stance towards the French.  Once I get past his ethnic deficiencies, I can’t help but see that this man posses many of the life goals and aspiritations that I hold. He travels the world with the well intentioned goals of eating exotic food, drinking non domestic beer, and generally ridiculing his foreign hosts. His love of alcohol, his appreciation of punk rock, and his questioning of weird Russian men who come across as potentially homosexual, are all qualities that I admire greatly. Dare I say, this show is pure genius. I also live my life with the very natural intention of letting others know that I am better than them, while also feigning interest in their unique perspective, so I can’t help but appreciate this show. But don’t get me wrong. I would love the chance to prove my superiority to Mr. Bourdain himself. With that being declared, just know that I never have to meet the man in order to do so.  One simple sentence will suffice. I have not once tried heroin, let alone done so multiple times. Mr. Womens 1, Mr. No Reservations 0. I win.  Now that I have proved my superiority over such a deeply flawed opponent in a fashion not seen since the Falkland War, I must admit that I have a genuine respect for his man. He eats food I would never dare eat, he probably bangs women I can only dreambof touching, all while doing drugs I would never even attempt to procure. Anthony Bourdain, God speed.

Get Away From Me…. Or At Least Stop Talking

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!

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).

Just Shut Up!

Everybody be very quiet. Do you hear that? That is the sound of some jack ass, possibly created through incestual rape, running his mouth about something no one cares about. You know who you are. If I wanted to know the exact specs of your cars engine, I would ask. If I wanted to know about the days events that led up to you buying those shoes, I would ask. If I wanted to hear about your plans for next Tuesday, I would ask. I dont give a fuck about your car, your shoes, or your plans. What did I ever do to make you think I want to hear it? I definitly don’t want to hear it and I think even less of you for entertaining the thought that I do want to hear it. Next time you start up one of those selfishly annoying rants, I’m going to interrupt you, whip out my ball bag, and then tell you all about it like it has something to do with your story. So, if you don’t want that, shut the fuck up and go have a seat.

Across State Lines

Today I bring you the 70th edition of ‘Who Wants To Be a Creepy Internet Blogger?’. I will discuss my recent trips to Philadelphia and New York, as well as, some other necessary topics. I shall start with Philly. You suck! No, I’m serious. You really suck. I’m trying not to lump all Pennsylvanians together here, because I know some genuinely awesome people from PA (Ok, maybe just know 1 or 2, 3 at the most), but Philly is terrible. Sure, its got history but that’s about it. And don’t even fucking say that they have cheese steaks because I had their cheese steaks and was not impressed.  I got half way through my second sandwich in the Geno’s vs. Pat’s cheese steak challenge when I thought to myself, “These aren’t nearly as good as everyone made them out to be”.  Seriously, a retard in a high school Home Economics class could make a better sandwich, or at least one that is equally unappealing.  All you need is a box of Steak Ums and some nacho cheese and in the words of Emeril Lagasse “BOOM!”, you have a cheese steak.  And that my friends, is nothing to write home about.  Next stop, New York City.  Somehow I’ve managed to go 26 years without stepping foot in the city but it was worth the wait.  It was fucking amazing, especially after my uneventful trip to Philly.  Usually I don’t like people, let alone large groups of them, congregating on every corner of the horizon.  However, New York had so many people, I felt alone… until I told that girl waiting in the bathroom line at the Union Square Starbucks that the toilet was now out-of-order, as I was walking out, adjusting my belt buckle.  surprisingly, the girl laughed at my lame ass brand of toilet humor.  What an amazing world we live in.  It’s as if the city was made to be one giant natural hallucination.  The one thing that my trip to New York left me thinking was, “No wonder they call it the city that never sleeps.  How could you with all those fucking lights?”      

Here are some ridiculous pictures of the Goons and myself gallivanting across state lines.

Bill Burr somes up the people of Philly right here… trust me, watch the whole thing.  its awesome

Phil Spector

Thank God this man has been locked up for good.  Actually, don’t thank God… assuming you believe in him.  He created this guy and gave him the skills necessary to create the Wall of Sound.  God is the reason that this man has been what he is, which is a fucking musical genius.  However, as much as I respect what this man has done for the music industry, I don’t respect what this man has done for mankind.  His brilliance has forced us to idolize a complete nut.   We can’t have people like him around just running amuck.  He clearly doesn’t follow the rules of common decency.  Just look at his clothes.  Is he some sort of gay pimp?  You shouldn’t be allowed to dress like that and not pimp women.  You also shouldn’t be able to play Russian roulette with women and not pimp women.  I don’t get it.  Looking at pictures of this guy is like looking at an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, you know what it’s supposed to be but you’re still trying to figure it out.  If not for his smokin’ hot wife, you wouldn’t be able to tell if the man is gay, straight, or just hell bent on world domination.  The man has produced the likes of the Beatles, the Ramones, and Ike and Tina.  I, for one, would like to know where it all went wrong.  The man hasn’t produced anything meaningful in over 20 years.  Not to mention he apparently stopped using shampoo.  His hair has the same qualities as that of a dog who has been struck by lightning after falling in a swimming pool.  As a matter of fact, he looks like Pee-Wee Herman if Pee-Wee was made entirely out of the hair and skin of an old man’s genitals.  His skin is all wrinkled and his hair, while plush, is unbelievable wispy.  He just looks the part of a deranged maniac.  With all that being said,  the man did make some beautiful music.  Here are a few of his hits. 

Make sure to watch for Ike’s crazy ass in this one.  Also, Tina is looking fine as hell.