28 June 2007

Where Are Warren G And Nate Dog These Days

Right. My goddamn IPOD is a piece of shit. I hate that fucking thing. I have to reset the bastard every other day and that process never works the first 5 million times. I am always flipping the goddamn switch and trying to hold down the menu button and the white circle and it is this long process which I would prefer never to do. I'm not sure I hate you more than say, space aliens, but I hate you right fucking now and that lands you number at 19 on my list of top 50 people I hate. I know an IPOD isn't a person. Just forget it.
It is going to be a long 15 months with these people.
I had to get a bunch of shots the other day. Dumb ass Army. I fucking hate the Army. I had to get a small pox shot, an anthrax shot, my 4 billionth TB shot and a few others that I don't remember the alleged purpose for.
Since I am a HUGE fan of conspiracy radio, and I believe the shit that spews forth from my radio speakers when I listen to conspiracy radio like it was Jesus speaking to be over the AM waves, I think these shots might either, A - cause me to turn into a superior being and savior of mankind, or B - kill me.
I went to the doctor because my fucking jaw hurts so badly and you know what the fucker gave me? Drugs. GOD FUCKING BLESS DRUGS. Percoset. Vicodin. Valium. I'm fucked up. My favorite thing to do while being fucked up is to go onto you tube and watch videos of the Illuminati, or backwards messages in songs, reverse speech and unidentified flying objects. I love doing this because it frightens me to the point where I lock myself into my room and do push ups until I pass out so I can fight the Illuminati and the aliens and Satan and everything else that terrifies me when I am hopped up on goofballs. I am a weird dude when I am fucked up. As opposed to the normal grown man I am while sober.
They tell you not to mix drugs with alcohol. They tell you this for a reason. Becaues when you wash down your pain killers with Budweiser, then you start to see how the man (and by man I mean the Illuminati) runs all aspects of our lives. No wait. The alcohol and drugs had nothing to do with that. You tube did. I don't know why they tell you not to mix them shits. It's the proverbial bomb.
I decided that the next girl I fuck, while we are hitting skins, I will call her Nancy. If she calls me Sid. I will know she might be the one. Then after the origami sex death match, if in post coital glow I slap her and then say, "I'm sorry Tina." If she says, "It's okay Ike," I will marry that broad.
Did I tell you who is my myspace friend? Billy Idol. You know who is not my friend on myspace? XTX. Because she hates me.
I had a dream last night that I was having nightmares. I wasn't having any nightmares, I was dreaming that I was waking up all scared and shit. It's actually pretty funny. Who dreams that? I do.
I am also dreaming a lot lately that all my teeth fall out. I don't know what that means.
I was shucking and jiving with this girl on the phone the other day. She had the sexiest voice ever. I like it when a woman has a raspy voice. Like that broad from that shitty movie about a surfer gang whom rob banks. She was also tank girl. Anyway, this girl sounded like her. As we were shucking and jiving, I got to thinking about how weird I am and how I am attracted to weird things in women. I was thinking of that all day until I drove into town after work to go get some pasta. I saw this girl from behind and fell half in love. I saw her from behind and she was amazing. Since I was still thinking about how I am attracted to weird things in women I thought, "See. Again. Why am I infatuated with girls built like 12 year old boys?" Then as I got closer to this woman she turned around and faced me and she was in fact a 12 year old boy. That does not make me gay. The moral of the story is that girls built like 12 year old boys are hot. 12 year old boys built like 12 year old boys should not have long hair.


25 June 2007

The Other Half Fell

Right. How corruptible can one man be? Just ask Paul Wolfowitz, putz extraordinaire. Start a war and get promoted to the head of the World Bank, and then fuck that up too. Nice job asshat.
If you ever have your jaw wired shut, please do not try to make popcorn into a smoothie. It tastes horrible and also the kernels clog up the ol' straw.
Other foods that suck in liquid from include but are not limited to: Doritos, Subway, Bologna, raisins, pizza, beef jerky, shrimp chips, asparagus and spinach.
It is also important to note that with most of those foods, some type of liquid is required in the blender. I am not sure what to use, but water, Gatorade, Gin or Budweiser are not acceptable nor do they bring anything to the table in the flavor department.
I tried ordering an ice machine for our deployment, it was denied. Other people got ice makers for the office, but when I try to order an ice machine, it gets denied. Apparently the Department of Defense doesn't believe that a 5 inch sheet of ice should be placed in a airplane hangar for hockey. The Zamboni was also denied.
I tried to order stupid shit because I was hoping on some level someone higher than me would read it and realize how stupid everything is in not only the war but like, the whole Army is in fact operating.
I seriously hate everyone in my office. Like, I take pleasure in the fact that one day they will die. They are such obnoxious assholes. And for fuck sakes do they waste time. I can do everything I have to do and then some by 11AM. But they have to discuss and debate everything. It took me 45 minutes to explain the Harvard comma and why it wasn't necessary. In retrospect, I should have just put the fucker in. Then for the rest of the 8 hours I sat in a meeting the other day, I thought, "Wow. If it takes 45 minutes to discuss the Harvard comma, then due to time and level of complexity, it must take 60 years to convince higher that what we are doing isn't working.
If you ever have a boss and you hate your job, then I do not suggest you ever say, "I'm not doing this because I no longer work for you. I now work for a higher power. And you sir, are no higher power." Only bad things happen.
Conversely, if you are a boss and your underlings hate you and one says, "I'm not doing this because I no longer work for you. I now work for a higher power. And you sir, are no higher power." Then I think you should refrain from screaming your head off until you have to take blood pressure medicine and rest until you commence the yelling again.
I am concerned about the amount I shit. Both numerically and the quantity of shit that falls from my ass. I haven't been eating any more or less and my amount of exercise has not decreased or increased. However, I haven't shit in like a week. This is odd. Usually I shit a good 5 times a day. I mean good healthy fat assed logs that hurt and end with a gratifying plop. Lately...nothing. I sit there and grunt and nothing. I hope this doesn't mean anything.
We are putting all of these packets together for the deployment. They are a pain in my white royal Irish ass. I mean for Christ's sake I think the goddamn Army had my social security number. But I need to write it around 4 billion times on these forms.
Anyway, I decide to have fun on these forms, because I like to have fun. So on one form I have to write my burial instructions in case I were to die in the war zone. I will have you know that I requested NOT to be buried in any military clothing. This pissed off a few people who consider themselves my boss.
Then I requested the ENTIRE book of Revelation to be read at my funeral. This also upset some folks. But I'm dead and I always wanted to read it and now that I got the time, you'll read it and I'll listen.
Next I requested the song, "Straight to Hell" by the Clash to be played at my funeral. A song the Army finds "bad."
Then after I am laid out, I said I want to be cremated. How cool is that? Cool. I requested my ashes be spread at Fenway Station in Boston, because I love that place. The inscription on my urn will read: "Died Bravely Saving A Group Of Orphans From A Burning School Bus." This caused the most commotion.
"You can't have that written on your fucking tombstone Yossarian."
"I'm not getting a tombstone. I'm being cremated. It'll be on my urn sir."
"That's not the fucking point. We can't lie"
"You don't do the inscription"
"Look fuck-stick. That's not the goddamn point."
"Sir look. I'll be dead. I won't care. To tell you the truth, I don't care now. Fucking figure it out. I'll be dead and I do not want to be known or remembered as some guy who got iced during this occupation. If I am going to die for a lie, I will be remembered for mine."
That pretty much ended it.


20 June 2007

Let It Come To You

Right. I can't find a person with a brain who likes this guy. So I will just say he is number 21 and mostly for the same reasons as you. I will also say that Carl Rove is a total bag of ass.
I would in fact kiss you differently.
Juicing food and drinking that shit through a straw sucks. This is horrible.
It's like a million degrees here. As hot as I am now, Iraq will make me hotter.
I was going to renovate my apartment with pocket material. Only, I need my pockets. Dig? Precisely. I really wished you liked laughing right now. Do you hear me and know what I am saying? Because I hate being ignored, but I love the abuse. As it stands I am fucked up from trespasses past and it is affecting the manifest destiny laid before me. As it stood I was wanting what the flood brought but was unprepared for the generosity of the volunteers. As it stands my hair curls in ways it never did previously.
He has never met anyone like me. Or maybe he has, and that man bested him too and that explains his animosity. She has never met anyone like me. Or maybe she never will because she took the best deal offered. I can't blame her today. I would have wished I were dead had I been there when she made the decision.
The angels have retreated in order to regroup for a final onslaught upon the wicked. The wicked rally around the leader and claim victory is at hand. Temperatures drop as the rest of us think of the missed opportunity of peace we had, had all we done was danced with the one who wanted to dance with us, not with the one we wanted to dance with. Aye, there's the rub, because no one would ever have danced.
The beauty of it all, is that inside the door, not on the other side, but inside the door, rests the scales of the reptilian engineer. The tragedy is that despite my best effort, she refused to come when I asked and needed her most. The moral of it all is that when an agenda is confronted by an abnormal situation the Sheppard is led to the flock. The crux of this is informing the material of the inspiration and the subsequent degradation of self as identity is destroyed by one innocuous choice.


18 June 2007

I Am Big In Japan

Right. Holy fucking Christ how I hate Aliens. I mean what the fuck? I want to meet you. I want to see you. I want to hang out. I want to go for a ride on your spaceship. But you fuckers seem to visit everyone but me. Well fuck that. I mean, I like space. Why not me? I'd like to be the first one to go public with a hot Alien girlfriend I am boning. But if the Aliens don't come down to abduct me, then how am I going to do that? I can't that's how.
This weekend was wild. I decided that I was going to go to Prague again, by myself, that means without the Mormon crew. I had been paid and been training so much I hadn't spent a whole lot of dough, so I wanted to do one thing and one thing only: bone paid whores as if it were my job to bone paid whores.
Now with the exchange rate and the going price for female companionship, I figured I had enough grip to lay into no less than 76 paid whores. I really wanted a MILF. Because as everyone knows, I love MILFs. Love them. I can't get enough of them. I seriously love them. They are the greatest thing known to man.
Anyway, I am walking down the blocks and blocks of paid whores hanging out of windows enticing me in every language known to man. I saw this one South American girl who was fucking hot as shit, but she wasn't 40 so I made a mental note to make my way back, because my first nut was for a MILF.
I walked about 8 of the 10 paid whore blocks when I saw this one entrance had fire lighting the door into the brothel. Superhero Yossarian kicked in and I thought, "I am going to bust in and save the paid whores from the clear inferno and maybe get laid for free. I hope there's a MILF up in that bitch." I drew closer and the fire was clearly a marketing tool. This very tall and lean woman covered in tattoos and wearing a latex body suit tells me to come in. Damn it. I wanted a MILF and this girl was like 20. Fuck. What is a fella to do?
I stood there debating boning hot latex tattoo girl or saying, "No. I want a MILF." But then I remembered all the older dominatrix chicks I see on the Internet are not hot, so I didn't say anything in fear that she would leave and be replaced by some fat old skag I am forced to bone. As I stood there, another woman showed up with red hair and even more latex. Less tattoos though.
In unison they tell me to come in the fucking door. They even said fucking. I had no choice now.
I enter. I get the both of them. Have I mentioned I was drunk yet? Because I was. I was hammered. Wrecked. Bombed out of my tree. To say the least, I had imbibed some drinks before hand.
Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was my own sadistic nature, but I paid for what i can only describe as "The Bomb Package." Because it was in fact the bomb. In fact, I think the only device of torture that wasn't there was the bomb. Everything else was used liberally across various parts of my body.
So as one woman burns, whips, scratches or punches me the other is either blowing or boning me. I did very little of the boning as it is impossible to be the boner when you are chained from the ceiling and have your feet shackled to the floor. You're more the bonee in that particular situation. And I was getting the proverbial wreck put on me.
I have to tell you before I go on. This was the greatest thing that has ever, will ever happen to not only me, but anyone on the planet. Ever. Period. Except for maybe using a hollowed out plastic Jesus as a flask. But that is more the coolest thing, not the best thing.
The two paid whores continue taking turns abusing me and trying to get me off. They even brought out the amyl nitrite, which I was told brings on the orgasm. Amyl nitrite is the jet. Everyone should do that whilst boning. I, however, was finally on the same page with Jim and the twins as I fought off the orgasm because if I came, they would have stopped, and I never wanted them to stop. So now, before one would start boning me she would shove this bottle up my nose and then get to work while the other would use various devices to inflict harm.
It was about this time that without letting anyone know, the redhead loosened the chains and I fell forward as the tattoo girl thrusts back her head and slams it into my jaw. They apologized and finished me off.
I was going to go find a MILF, only I couldn't move my mouth. My jaw hurt. So I went to my hotel and put some ice on it. I woke up and tossed my plans of more paid whores away as I drove home to see the doctor. Jaw is broken. Wired shut. 3 weeks. No food. Everything through a straw. It hurts.
So when I see my boss and I am clearly busted up and bruised and cut up and I have my jaw wired shut he says, "What the fuck happened to you Yossarian?" I can't tell him I was getting boned by paid whore dominatrixes when they broke my jaw. So with a wired jaw I say, "I'm part of the Fight Club sir. I'm in the Fight Club. I can't talk about it." He laughed. I left. This is my life.


14 June 2007

Dear Dear Friend

Right. Yes security guard my windows are tinted. Yes that means I am a terrorist. I fully plan on blowing up buildings. Have you seen my attic? I have bombs there with the names of elected officials on them. You make my day better security guard. Thank you for not letting me bring any booze onto the plane or into the ball game. Now I have to pay your obnoxious prices to pay for your salary when all I really wanted was to drink cheaply. I fucking hate security guards.
Short post today. I just want to say something I find disgusting.
Today I was speaking with this captain about Iraq. He was all happy to be going again and real proud to serve and all. I dig it. Good for you. You like the Army. I dig it. You believe in the cause. Say word. But he said something I find troubling. He said, "You know Yossarian. I really believe everything happens for a reason. My first time in Iraq a mortar went off and my friend standing right next to me took shrapnel and died. I didn't have a scratch. I believe everything happens for a reason."
What the fuck does that mean? That guy deserved to die? You are a better Christian? What the fuck? I appreciate that you are trying to tell me that me going to Iraq will have a purpose. I really do. But what the fuck. That was your friend. And I guess you just wiped his brain off your helmet and went about your day because you lived for a reason. I assume that reason was to bother the piss out of me. Mission accomplished. You can get blown up now. Your reason to live has been fulfilled.


13 June 2007

Take The Train Take The Train

Right. Rush, you silly fat bastard. If Mr. Tuttle from Saved by the Bell and the fat kid from Teen Wolf had a baby, you would be it Rush. I hate you because of all the obvious reasons. You know, your demagoguery and all. But also because you are plain annoying and furthering a failing system in which the only difference between the parties is the reason each wants to take our freedom. You suck and I hate you and when America decides to scrape the manure off itself to see how green our grass is, you will be the first dung heap to go.
I hate the bloody Army. I go out and give my blood, sweat, tears, saliva, sperm snot, shit, piss, throw-up, everything I got and it simply is never good enough. So I have a whole new stratagem - never try.
Billy Idol is my myspace friend. That doesn't say a lot for him, but it speaks volumes for how much cooler I am than you.
My friend, the one with cancer, he died today. My grandmother, before she died, told me that people die because God needs soldiers for his Army. I suppose he needed a General this time. That is if you believe in my grandmother's theory, which I don't, because it's dumb. God kills us because he can. He has killed way more people than I ever will, or can. He just does what he wants and then rewards douche bags for date rape and punishes dudes just trying to make it honest in the douche-rewarded society. Way to go God. I sometimes think the reason you refuse to come back is because you can't look people in the eye for your actions.
In other news, German food blows. That's not new news, if you read this ever, but if today is your first day in the world of Yossarian, then breaking news, German food blows.
I have a sudden desire to bone every woman I see. It matters not her age, weight, or level of attractiveness. I just want to bone. It is pretty much the greatest feeling ever.