Many of you, my loyal followers, will recall that last year around this time I put up an article about my dreams. Remember the one with me riding unicorns and then teabagging some slut? Yeah, that one. Well, I never thought I'd put up another piece about my dreams, but lately they've become...prophetic.
Yes, it's true. I am a clairvoyant. Or at least I've become one. For instance, last night I dreamt that I put my keys on my kitchen counter, and when I woke up, that's where they were. Madness!
Every day is a struggle with my powers. I can't get them to do what I want. I can't predict lotto numbers, or the weather, or when Obama will be assassinated. In fact, I can only predict things that involve me. This is a serious blow to my plans of assassinating President Obama, but I digress.
Sometimes my dreams repeat themselves inside my head. In fact, three dreams especially stand out in my mind. These are the events of the future, people. We must never do anything to upset the balance of time. So put one hand on your heart and repeat after me: "I WILL NOT CHANGE THE FUTURE UNLESS FOR MONETARY GAIN." Thank you. Anyhoo, here's the future.
1) I WILL HAVE A DAUGHTER. I dreamt last week that I was on the Maury Povich show, and my teenage daughter was holding her own infant child, both weeping underneath the hot stage lights. My daughter turned to the audience and said, "I just want her to have a childhood better than I did." At which point I stood up and said, "You're welcome. I mean, really, I'm sitting right here." Of course, this dream brings up one question: if it's the future, why isn't Maury Povich dead?
2)I WILL CLIMB EVEREST. In fact, I'll do it all the time. The first time I do it, I'll be drunk, and just sort of half-assing it. This will be my longest run. Later I'll acquire the tools I'll need to do it correctly, like rope and stuff. After my seventh or eighth climb, people will stop reporting it on the news, and after my twelfth, my Sherpas will tell me to just do it alone. I'll stop after twenty, when the Tibetans who live at the peak tell me to stop coming up to impregnate their daughters.
3)ANTI-GAY INJECTIONS WILL BE MANDATORY. These injections will be required for all citizens who fail a simple gay test: "Are penises nice?" If you say yes, you're either gay or a woman. After a state-mandated 'feel-copping' to determine the subject's gender, they will either be free to enjoy womanhood or subjected to painful experimentation. Somewhere down the line, vaccines will be created, which must be administered every twenty seconds. Those who do not comply will be shot out of a cannon aimed at the sun. Of course, they won't actually reach the sun, but the cannon will be pretty huge, so it will hurt a lot. Also, when you land, you'll be really far away, so you'll have to walk to your car in order to get home. I picked this one up, because for some reason, I have to get these shots. I keep telling them I'm not gay, but they just stick me with a needle and say, "Not for the next twenty seconds," and keep walking.
So, there you have it. My notes on the future. Now, unless I'm confusing my life with the plot of Back To The Future II, I need to get back to 2020 in order to keep my son from being tricked into breaking into a museum with my school bully's grandson. Ta-ta!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The Aristocrats
I am very funny. If you know me, and someone who doesn't know me asked you to describe me, that would probably be the first thing that would come up. My funniness is the stuff of legends. In fact, Legends of The Hidden Temple did an episode where the artifact was my book of funny things I've said. Of course, the kids never got it, because I had snuck onto the set with a billy club and attacked any of them who dared approach my book of funny things.
I'm also quite famous. Sometimes, when I walk down the boulevard (I never walk down streets; you could catch something), a hobo will ask me for a quarter and I'll say, "A guy walks into a bar," and then keep walking. That's one quarter of my famous 'Guy Walking Into Bar' joke.
So, put my funniness and my famousness together, and whaddya get? A powder keg of possibilities, bitch! And all it takes to light the fuse is for someone to ask me to tell a joke...
Here's a quickie: I once set a homeless man on fire. Zing!
But I have my limits. And those of you who worship me, all 180,977 of you, know that these limits are not to be crossed. And the limits start and end with two words. "The Aristocrats."
I will never do The Aristocrats for free. I'm sure you've all heard the joke. A guy walks into CBS Studios in New York City and says he has an idea for a show. Insert some whacky, looney sexual situations, and yadda-yadda-yadda... The Aristocrats. But the beauty of the Aristocrats is not in the joke. I mean, the Aristocrats itself is not very funny. Not because the premise isn't funny; au contrair, mon frair. A guy walks into CBS Studios? He just waltzes in? Hey, pal, you can't just do that! Who do you think you are? Comic genius!
The Aristocrats isn't funny because it's always being told by the fat guy who stumbles up onstage during open mic night at Pablo's Bar and Grill. You know who I'm talking about. He's the one frat boy left all alone in community college because all of his friends are in Iraq. So he stumbles onto the stage, grabs the mic and opens with the Aristocrats. Not funny. In fact, it's the opposite of funny. Not sad, that's more the opposite of happy. Hatred-inspiring. That's more like it.
If you want to hear me do the Aristocrats, it will cost you at least $500. If you want to hear me criticize your version of the Aristocrats, that'll be $100. Hey, that's a bargain. Do you know how much I paid Andy Dick to criticize my version? And later I found out that Andy Dick isn't even funny. Fucking liar.
But here's what I'll give my loyal followers. A few notes on my version, given free of charge (not really, I mean I charge people to look at my site; one human soul per view). This way, you can rip me off in front of your friends, and look funny and cool, until I appear, dressed as Abraham Lincoln, and sue your ass for stealing my material.
1) WE OPEN WITH DIARRHEA 'SHEET' SHOOTING. Basically, it's the same as skeet shooting, but instead the guy shoots at bags full of shit. Also, there needs to be a live audience, otherwise, who do we spill the shit on? Also, we need a Mexican, or at least a white guy pretending. So either a Mexican or Carlos Mencia. In any case, we need them to say shit like 'sheet', otherwise, how will shit rhyme with skeet?
2)TERRY SCHIAVO IS BROUGHT ONSTAGE AND HOT KARL'ED. This will be tricky, as Terry Schiavo is dead, and digging up dead people costs a fuck of a lot of money. Rather, I will spend that money on crystals, which will then be used to travel backwards through time, where I will pick up Terry Schiavo and bring her to the studio for her cameo. After she is beaten with tube socks full of shit and cum (to keep the shit warm), she will be transported back to 2005, where she can die as God wants her to: slowly and painfully.
3)WE END WITH A ROW OF INMATES FROM GUANTANAMO BEING CRUCIFIED. This will be cool because it will attract the Jesus freaks. This way, they can see a bearded, emaciated Arab get tortured within the comfort of their own home! Also, instead of just getting pinned to their respective crosses by big, pointy fucking stakes, each inmate will have jumper cables running from the engines of a row of '66 Corvettes up to their testicles. As the show ends, and 'Keep On Rockin' In The Free World' plays, and fireworks go off (also, let's stick some ostriches in there), the engines roar, shocking each inmate to death. We don't want them to suffer through the pain and humiliation of what happens when the Corvettes ride off the set.
That's pretty much it for my version of The Aristocrats. Also, don't end by saying the show is called The Aristocrats, either. Say it's called 'Darsh's Aristocrats', so everyone knows it was my idea and not yours. Otherwise, how will I be paid for the funny things I've said? Enjoy :)
I'm also quite famous. Sometimes, when I walk down the boulevard (I never walk down streets; you could catch something), a hobo will ask me for a quarter and I'll say, "A guy walks into a bar," and then keep walking. That's one quarter of my famous 'Guy Walking Into Bar' joke.
So, put my funniness and my famousness together, and whaddya get? A powder keg of possibilities, bitch! And all it takes to light the fuse is for someone to ask me to tell a joke...
Here's a quickie: I once set a homeless man on fire. Zing!
But I have my limits. And those of you who worship me, all 180,977 of you, know that these limits are not to be crossed. And the limits start and end with two words. "The Aristocrats."
I will never do The Aristocrats for free. I'm sure you've all heard the joke. A guy walks into CBS Studios in New York City and says he has an idea for a show. Insert some whacky, looney sexual situations, and yadda-yadda-yadda... The Aristocrats. But the beauty of the Aristocrats is not in the joke. I mean, the Aristocrats itself is not very funny. Not because the premise isn't funny; au contrair, mon frair. A guy walks into CBS Studios? He just waltzes in? Hey, pal, you can't just do that! Who do you think you are? Comic genius!
The Aristocrats isn't funny because it's always being told by the fat guy who stumbles up onstage during open mic night at Pablo's Bar and Grill. You know who I'm talking about. He's the one frat boy left all alone in community college because all of his friends are in Iraq. So he stumbles onto the stage, grabs the mic and opens with the Aristocrats. Not funny. In fact, it's the opposite of funny. Not sad, that's more the opposite of happy. Hatred-inspiring. That's more like it.
If you want to hear me do the Aristocrats, it will cost you at least $500. If you want to hear me criticize your version of the Aristocrats, that'll be $100. Hey, that's a bargain. Do you know how much I paid Andy Dick to criticize my version? And later I found out that Andy Dick isn't even funny. Fucking liar.
But here's what I'll give my loyal followers. A few notes on my version, given free of charge (not really, I mean I charge people to look at my site; one human soul per view). This way, you can rip me off in front of your friends, and look funny and cool, until I appear, dressed as Abraham Lincoln, and sue your ass for stealing my material.
1) WE OPEN WITH DIARRHEA 'SHEET' SHOOTING. Basically, it's the same as skeet shooting, but instead the guy shoots at bags full of shit. Also, there needs to be a live audience, otherwise, who do we spill the shit on? Also, we need a Mexican, or at least a white guy pretending. So either a Mexican or Carlos Mencia. In any case, we need them to say shit like 'sheet', otherwise, how will shit rhyme with skeet?
2)TERRY SCHIAVO IS BROUGHT ONSTAGE AND HOT KARL'ED. This will be tricky, as Terry Schiavo is dead, and digging up dead people costs a fuck of a lot of money. Rather, I will spend that money on crystals, which will then be used to travel backwards through time, where I will pick up Terry Schiavo and bring her to the studio for her cameo. After she is beaten with tube socks full of shit and cum (to keep the shit warm), she will be transported back to 2005, where she can die as God wants her to: slowly and painfully.
3)WE END WITH A ROW OF INMATES FROM GUANTANAMO BEING CRUCIFIED. This will be cool because it will attract the Jesus freaks. This way, they can see a bearded, emaciated Arab get tortured within the comfort of their own home! Also, instead of just getting pinned to their respective crosses by big, pointy fucking stakes, each inmate will have jumper cables running from the engines of a row of '66 Corvettes up to their testicles. As the show ends, and 'Keep On Rockin' In The Free World' plays, and fireworks go off (also, let's stick some ostriches in there), the engines roar, shocking each inmate to death. We don't want them to suffer through the pain and humiliation of what happens when the Corvettes ride off the set.
That's pretty much it for my version of The Aristocrats. Also, don't end by saying the show is called The Aristocrats, either. Say it's called 'Darsh's Aristocrats', so everyone knows it was my idea and not yours. Otherwise, how will I be paid for the funny things I've said? Enjoy :)
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Fuck You, Bump-Its
Dear Asswipe Who Invented The 'Bump-It',
First of all, go fuck yourself. It's your fault women look like idiots these days. Were it not for your needless shite hitting the shelves, women would look like normal humans. Rather, you've tricked the world's females into believing that they need to look like aliens in order to be socially acceptable.
Yours, Darsh..
Where do I begin shutting down your lies with a laser-targeted tongue-lashing? Mayhaps I'll start your licking at the butt of this problem, which ironically is also where I'll be nipping it... in the butt, that is.
1) THE BUMP-IT PROMOTES THAT STUPID 'I HAVE A BEE-STING ON MY HEAD' HAIRSTYLE, WHICH NO ONE LIKES. It's true, ladies. Now, to be fair, this hairstyle was coming into popularity long before the Bump-It was created. But don't worry, I called my friends at Hammas and put a jihad on the douche who invented it. That having been said, this redux beehive needs to die. Ever wonder why we laugh at pictures of women from the fifties that have beehives? It's probably because they have beehives. Everyone hates this hairstyle; it's time consuming, impractical, and just unattractive. What's worse, most of the women who wear them are those weepy, 'I don't know why everyone hates me' types. Really? You don't know? Well, maybe if you spent less time worrying about your fucking hair and spent more time worrying about what people will think of you after you screw everyone at the prom, then maybe your life would go a bit more smoothly.
2)THE BUMP-IT IS PART OF AN ENORMOUS PYRAMID SCHEME TO MAKE WOMEN LOOK LIKE ALIENS. My friend Dr. Ponzari and I have been carefully watching the Nielsens (that's what we call the TV in our apartment), and have noticed a peculiar trend in women's fashion: the 'I come in peace' look. It started waaaaay back in the days of 2005, when dinosaurs roamed the land, and sea-serpents with beards spoke to us of law and order. The gay, half-retarded Jewish masons who controlled the universe gave women enormous, bug-eyed sunglasses on a whim. But soon this practical joke took a sinister twist, like in that movie where the drunken friends kill somebody, then hide the body, but the next summer, they start getting death threats. You know, Sorority Row. Now that's a teen slasher flick that looks fresh. But back to the aliens. It starts with enormous sunglasses, then anorexia makes a comeback amongst twelve-year-olds and scenesters, the only two kinds people stupid enough to buy huge sunglasses, and now the Bump-It. Big eyes, skeletal bodies, engorged craniums... Invasion! What's next, satellites in the sky that beam television into our computers? God, no!
3)WOMEN WHO WEAR BUMP-ITS ARE FACEBOOK WHORES. Ever since I joined FaceBook, I've noticed a new brand of Internet whores.. FaceBook whores. They don't have webcams, and they don't videotape themselves flossing. FaceBook whores are women who, whilst wearing Bump-Its, create elaborate fantasy realms within the confines of their Info pages. These fantasies are often called 'lies'. In the example below, I'll take the 'lies' out of the 'fantasy' to create the 'truth'.
NAME: Ravencrow Neversmiles
OCCUPATION: Pagan Healer/Chalice Holder
HOBBIES: Worshipping the Dark Lord Faustus, Having Sex With My Fellow Chalice Holder/Husband Aleister Cullen III, Twilight, My Two Kids, Crystals, Evanescence
LOCATION: Hell
Here's the truth:
NAME: Claire Queeflinger
OCCUPATION: Day Manager at Starbucks
HOBBIES: My Two Kids
LOCATION: Sandusky, Ohio
I feel bad for these women. They obviously have no self-respect, and need to wear Bump-Its to feel better about themselves. C'mon, ladies, you're beautiful... on the inside. And you have really loud and interesting opinions about which Lacuna Coil song represents your life best. So, yeah... Also, your internet poetry is great! Everyone loves reading about which parts of Twilight you masturbate to. But maybe you keep that off the internet. If you want to write down your feelings about something like that, maybe you get one of these new things that are all the rage at Hot Topic: Journals! It's just like a blog, except no one can read it. Ever. Period.
First of all, go fuck yourself. It's your fault women look like idiots these days. Were it not for your needless shite hitting the shelves, women would look like normal humans. Rather, you've tricked the world's females into believing that they need to look like aliens in order to be socially acceptable.
Yours, Darsh..
Where do I begin shutting down your lies with a laser-targeted tongue-lashing? Mayhaps I'll start your licking at the butt of this problem, which ironically is also where I'll be nipping it... in the butt, that is.
1) THE BUMP-IT PROMOTES THAT STUPID 'I HAVE A BEE-STING ON MY HEAD' HAIRSTYLE, WHICH NO ONE LIKES. It's true, ladies. Now, to be fair, this hairstyle was coming into popularity long before the Bump-It was created. But don't worry, I called my friends at Hammas and put a jihad on the douche who invented it. That having been said, this redux beehive needs to die. Ever wonder why we laugh at pictures of women from the fifties that have beehives? It's probably because they have beehives. Everyone hates this hairstyle; it's time consuming, impractical, and just unattractive. What's worse, most of the women who wear them are those weepy, 'I don't know why everyone hates me' types. Really? You don't know? Well, maybe if you spent less time worrying about your fucking hair and spent more time worrying about what people will think of you after you screw everyone at the prom, then maybe your life would go a bit more smoothly.
2)THE BUMP-IT IS PART OF AN ENORMOUS PYRAMID SCHEME TO MAKE WOMEN LOOK LIKE ALIENS. My friend Dr. Ponzari and I have been carefully watching the Nielsens (that's what we call the TV in our apartment), and have noticed a peculiar trend in women's fashion: the 'I come in peace' look. It started waaaaay back in the days of 2005, when dinosaurs roamed the land, and sea-serpents with beards spoke to us of law and order. The gay, half-retarded Jewish masons who controlled the universe gave women enormous, bug-eyed sunglasses on a whim. But soon this practical joke took a sinister twist, like in that movie where the drunken friends kill somebody, then hide the body, but the next summer, they start getting death threats. You know, Sorority Row. Now that's a teen slasher flick that looks fresh. But back to the aliens. It starts with enormous sunglasses, then anorexia makes a comeback amongst twelve-year-olds and scenesters, the only two kinds people stupid enough to buy huge sunglasses, and now the Bump-It. Big eyes, skeletal bodies, engorged craniums... Invasion! What's next, satellites in the sky that beam television into our computers? God, no!
3)WOMEN WHO WEAR BUMP-ITS ARE FACEBOOK WHORES. Ever since I joined FaceBook, I've noticed a new brand of Internet whores.. FaceBook whores. They don't have webcams, and they don't videotape themselves flossing. FaceBook whores are women who, whilst wearing Bump-Its, create elaborate fantasy realms within the confines of their Info pages. These fantasies are often called 'lies'. In the example below, I'll take the 'lies' out of the 'fantasy' to create the 'truth'.
NAME: Ravencrow Neversmiles
OCCUPATION: Pagan Healer/Chalice Holder
HOBBIES: Worshipping the Dark Lord Faustus, Having Sex With My Fellow Chalice Holder/Husband Aleister Cullen III, Twilight, My Two Kids, Crystals, Evanescence
LOCATION: Hell
Here's the truth:
NAME: Claire Queeflinger
OCCUPATION: Day Manager at Starbucks
HOBBIES: My Two Kids
LOCATION: Sandusky, Ohio
I feel bad for these women. They obviously have no self-respect, and need to wear Bump-Its to feel better about themselves. C'mon, ladies, you're beautiful... on the inside. And you have really loud and interesting opinions about which Lacuna Coil song represents your life best. So, yeah... Also, your internet poetry is great! Everyone loves reading about which parts of Twilight you masturbate to. But maybe you keep that off the internet. If you want to write down your feelings about something like that, maybe you get one of these new things that are all the rage at Hot Topic: Journals! It's just like a blog, except no one can read it. Ever. Period.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Rage: Born on the Fourth of July
As I look out the window of my small, dark, and damp apartment, i see a fat man in biker shorts barbecuing some polish sausage for his two chubby wormlings, one chubby worm-baby, and his disgusting wife. It's a Rockefeller-esque portrait of Americana; the Polska, the 2.5 children, and the morbid obesity. It seems we as Americans have not, throughout the years, lost touch with what makes this country truly great: the endless ability to engorge oneself on ass-meat packed into intestinal casings by dirty, rusted machinery and/or Mexicans.
However, there is one group (the Irish) who cannot seem to figure out the true meaning of Independence Day. I read their posts on Facebook all the time, because when you're unemployable like me, and 3 AM rolls around, you need something to piss you off so that Glorksnak the Destroyer will stay in your closet where he belongs... Moving right along.
Everywhere you look it's the same. "Happy 4th of July... Troops, you're in my heart". Really? Why the troops? Oh, probably because they're in Iraq instead of being at home with their families celebrating, right? WRONG. Here's another gem, sent to me by some asshole in East Bumfuck, Nowhere: "hey fuckface, not troops=no independence day". Oh sure, because every three seconds we get invaded. I can see the logic in that, and... excuse me I'm getting a call.
Yes.... Oh? We haven't been invaded since 1780... And since that was the year the Constitution was ratified by the last State in the Union, technically speaking we've never been invaded? But Pearl Harbor, September Eleventh... Attacks don't count? Wow, embarrassing.
Okay, so thanks to an anonymous whistle blower named Glorksnak, your shit=ruined.
Listen, stupids. The Fourth of July is about Freedom and Independence, this is true. But I'm sick of everyone who knows a servicemen (Coast Guard does NOT count) getting wasted and fist-fighting Arabs at the Kwik-E-Mart and justifying it by screaming out their love of 'the troops'. I think they're trying to say 'soldiers', but maybe 'troops' is easier to say when one's belly is full of Heineken. Anyhoo my inebriated brethren, you are incorrect. The Fourth of July has absolutely nothing to do with troops, soldiers, or even wars. It is a celebration of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, which was actually signed on the Second of July. In fact, the damned thing wasn't even signed by everyone until the Seventh, meaning the Fourth of July is a Holiday of contradictions. Congratulations, Drunky MacGee, your drinking binge means nothing.
I know what you're thinking; "Darsh, you can't say that, dude. Don't you love the troops? They deserve a holiday, too, man." Hey dickface, ever hear of Memorial Day? Or Veterans Day? Or Armed Serviceperson's Week? Oh yeah, when it comes to holidays, 'the troops' really get screwed. Never mind the whole 'going to war and dying for their country' thing, what really sucks is that they only have two holidays and a friggin' week dedicated to their celebration.
I wouldn't even mind these lies about the Fourth being spread if they were being spread by people who have actually seen overseas combat. At least that way, I could say that, although they are wrong, they are fighting for something that truly affects them. Rather, the people who argue, complain, and just totally bitch me out for my CORRECT definition of the Fourth of July are frat boys who 'totally wanted to serve, brah', but were too fat, white, drunk, and stupid to get into THE FUCKING U.S. ARMY!!! That's like applying to a Retard Academy and failing the entrance exam. Have you seen the requirements for active duty? They're a fucking joke! Matter of fact, the only branches of the military which have tough entrance exams are the Marines and the SEALs.
Now you're gonna ask me, "if that's true, why don't you sign up for service". The answer: I'm not stupid. I'm not risking my life so you can make an embarrassment out of yourself on the Fourth. And as for your rantings about how 'troops are defending our liberties by fighting our enemies abroad', I say this...
WAKE THE FUCK UP!
'The Troops' haven't fought 'Our Enemies' since Saddam was captured. Right now, we're babysitting the Iraqis, and quite frankly, are doing poorly. If we were really 'fighting our enemies abroad', we'd be in Korea again, assassinating that crazy fuck Kim Jong Il. Anyone ever wonder why we're ignoring the sociopathic motherfucker with the nuclear weapons who has stated publicly that he's going to attack the U.S.? Yeah, me neither.
However, there is one group (the Irish) who cannot seem to figure out the true meaning of Independence Day. I read their posts on Facebook all the time, because when you're unemployable like me, and 3 AM rolls around, you need something to piss you off so that Glorksnak the Destroyer will stay in your closet where he belongs... Moving right along.
Everywhere you look it's the same. "Happy 4th of July... Troops, you're in my heart". Really? Why the troops? Oh, probably because they're in Iraq instead of being at home with their families celebrating, right? WRONG. Here's another gem, sent to me by some asshole in East Bumfuck, Nowhere: "hey fuckface, not troops=no independence day". Oh sure, because every three seconds we get invaded. I can see the logic in that, and... excuse me I'm getting a call.
Yes.... Oh? We haven't been invaded since 1780... And since that was the year the Constitution was ratified by the last State in the Union, technically speaking we've never been invaded? But Pearl Harbor, September Eleventh... Attacks don't count? Wow, embarrassing.
Okay, so thanks to an anonymous whistle blower named Glorksnak, your shit=ruined.
Listen, stupids. The Fourth of July is about Freedom and Independence, this is true. But I'm sick of everyone who knows a servicemen (Coast Guard does NOT count) getting wasted and fist-fighting Arabs at the Kwik-E-Mart and justifying it by screaming out their love of 'the troops'. I think they're trying to say 'soldiers', but maybe 'troops' is easier to say when one's belly is full of Heineken. Anyhoo my inebriated brethren, you are incorrect. The Fourth of July has absolutely nothing to do with troops, soldiers, or even wars. It is a celebration of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, which was actually signed on the Second of July. In fact, the damned thing wasn't even signed by everyone until the Seventh, meaning the Fourth of July is a Holiday of contradictions. Congratulations, Drunky MacGee, your drinking binge means nothing.
I know what you're thinking; "Darsh, you can't say that, dude. Don't you love the troops? They deserve a holiday, too, man." Hey dickface, ever hear of Memorial Day? Or Veterans Day? Or Armed Serviceperson's Week? Oh yeah, when it comes to holidays, 'the troops' really get screwed. Never mind the whole 'going to war and dying for their country' thing, what really sucks is that they only have two holidays and a friggin' week dedicated to their celebration.
I wouldn't even mind these lies about the Fourth being spread if they were being spread by people who have actually seen overseas combat. At least that way, I could say that, although they are wrong, they are fighting for something that truly affects them. Rather, the people who argue, complain, and just totally bitch me out for my CORRECT definition of the Fourth of July are frat boys who 'totally wanted to serve, brah', but were too fat, white, drunk, and stupid to get into THE FUCKING U.S. ARMY!!! That's like applying to a Retard Academy and failing the entrance exam. Have you seen the requirements for active duty? They're a fucking joke! Matter of fact, the only branches of the military which have tough entrance exams are the Marines and the SEALs.
Now you're gonna ask me, "if that's true, why don't you sign up for service". The answer: I'm not stupid. I'm not risking my life so you can make an embarrassment out of yourself on the Fourth. And as for your rantings about how 'troops are defending our liberties by fighting our enemies abroad', I say this...
WAKE THE FUCK UP!
'The Troops' haven't fought 'Our Enemies' since Saddam was captured. Right now, we're babysitting the Iraqis, and quite frankly, are doing poorly. If we were really 'fighting our enemies abroad', we'd be in Korea again, assassinating that crazy fuck Kim Jong Il. Anyone ever wonder why we're ignoring the sociopathic motherfucker with the nuclear weapons who has stated publicly that he's going to attack the U.S.? Yeah, me neither.
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