Psst ….Pssst…

…Hey… there, sitting in the corner toying with a shot of jameson and nursing a bud light… Wipe those manly tears away and talk to me for a minute.

Lemme guess? You got drippy with a pretty face who promised you loves and hugs and eternal kisses, for ever and ever and maybe even, fo eva EVA?? ┬áIt’s okay, I’ll wait…


Right. So what to do? Well, you could get sad and drink yourself to tears night after night. …Exactly. Hmm..but… you could get angry of course, rant and rave with all the might your hefty butthurt lends to your hysterical blubbering. Ah yes, the old tried and true, “lying whore..!….::blub..blub…sob::…she…she, never..lov…ahmygerdddd…loved..::waver like a bright eyes song::….m…me…!”

Perhaps you could even go a step further, and post some silly status on a social networking site about how right Joni Mitchell was (look, I’m not even going to bother explaining the reference, either look it up or what the fuck are you still reading for?), or, maybe you could just take it to ass hurting defcon 5. Karma gonna get ’em!!

[Tangent: I admit to being a fruity child who enjoyed the cross dressing antics of “boy”..”george”…so when I see the perpetually misused term ‘Karma’ , I don’t think of Hindus, or John Lennon, or even silly uneducated self-centered….jesus…well, everyone I suppose. I think of Boy fucking George, dressed as a giant gay chameleon, and he WILL eat your smug little self satisfied asshole.]

“Coraline!…oooh Coralineeeee!!”

I know that look. Shhh. Just, Shhhhhhh.

Your red-rimmed pathetic gaze is telling me, ‘this is pointless, none of your unoriginal and not even a tiny bit inspirational consoling words will help at all’. And there you have it friend. There is no ‘helping this’. You heard me. Now pick up that shot of jame-o and sip it real slow like it was that shit they make in Narnia that can cure the aids.

Hey, I know! Let’s talk about something else. Isn’t it weird that when people talk about forests and rivers and shit, they call it, ‘mother’ nature? It’s weird, they do that with countries of origin usually too. You know, the ‘mother country’ and whatnot. Oh! Right! Vagina’s make stuff! Not making you feel any better huh?

Well hey, maybe we aren’t giant cosmic empowered wombs, but all is not lost. At least we get dominion over something of some small importance. It is ‘father’ time after all, no? That’s right. And we own that shit. Who cares? What does that even MEAN?? Well, let me explain…but first…a dude with a pig!

cutest. sandwich. ever.

Weird…where’d that breakfast loving smarmy looking young ‘un come from? matter, “Go home smirky mcsmirk, you’re drunk! and stop playing with delicious food!”


smirk factor reduced by 60 percent, soulful gaze, engaged….we are green for loads of poontang…repeat…buckets of poonaner are a go..


Oh, hey there George Clooney! ….::mmrfrrmerrm::…

You’ll have to excuse Mr. Clooney, it’s a little hard to speak when your mouth is being obstructed by pussy. Every pussy. Yes. Even your mom. Oh, I know! You silly goose! “Boo boo bee boo, but I’m not George Clooney! Wahhh, I’m just a regular guy, and nobody likey me!…::sob::…::vocal waver::..”


Pull yourself together man, and finish that bud light so I can order you a manly drink for christ sake. Look. No ONE is George Clooney, I mean, he’s a star, an icon, comparisons are ridiculous! However..

There was nothing weird about this science. Fucking friction, and then, ew, why are my sweatpants sticky?!

Kelly LeBrock. Before ‘Samurai Guido’ Steven Seagal got his greasy paws on her, every kid in the western world did the five knuckle shuffle in front of a spinach green ‘puter monitor, hoping somehow that shitty little facemaker program got hit by a magical bolt of lightening and then, tits. So yeah, I mean if smirky pig boy turned into ‘cunt catcher’ Clooney, then…



Wait, wait, WAIT!!

But, this isn’t fair! Eventually age will grab ol’ Georgy by his grey nutsack too, hmmm smart guy…you can’t explain that! …Ah crap…true…the years do even the playing field, don’t they?

“I’ll get that bitch a Bond…bitches love Bond”

Well, I wasn’t expecting this, how do you do good Sir Connery?


“I’ll fucksh youar mum dog!”


Whoa. I believe that cranky old bastard!

So then, is it starting to sink in yet Cusack?

Yes. Blubber all you want now. Look at old pictures, masturbate lovingly and weep into your soiled boxers if you like. It’s understandable. After all, you must now come to terms with knowing this beautiful creature you once joyfully wrapped around your penis, is now happily rocking in a different love shack. She took your fragile little bambi heart and filled that piece of shit with enough buckshot to make Cobain wince, and then, after making sure you finished twitching, sprinted the fuck right out of that miserable corpse hole you once called happiness.

Yes. Sprinted.

She practically set a world record for the 100 yard dash.

In a fucking marathon my friend.

Look, in the end, that skinny kenyan son of a bitch in the black robes catches us all. But just like in nature, that pretty little asshole cheetah can only dust you for so long. No one is Clooney. No one is Depp. No one.

But you are a man; and chances are very good that the day will come when you think back to how bad this hurt, and for a chuckle, you decide to access your nano uplink implant and get an update on, ‘the one that got away…WAY the fuck away from you anyway..’ and you find her, in all her many jowled splendor.

It’s true! No matter how good they look, if your genes aren’t total shit, your love handles, receding hairline, and foul odor will be a few days of brown tide compared to the medical waste wash up time will inflict on this cause of your seemingly never ending pain. Still don’t believe me, fine,

Ooooh look! I’m soooo hawttt!! La Di fucking DA.







…..Oh….Right then.


So, Basically…



Have Penis.





So until we meet in Montauk…

Live it, Love it, (You know what… silly haired titanic chick….? I don’t think I fucking know you…go away.)