She might be lying, she might be crazy, god forbid--she might be a Republican: The fact is that none of it matters; a picture of the President of the United States should be placed in every elementary, middle and high school classroom. You might hate him but George W. Bush is President and should be afforded the respect that goes with the office.

It is the most important position in our society, even if recent President(s) have sullied the office. If Marx (or as you know him, John Kerry) is elected President, his picture should be placed in schools across the nation. This nation's children should respect the President and, yes, know who the fuck he is.

This isn't about partisan politics, it is insanity run amok in the form of political relativism. The terrorists haven't won, however; America may have already lost.


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Matt Stone and Trey Parker are the most reasonable men in Hollywood. I should be scared by that fact but this is Hollywood we are talking about; the only place were the progenitors of foul mouthed cardboard cut-outs, pornographic a Mormon superhero, and puppet-on-puppet sex are the reasonable ones.

Stone is absolutely correct: "If you don't know what you're talking about, there's no shame in not voting." Once again, I encourage all of you not to vote, unless you do so for the right reasons. If have to ask yourself what constitutes "the right reasons" you have no business voting. Democracy will survive without your input, so just go watch the Daily Show and let the big boys, i.e. the elderly, Asians and Republicans, take care of electing our officials.

Oh and Sean Penn,


Go to Hell

I like suspenders. In fact, I am wearing a pair right now. Is there anything more civilized than a fat man wearing suspenders? I think not.

Oh, and thanks for answering my query from a couple days ago. I hope the bayou swallows you all.

Superman is dead. Michael Keaton is next. Actually, he is good as dead already. A supporting role in First Daughter and an upcoming performance in Herbie: Fully Loaded is akin to carrer suicide. One can only hope that Toby Maguire suffers a similar fate.


Go to Hell

It is Saturday night. What am I doing; writing a blog entry about doing nothing on a Saturday night. Go me.

I have the giant multi-dimensional spider and hamster devotees to keep me company, at least.


Anyway, I noticed a certain someone visiting my lovely domain of inane verbosity quite often. This special lad, lass or stupid ass hails from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Curiosity is a goading bitch, which makes me wonder who this person is. Most of my regular visitors I know personally, or at least, of. Do me a favor and drop me a line, or comment on this message, as to how you found this bastion of hate and why you continue to read it.

I am about the personal interaction with my readers. Actually, I am curious how all of you came to read this site, even the ones I know. I encourage my regular readers, all twelve of you, to answer the two aforementioned questions.


Go to Hell

Better Left Unsaid
A True Story from an Hour Ago


The Cast of Characters

Mom-My Mother

Issy- My Little 8 Year Old Brother

Pete- Family Dog

Me- Resident trailer-bound Cynic


Background: Issy left the back door open which allowed Pete to run wild. Mother searched high & low for several hours but could not find the puppy gone lost. Late Saturday night, Pete came home and all appeared well, but was it really?


Phone: Ring, ring, ring, get the fuck up, ring, ring-a-ding-ming

Me: Hola, comment ca va?

Mom: Why didn't you go into work?

(I can clearly hear Issy playing in the background.)

Me: I am tired.

Mom: It is 1:oo pm, how can you be tired?

Me: I went to bed at 2am, and you know I need twelve hours of sleep to function properly.

Mom: You are killing your father.

Me: He is old. Old people die all the time, don't try to blame me for cell degeneration.

Mom: Bitch.

Me: How is Pete doing?

Mom: I should kill that dog, stupid bitch.

Me: Last night, Issy said Pete smelled funny.

Mom: He was probably out fucking.

(I hear childish laughter coming from Issy and the phrase "Petey was fucking" several times.)

Me: Mom...you can't say that in front of your son.

Mom: You know what fucking means.

Me: I meant in front of Issy.

Mom: Fuck you, you are the reason he is bad.

(Issy picks up the line in the kitchen)

Issy: Petey is a dog fucker.

Me: Shut up. You have no business saying that.

Issy: Bobby is a dog fucker.

Mom: Yes, yes he is.

Me: I am not.

Mom: Click

Issy: Can I am come over?

Me: No!

Issy: Dog fucker. Click


El Fin

Ha, told you so.


Go to Hell

Who cares? It is amazing that a league of wayward P.E. teachers and closest lesbians has been a resounding failure. Go figure.

Go to Hell

Rodney Dangerfield died at 82 years young, yesterday. He left behind an incredible legacy of smiles, laughs and a whole lot of respect.


Go to Hell

I need to lose weight. My goal is to drop an Olsen twin, give or take three bulimic episodes.

Why this sudden desire to lose weight? Is it for health reasons? No, it has nothing to do with my 180/110 blood pressure reading, skyrocketing cholesterol, or inability to climb a flight of stairs: I want to lose the weight for a much more important reason; I need to get laid.

It is my sincerest hope that Bob will be able to have intimate relations by years end.



Go to Hell

I worked hard today. I won't bore you with the particulars, lets just say I spent the last ten hours lifting furniture, with the occasional break to pack boxes and speak with the geriatric. I may belittle my current profession (auctioneer) but I do have to admit, it is hard work, which is why I usually make father do the lion share of it.

Today, I felt sorry for the old man and decided to take the load off his shoulders, both figuratively and literally speaking. I learned my lesson. Hard work only leads to back spasms, groin pulls and a loss of sexual desire, just ask my father.

"Slothful I am, but horny I will always be. " (Bob, 2004)

I like quoting myself, it makes me feel special.


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