Archive for religion

Its The End Of The World

Posted in Disaster with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 19, 2011 by Suge White

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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.

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Gathering My Thoughts…. And That’s Not Good For Anyone.

Posted in Stop...Look...Listen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 8, 2011 by Suge White

Here’s to a new year. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve put my insanity out there for the masses. I think my lack of creativity is due to the cold because if my dick is frozen to the side of my leg, the last thing I’ll be doing is writing. Today however, I have pulled apart my appendages, thawed out my frost bitten bait, and am now ready for a little nonsense. Over the last few weeks, I’ve noticed some things that strike me as unacceptable. First things first, these children need to drink more booze. We need to teach these kids to man up and stop being a bunch of pussies.  I don’t care if you’re wearing a diaper, drink more. Control of your bodily fluids has nothing to do with it. Shit, I know some grown ass men that can’t help but piss all over themselves after they get a few cups of the sauce in them… see Sleazy E (former Goon, now heartless pussy). Next line of business: men with pony tails.  In the words of the great Mike Singletary, “Can’t win with them”. Perhaps I should add a line item to this declaration by saying that if you believe in the virtues of hippy-ism, I may give you a pass for the time being, if only to avoid the wrath of some good friends. Other then these select few, no man should be rocking a pony tail because it makes you look some sort of poor man’s Jesus Christ.  Jesus was poor enough. There is no need to try to one-up him. I’m going after Russian dudes next.  Seriously, get your teeth fixed. I’m sorry Ovechkin, that mangled grill of yours doesn’t make you look rugged. It makes you look like a guy who just smoked 5 grams of crack and is now on the hunt for some little girls bicycle to steal. I can see him now, riding down the street on that pink Huffy with the streamers flying off the handle bars, all the while looking like some sort of Wario on meth. You make millions, dude. Go see a dentist. Sticking with the hockey player theme, we will move on to Sidney Crosby. You mustn’t ever wear that dick-broom you call a mustache ever again. Your skills on the ice may be significant but no amount of skill can make up for that disasterous attempt at facial hair. Keep it clean shaven and maybe you won’t be lambasted by me for looking like John Waters, though I will continue to question your sexual preference. Moving on.  John Boehner needs to stop crying. I’m probably the 1,000th person to comment on this but I might be the only one to notice that every time he cries it looks like he just suffered a massive stroke. Move the left side of your mouth dude! Also, if Howard Dean’s maniacal moment of laughter disqualifies him from consideration for a higher office, and it certainly does, I think john Boehner, in all his infancy, should be held to the same standards. Crying is for girls and men that just got kicked in the junk, not for politicians who just want to use their clout to ball-wash the rich. KILL THE RICH, FEED THE POOR!!! Welcome to 2011, I’m out!

Mr. Womens Winter Wonderland

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

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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.

Take It In The Face!

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

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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

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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!