My Grammy Picks

The Grammies are a sacred American institution, like burritos, Chevy Chase, and lying. Tomorrow night all of the A-List's movers and shakers will gather and knob each others' hobs as they cavort and speak of their favorite songs of the year. Unfortunately, I have yet to receive my invitation, which is odd because it's like tomorrow, so you'd think I'd have mine by now. I even called the Grammies and asked to speak to someone in management about my grievance. They transferred me to some idiot named Paco, and I don't even think he could speak English! I screamed at him, I threatened him, and he just kept on jabbering in some crazy Spanish or whatever. I hope whoever is in charge fired you, Paco. You can watch my tight, slender ass walk up the red carpet from Skid Row, you jackass.

Anyhoo, around the compound my worshippers have been starting 'Grammy Pools', betting money on who they think will win a given award tomorrow night. I, as a proud supporter of Capitalism, openly welcome gambling in my institution, as long as I receive 35% of the gross, I have no problems with people betting on the rest. But why take 35% when you can get 100% just as easily? With that in mind, I share with you my picks for the 2010 Grammy Awards, brought to you by Compaq.

Compaq: We're dead in the water, Steve Jobs.

1) BEST POP INSTRUMENTAL PERFORMANCE. I had no idea this category actually existed. From the title, I can gather that these are basically radio songs without the vocals. So, Lady GaGa with the second most annoying part removed? Gotcha. The nominees are Herb Alpert, Bela Fleck, Imogean Heap, Marcus Miller, and "Maxwell". I'm putting my money on MAXWELL, because his name is so strong and sturdy. Maxwell... It's also pretty mysterious. Who is Maxwell? Where did he come from? Also, what does his music sound like?

2) BEST DANCE RECORDING. Little known fact: I'm a classically trained dancer. I even danced in the Bolshoi Ballet until they discovered I had a penis. So needless to say, I was quite disappointed when I discovered none of these songs are anything at all like what we danced to back in the Motherland. In my day, we did the Nutcracker Suite all the way through eighteen times before noon, and that was just for a cigarette break (cigarettes being the only thing dancers can eat without gaining weight). The nominees are Black Eyed Peas, David Guetta & Kelly Rowland, Lady GaGa, Madonna, and Britney Spears. I'm betting it all on DAVID GUETTA & KELLY ROWLAND, because all the other artists have had at least one sex change operation. Black Eyed Peas have had three between them all; try and guess which members used to have penises!

3) BEST METAL PERFORMANCE. Now here's an award I can get behind. The Grammies are notorious for their lack of intellect about the world of metal. Luckily, I've personally seen to it that the best band won by bribing one of the vote counters into letting me stuff the ballot boxes. The nominees are Judas Priest, Lamb of God, Megadeth, Ministry, and Slayer. I'd bet on MEGADETH if I were you... You literally have no idea how many votes I put in that box.

4) BEST R&B SONG. The nominees are Jamie Foxx and T-Pain, Jazmine Sullivan, Beyonce, Pleasure P, and Maxwell. Remember what I did for Megadeth? I did the same for MAXWELL while I was in town. Hmm... Maxwell.

5) BEST NEW AGE ALBUM. Nobody cares.

6) BEST GOSPEL ALBUM. Nobody cares... except Jesus and Amy Grant.

7)BEST AMERICAN ROOTS ALBUM. Finally, an award for real patriots! I myself am proud to be an American, at least until China destroys us all. Until then, let freedom ring! The nominees are Bob Dylan, Levon Helm, Willie Nelson & Asleep At The Wheel, Wilco, and Lucinda Williams. I'm gong for WILLIE NELSON on this one, and for once I didn't bribe anyone. It's a known fact that Willie wins every award he's nominated for, because he does all the bribing himself. Willie grows some potent weed, kids. Steal some if you're ever in his backyard.

quickie: charles lacerte

Hey Chief, I can't help but notice the striking similarities between our blogs (viewable here ). In fact, there are only two differences I can spot: a) you use a blue font for your header (what, are you too gay for black?), and b) you write poems.... moving on. I would like to see this rectified before the end of the first quarter of 2010. Here's how you can avoid my wrath.

1) APOLOGIZE. Look, I'm not asking for a lot here. Just publicly apologize for stealing my entire layout on your blog, as well as on FaceBook and/or MySpace. Also, we'll need to meet up at some point so you can kiss my hand. That should smooth things over nicely.

2)WORSHIP ME. If an apology is too much, I completely understand. What you could do instead is become one of my loyal followers by pledging me your immortal soul in 250 words or less. Heck, I'm such a nice guy, I'll even let you choose the words!

Live or die, make your choice. You have until the end of the first quarter of 2010, good sir. Have you heard what I did to Niger1? I kicked his ass up one side of the blogosphere and down the other! You don't know what unspeakable acts of extremism and terrorism my radical followers are willing to do at my whim. You have your orders. My balls are in your court.

Avatar is Only Good When You're Drunk

Avatar is the most overrated piece of blue, furry shit I've seen in a while. And as a man who once worked in a zoo for imaginary animals, I know blue, furry shit when I see it.

I'll cut to the chase and assume everyone has seen it by now. I myself waited until basically the last minute, so I could steal as many jokes from Conan O'Brien and Jay Leno as possible before attempting anything as creative as writing a paragraph. Unfortunately, both men are obsessed with thirty minutes of airtime as of late, and as such have not been as funny. I, however, am at the top of my game and regularly not updating my website, as napping and eating cookie dough ice cream now occupy the majority of my schedule.

Last week I ventured forth from my sofa for the first time in two months. After the liposuction and bedsore treatment, my friend "Vegan" and I decided to go for a night on the town, starting at our favorite watering hole. She and I like to hit up this great bar downtown called TGIFriday's. Not a lot of people know about it, though, so let's keep it on the DL, kids.

After like two whole Appletini's, I was feeling pretty tipsy. Drunkenness brings out the greatness in us, I guess, and this night was no different. In our 'tini-besotted noggins, we conjured up a plan to sneak into the movies with MacDonald's Fun-Money, which I'd taken to carrying around in my wallet. Looking back, it seems like a bad idea, but we got the cashier with an eyepatch, so it all worked out in the end.

"Vegan" and I decided upon Avatar, because, come on. 3-D visuals AND we're drunk? Who'd say no to that? Needless to say, I walked out of there covered in vomit and depression at the realization that my life would be so much better if my girlfriend were nine feet tall and blue. After my seizures had stopped, however, I was convinced that Avatar was the greatest film of all time. I needed to see it again. I was starting to have dreams about giant blue furries walking around with tiny humans. I later learned that this was because I'd fallen asleep watching Monsters, Inc. Serendipity? I think not!

After I was cleared of the drunk driving charges (I was totally sure that "Vegan" was driving), I decided to go see it again, sober. I was having a hard time remembering some of the key elements of the film, like who played whom and which character said what. Also, the basic plot of the film sort of got lost on me, but I later found out this was fairly common. However, sitting there for three whole hours watching Smurfs use their ponytails as penises that wrap around other ponytail/penises and connect to FaceBook via a big oak tree is a lot more boring and mind-crushingly stupid when you aren't drunk. I do however give kudos to James Cameron for casting Lars Ulrich as the guy who wants destroy Pandora so ha may sell the unobtainable Unobtainium (clever, huh?) hidden under the planet's surface to 'investors'. Who'd think a guy like Lars Ulrich could play a greedy corporate shill? Also, they make you give back the 3-D glasses at the end. What, are we all sharing 3-D glasses? What if I catch like lice or something from that? Fucking ew, people.

All in all, I give this film a letter grade of B, as in 'Better Watch Something Else'. Like The Final Destination. Did you know the guy who played Bubba in Forrest Gump is in that movie? I'm serious, dude. Look it up on IMDb.

The New Xmas

As I sit here by the fire, laptop topping my lap like a dollop of sour cream tops spaghetti, I can't help but look back and wonder to myself about everything I've done with the past year of my life. Reminiscing about all I've done to better the community puts a grin on my face like nothing else, except maybe sex.

So what have I done for my fellow man? In addition to my continuing work here on my blog, I also built a log cabin with my bare hands. This was around six o'clock last night or so. True, I only really built it for myself, and also it's less of a 'cabin' and more of a 'pile of tinder', but I think it counts as community service, especially since I was told in court I would no longer be allowed to live so close to the high school. Maybe now that I live under a heap of sticks on top of a mountain, those damn kids won't skateboard on my lawn.

As I stroke the beard I grew last night, and drink the cocoa I made out of owl pellets, I can't help but feel bad for everyone back in civilization, celebrating Christmas with their families. Sucks to be them, right? All warm, and loved, and getting presents. Presents my ass. What does Christmas truly represent, besides the birth date of our Lord and Saviour? Not much, except greed and mass consumerism. So instead of enjoying and/or playing with your toys this year kiddies, send them to me! I will do the honorable thing and burn them, and I will certainly not open them, or enjoy them, or decorate my cabin with them. No sir. That'd be gay.

In fact, lets abolish Christmas forever. I'm tired of waiting around for Jesus to show up and kill everyone. It's been two thousand years, people. Newsflash: he ain't coming. I do understand, however, that some of you were counting on him to come and smite your enemies. Have no fear; I will be more than happy to smite them in Jesus' stead.

Instead of celebrating Christmas, we will now celebrate a new holiday: New Christmas. I would have called it something cool, like MurderDay, or KillsMas, but it would be too expensive to reprint all those Hallmark cards. New Christmas will be exactly like Olde Christmasse, as we shall now refer to it, except with a few key differences.

1) NO SANTA. Sorry kids, but on New Christmas, there is no false idol worshipping, which Christianity seems to promote like there's no freakin' tomorrow. Rather, on New Christmas day, we get on our hands and knees and pray to an image of the one who died for our sins: Billy Mays. You see, Billy Mays truly was the son of God. Just look at that beard and tell me it ain't saintly. Anyhoo, Billy tried all he could to improve the lives of millions, by selling them tubes that cooked spaghetti really fast, and blankets with sleeves that make driving impossible. But he was killed in his prime, at the young age of 51. Some, like CNN News, say he died of a cocaine overdose. However, we at the church know he died for our sins. Cocaine just stopped his heart when it happened. Total coincidence.

2) NO PRESENTS. Rather than blowing all your money on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for that unappreciative prick cousin of yours, there will be no presents whatsoever. Rather, we will all gather underneath the enormous statue of Billy Mays and draw a single name from a jar containing everyone's names, and whomever has their name drawn is stoned to death on the spot. Some might say I stole this from Shirley Jackson's The Lottery. I assure you that I thought of this idea all on my own. I just happened to be reading The Lottery when I did is all. Total coincidence.

3) 24-HOUR IRON CHEF MARATHON. There's no explanation for this. Iron Chef is just awesome.

4)NO PASSION PLAYS. Rather than force our children into a mockery of the life and death of Jesus Christ, we will now force our children to work on New Christmas day. Hey, the stores are all closed on Christmas; do you know how much money we're losing? And by abolishing Olde Christmasse, we're losing even more money in Holiday sales! This is to make up for that. Every boy and girl under the age of twelve will be forced to pitch in and work at the salt mines, mining salt and other such things. That should balance out the dip in the economy. Everyone knows salt sells like hot cakes.

That about does her. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find a pheasant for my New Christmas feast. I don't know exactly what a pheasant is, but I assume shooting a BB gun into the brush outside my cabin will yield one. Merry New Christmas to all, and to all a good afternoon.

quickie: eight years later, and you're all still retarded

Eight years after the World Trade Center was attacked by terrorists and it still hasn't sunk in; some people just don't like the truth I guess.

Allow me to clarify the word Truth for the uninitiated. Truth is something that can be backed up by science or logic. It has to be rooted in either one or both of those in order to be Truth. Without science or logic, what you have are Lies. That is exactly what you'll find at 9/11 Truth, as well as on the Loose Change video series.

I'll focus on science first, and I promise to stay brief. Steel loses half of its strength at 648 degrees celsius. Jet fuel burns at 825 degrees celsius. So, in summation, yes, jet fuel can melt steel, because 825 is a bigger number than 648. Do you see how that works, you hippie liberal twat? Can't believe everything you see on YouTube.

Next, logic. Why in fuck would President George W. Bush, an American citizen, attempt to kill hundreds of thousands of his own people? For the hell of it? I know what you're thinking: "BUT DARSH GEORG EBUSH WAS A STOOPID PREZDENT LULZ". Shut the fuck up you fat sack of excrement. I'm not going to start a brand new argument about the merits of President Bush, because this is a quickie, so I'm trying to adhere to that standard. Regardless of wether or not George Bush was a bad president, I doubt genocide of the American people was on his agenda. I know every pothead with a hacky-sack and a Ziggy Marley album is going to chase me down because 'Bush was a murderer, man'. Whatever. This isn't about the war in Iraq, you putz. The fact of the matter is there is simply no incentive for ex-President Bush to kill hundreds of thousands of his own people. Think with your brain, if you haven't smoked it away yet.

Finally, I'd like to address post-9/11 youth. Grow up. No one cares about your stupid petitions to end suffering in Darfur, or Ghana, or wherever. People suffer. Nations go to war. IT HAPPENS. I'm not saying I support genocide in Rwanda or whatever, but signing a piece of fucking paper won't do jack. You want to help? Go to Africa and fight the good fight, chief. Signing a petition that would have to go through months if not years of bureaucratic legislation in order to become a bill that no politician with half a brain would touch for fear of losing his job HELPS NO ONE. Why don't you try to get pot legalized while you're at it? And stop bragging about your stupid marches and protests on FaceBook. I'm sick of hearing about it. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine named 'Greek Chick' said she saw some guy shop lift some Tide from Walgreens or something, and some skinny jean'd prick named 'Kick Naroutsos' put up a whole goddamn paragraph saying how he 'supports people stealing from fascist monopolies that have ruined this nation'. Wow, thanks for finally legalizing theft, Detective Dipshit! We were all waiting on a high school dropout like yourself to support legal burglary, and now that you do, I'm sure President Obama will personally introduce a bill to congress that legalizes rape and murder as well! Congratulations, asswipe, you've brought shame to an entire generation.

My Fantasy Novel

Kids, I'm sorry to bring this up around Xmas, but I am piss poor. That hundred inch plasma screen TV I bought for my bathroom completely wiped me out, so I'm making some sacrifices around the home. For one, no more toilet paper. From now on, I'll just call one of you, my loyal followers, on the work number I forced you at gunpoint to give, and you'll drive to my house and wipe my ass with your shirt. Or pants, I'm not picky.

I do, however, have a plan to make some extra green, which I will hopefully spend on a hundred inch plasma screen for my walk-through humidor. I'm writing a book, cleverly titled My Fantasy Novel, to cash in on the wave of fantasy novels that have overtaken the youth of America. Y'see, white kids are a little stupid; they'll buy anything that has vampires, teenage girls, and iPods in it. That being clear, I'm going to join the race with my own fantasy novel! Here's the rundown.

The story is about an up-and-coming pornstar named Darsh, who is also a serial killer/highschool quarterback. One night, during a particularly hot blood-orgy, Darsh is bitten by a vampire named Count Fagula. Fagula, however, is not a cool vampire, like Blade. He's one of the gay ones, who doesn't shave ad has hair like a duck's ass. Fagula falls in love with Darsh, but Darsh, being so fucking awesome I'm at half-mast as I write this, doesn't like vampires. Darsh is a member of the Human Supremacist Movement, a group of humans who believe that vampires, werewolves, ghosts, zombies, robots, and any sort of halvesie out there can all suck a giant hard one. So Darsh and his sexy co-murderer, Chesty Laroux, set out to kill Fagula and every scenester vampire at school, as well as every scenester who isn't a vampire, and every vampire who isn't a scenester. After a particularly brutal gunfight, which actually caused me to vomit while writing due to incredible gore amounts, Fagula is murdered, and his corpse is fed to an army of horny sodomites. Watching Fagula's dead butthole being plowed by sodomite after sodomite, Darsh then bone-storms Chesty Laroux and every woman within a two mile radius, makes those really good Pizza Rolls you can get at Hannaford's, then passes out on his Mom's couch.

This book is a surefire win. It has everything; tits, murder... everything! Look for it in your local bookstore, in the aisle dedicated to books that are so great that not buying eight copies is a federal crime. Get yours today!

What I Want For Christmas

Kids, it's that time of year again; the time whence we celebrate commercialism, the American dollar, and the price of love. Once per year, we gather underneath trees stolen from Sweden and/or made by child laborers in plastic sweatshops along the coast of Vietnam, put shiny little balls on fish hooks under the branches, and sing songs of a superhero/zombie Jew born in Iraq. Of course, I'm talking about the magic of Christmas! Hope you've been saving up, because I want a shit-load of expensive gifts and services this year, so get ready to gift me and service me, in that order. Here's my Xmas list for the holiday of 2009.

1) A HANDSHAKE FROM BARACK OBAMA. This is a big one. If I am given this, I promise I will take the Vote Hezbollah sticker off the back of my Camry. Anyhoo, if President Obama agrees to shake my hand and maybe let me rub his stomach for good luck, then I can die happy. Of course, what Obama won't know is that I'll put a tracking device under his cuff links during his trademark terrorist fist-jab. That way, I and my cohorts, Glen Beck and some guy named Biden (he apparently has no first name, and quotes Nietzsche waaaaaaay too much), can keep tabs on the so-called Mr. President. Then, when he goes to the bathroom, we'll spring our trap, and throw a nylon net at him! Whilst Obama struggles with the mighty nylon, my friends and I rush in, pull his pants down, and take a picture of the President's notorious baby-penis! That'll teach him to be black and the President at the same time.

2)DINNER WITH A HOMELESS MAN. Last week I fell asleep watching an old re-run of Comic Relief, and if it taught me nothing else (it didn't), it's that homelessness is funny! I can't wait to hear all sorts f jokes my homeless compadre has to tell me. Like, why did the hobo cross the road? To take a shit in a coffee can! Ha... well, it will sound a lot funnier coming out of Whoopi Goldberg.

3)TED DANSON'S SKELETON. Okay, I know Ted Danson is still alive, but honestly, what is he doing with his life? I mean, after Cheers, what then? Becker? Suck my balls, Becker! No one likes Ted Danson. In fact, I'm pretty sure Ted Danson doesn't like ted Danson. If Ted Danson is willing to either A)kill himself, or B)be killed by my followers, I would like the skeleton. Why? I have a great idea for a sitcom called Ted Danson's Skeleton. In it, a poor fat black kid is adopted by rich white people. Also, the rich white people own Ted Danson's skeleton, which of course the consult for advice on their day-to-day problems. I've talked to Rupert Murdoch, and if I manage to get Ted Danson's skeleton, he'll put it on ABC Family.

4)A HANDSHAKE FROM SARAH PALIN. Same as Obama, but I'd steal her underwear instead. Hello, eBay.

5)JESUS. I want Jesus for Christmas. I mean, I don't want like the whole Rapture thing to happen just yet, but i would like to see a cosmic Hebrew deadite to come and tell people that the world won't end in 2012. Or that it will, either one would be pretty tits.

Well my children, that's the long and the short of it. Also, if you could ask Jesus to bring Eazy-E back from the dead when he comes. I'd really like to hear good rapping again before the world ends in 2012. Thanks guys. And like I tell you every Xmas, if I'm not appeased at least once a year, I'll kill all of you (just kidding, not the women-folk). Kisses.