Dirty Laundry

My name is Rod Thunder, and I am a porn star. My real name is Cecil, but that’s not the kind of name that screams “fuck machine”. On second thought, I should check with my agent to see if I can change my name to ” Cecil Fuckmachine “. Anyway, the life of a porn god can be taxing on the mind and I thought writing about it would be therapeutic. I don’t want to write just about the mountains of cocaine and thousands of beautiful women because those aren’t even the really interesting parts of porn. Ok, I totally lied those parts kick so much ass it hurts my nose and balls just thinking about it.

Instead of re-hashing how I got where I am in life, I want to focus on my day to day experiences. Things like brushing my teeth with blow while getting a blow job. Eating fried chicken while getting a blow job. Getting blow jobs while on the job. Stuff like that. I feel like I truly am a deep person and my line of work stifles the deepyness that is inside me.My life is more than fucking super hot girls, and I hope to share the non -ultra great aspects of my life. Well I guess I don’t really “hope” to, cause I’m going to even if nobody reads this or not.

-Rod ” Rawdog ” Thunder. ( Cecil works too. That’s what my drivers license says.)

Help Me I Am In Hell

A while back I thought it would be funny if I got ordained as a minister. I am a raging anti-thiest so the idea of me being a reverend with the ability to marry people would be comedic in itself. A couple of months ago  a guy I know calls me up and asks if I would marry him and his girlfriend. I say” ok, when?” he say” the 25th( a week’s notice)” I say” your fucking kidding me.” he say” no”. Well why the fuck not. I was told it would be a small affair, maybe ten people, at his mom’s backyard. I never married anyone so I figured this wouldn’t be that bad. Hot and ghetto, but not bad. So um yeah, two days before this joke of a union was to take place I was notified about a change in plans. Instead of a back yard with ten or so people, the wedding was being moved to the clubhouse where her dad lives, and there will be 40-50 people. I would now like include this tidbit : her dad lives in a fucking trailer park. I understand people have to live somewhere but really now, a fucking trailer park.

   Needless to say I was not very happy but I agreed to do this thing so whatever, I’ll cope. Really now, how many times will I get the chance to  A: marry people B: marry people at a trailer park clubhouse? Never ever. To gear myself up for this I thought staying up until 5 a.m drinking the morning of the wedding would be a great idea. I got a refreshing four hours of sleep before my bladder ruined any hopes of enjoying  a hangoverless day. I drove to the poor fucks parents house, where upon arrival I was asked If I wanted a drink. I didn’t see where a thirst quenching glass of…nope they were talking about more beer….would hurt. Fuck it, why not.

   Right before we left, the groom’s step father went to the bathroom but somehow managed to forget not to piss on himself. He changes pants, we now have 15 minutes to get to the park. We all rush like hell, make it  minutes before the start time so I had a few minutes to go over the garbage they ( groom and bride) wanted me to say, since I have only been to weddings and even then did not pay any fucking attention to what was going on, so I had no idea what to say during a wedding ceremony. I asked where the club house was. Groom says ” over there” and points to a double wide. So not only is the wedding being held at a trailer park, but it’s being held in a fucking big trailer. Sweet. Most of the guests were already there and by guests I mean fucking white trash. Oh yeah, brides daughter invited her friends to the wedding. Awesomely enough they were all Insane Clown Posse fans, all 12 of them. 12 juggalo’s and  juggelett’s. This day just became greater.  Best part: I JUST bitched about these people a week ago.

  This is a good time to point out how over dressed I was. Dress pants, neatly pressed dress shirt, and I even felt bad about not polishing my shoes before I left. Fuck all of that.One jugglefuck was wearing a white t-shirt with a fucking hole in the side, some guy had a denim shirt with the sleeves cut off, some other guy sported flip flops, the bride’s mother wore a fucking prom looking dress, and her dad’s pants were too short to hide the fact his shitty black shoes were offset by his filthy white socks. My cells are at this point  attacking me because they are so pissed I brought them to this place. 6:00 rolls around( start time) and there is no bride. Groom calls bride. Bride says they just left the hotel, which is where they are staying for their ” honey moon”. The hotel is a Super 8 across the street from a shit hole country western bar. Half hour passes and there is still no bride. Another call is placed. The groom informs me they are on the way, but they have to finish smoking a joint. Who the fuck does that? Really now, getting stoned before your wedding is pretty trashy right? Wrong. The bride and the maid of honor show up, and before going inside and getting this train wreck started, insist everyone in the wedding party take a shot…of Jagermeister.

   Inside we go, I am feeling hellish, and this is when I get a good look at the bride. Her wedding dress goes a little something like this: white ( no shit? ), and about six inches above her navel on up the dress has laces kinda like a corset. This laced up dress allowed her triple D boobs to spill all over the fucking place. This tasteful garb also allowed for an unobstructed view of the rose tattoo on her escaping tits. Whatever…ceremony starts,I do my job poorly( how the fuck was I supposed to know when they should put the rings on), time to eat. Bride’s father spent all night and day cooking a sumptous feast. The menu included: shrimp floating in brown sauce, chicken submerged in yellowish brown sauce that oddly enough was covered in some sort of seasoning that did not come off even though it was sitting in liquid, button mushrooms with ground beef on them covered in a delightful jar of Prego, broccoli and cheese that was white-ish, beef pieces covered in cream of mushroom with a layer of corn flakes on top ( yes..corn flakes ), and a vile potato salad that had chopped up pieces of pepperoni in it. Yum! I got my broccoli, potato salad and tamale cassarole( actually not vile just plain ole sucky) and had a seat where I was greeted by brides’s brother. Have you ever opened the medicine cabinet and aligned your face on the mirror so if you tilt your head inward, your eyes get all close together and your face looks distorted? No? You fucking suck. Anyway he looked like this. He proceeded to ask me about every religion on the fucking planet, since you know, I’m a reverend and all and I know about every religion on the fucking planet.

   I was at this time ready as hell to go, so I started nagging the groom about signing the marriage license. ” Sure no problem, I’ll go get her”. I wait. And wait. I go looking for bride. I find bride. I find the bride doing a keg stand with the help of her daughter’s juggalo friends. I go to my car so I can call my friend and tell him how to completely fuck a saturday all the hell up. I’m talking to him and I hear yelling comming from the double wide. ” You need to beat your son’s ass! Nobody punches my fucking daughter!” I end my call and walk over. I guess the maid of honor’s son -age 5- punched the bride’s daughter -age 9- in the stomach. The juggalo’s are talking about how they would have smacked the 5 year old in the face if they had seen what happened. My insides begin to die at a rapid pace.

   I managed to get groom, bride, and best man into big fucking trailer to sign the shit so I can leave. The only hitch is the maid of honor is the other witness. I go back outside to get her. ” I need you to sign the marri-” ” Fuck that bitch I aint signin shit”. She leaves. I am at this point very desperate, so I start asking random people if they could sign the license. Everyone must have gotten together earlier and agreed on a resounding “no” answer in case this happened. I convince the bride’s mother’s friend to scribble some shit on the license for me . Home free. No. Groom want’s me to be there for the garter tossing. Since that was taking place about four feet from my car I didn’t see the harm.

  Groom takes the garter off with his teeth, flings it, juggalo’s start fighting for it, and brides father ends up taking out a couple of them to emerge victorious. He looks at me and says ” A i nt nowboody gettin mawwied now”. Holy shit, what was that. I back away and stand off to the side away from everyone to collect my thoughts. I have not smoked in a month, but at this point in time I really really want to. The guy who saved money on his denim shirt because it lacked sleeves asked me if I was alright. I ask him for a cigarette. He says sure and gives me a fucking Echo. Heard of those? Me neither, but when in Rome… It is definitely time to go so I go back inside to say my good bye’s. On my way out the bride’s father stops me and says” Awwdom theweres a jauor ov owlebs wif youwer nmae awn it” translation: Adam there is a jar of olives with your name on it. Not once in the course of the evening did I consume a single solitary fucking olive. The bride’s father however was under the impression that Best Choice olives are my fave, an I had my eye on the big fucking jar of them sitting on the counter. I take my big fucking jar of owlebs and give him my thanks. After sitting in my car for a second to let everything settle in, I get the fuck on to the highway and beat a hasty retreat. I call my friend back to tell him some more of what happened, and while talking the truck in front of me cuts off the truck next to me forcing truck next to me into the concrete barrier where it spins around a few times before comming to rest in the middle lane of the highway. I get off the phone and proceede with caution the rest of the way home. This was my saturday…no shit.

What’s in a name?

I’ll admit I thought “emo” people were awesome from the get go. First off they probably hate being labled. Who’s right is it to label someone when they are only trying to identify with the pain they feel on a daily basis? Second, their random cuts that adorn their arms are NOT self mutiliation, but a way for them to focus their attention on something else other than the pointlessness of things like living. It is about god damned time a group of people felt the weight of societies scorn for feeling different.
Their adornments are another feat of individualiaty. Why do girl pants have to be just for girls? Tight ironic t-shirts allow for unhibited sexual freedom. Who says having sex with everything is wrong. The unlabled don’t  that’s who. Some see their hair as a ridiculous pain in the ass achievenment to waste time on everyday. That’s just silly. People can see just fine with one eye, and “emo” folk are in tune with the greed the human body exudes. Pirates conquored tons of other seamen with only one eye.  20/ vision is a true act of  individualiaty that few “normal” people will ever understand. Greedy fucks.
“Emo” (sorry to call you guys and girls buy a mass marketed name) girls are the hottest women on earth, and a few other planets. Vunerable, timid, introspective,sexy glasses, and hair so cute the males of the same thought process felt the need to copy.  One of my new favorite porn stars is an “emo” looking girl. It really bums me out watching her fuck some lame douchebag when I’m the one who really understands her.
I just wish people would lay off of the true individuals. Those proud enough to wear their desire to be left alone.Those proud enough to listen to music that truly speaks about self doubt, and alienation. Fuck oldschool shit like The Cure, or The Smiths, or Joy Division, or Bauhaus, or  The The, or Nine Inch Nails, or The Pixies, or The Jesus Lizard, or whatever those jerk off’s back then felt like was music. It’s time for the new guard. AFI, My Chemical Romance, As I Lay Dying, and the guy who wrote the song about killing himself after the love of his life died.(not the dude from the  Blue Oyster Cult, the one that came out a couple of years ago)
All I ask is that we as a society embrace true individualiaty for once. “Emo” is not some as-the-wind-may-blow fad. It is a true movement by true individuals. Individuals who eschew the whole ” there are other topics that you should be using your angst to address, like the cause of your societal woes” bullshit. Life is “me” and “my” pain. I applaud them for finally realiazing that the courage to commit suicide is greater than dealing with difficulty, since you know, what’s the fucking point

Toast

Thanks to the internet and carrier pigeons I learned that Kent French was named by Guinness ( not the delicious beer ) the ” Worlds Fastest Clapper”. How fucking cool is that? Kent or “Toast” as he likes to be called by his one friend who gave him the nickname as a play on “French toast ” or the fact he claps so fast he can toast bread with his hands, spent countless hours(he really did lose count) clapping in preparation for this monumental achievement. Through rigorous training Kent managed to clap ” 721 times in one minute. That’s a rate of twelve claps a second for SIXTY seconds”. I would like to take this time to thank Toast for clearing up the whole seconds in a minute thing. That aspect of time has escaped me for years.

For longer than necessary I thought the title of ” fastest clapper” was either held by a man knee deep in a whore, or a gold medal winner at the Special Olympics. Not so. A good…nay, a great man set his sights on a goal, and it took a man who likes to be called food to show me the error in my thinking. Fuck having sex Toast, keep on clapping. If there is a god, you and Bobby Badfingers(Worlds Fastest Finger Snapper) will join forces and make beautiful music with your fucking hands. Not with instruments in your hands, just your hands. I hope these two remarkable individuals make each other their life partner, adopt a child and coach it until it becomes the ” Worlds Fastest Snap-Clapper”. Then my heavy drinking will be justified.

Fun included.

Nintendo is known for it’s quality first party products. You can count on them to be well built and white no matter what it is.( not counting the Virtual Boy, or whatever that red piece of awesome was called…thanks ninty, or the Game Cube, or the first iteration of the 64 ) So when the Wii Zapper finally came out I was excited as hell. I was even more excited that my roommate bought it, since it’s his Wii and I am poor. It was about time Nintendo released a zapper. Everyone ( yes I asked everyone) has been begging for a Wii gun and it’s about god damned time they delivered. Who needs a stupid hard drive, or a Nintendo brand rechargeable battery pack when there are zappers that need making? Not my roommate. No scratch that, no one wants those…not anyone who thinks Hitler sucks.

I guess he got the gun and some elf game that came with it. I think the elf game is called ” Elf: The Rapid Fire Machine Gun Chronicles”. In the game you play as a guy in a green hat. Sweet! You have the option to play using the Wiimote or the Zappatron 2026. If you decide to quit being lame and not look like an epileptic with a t.v remote and use the gun, you are in for a treat. Weighing in at a hefty three grams the Wii Zapper feels solid, and not at all like a twenty dollar plastic shell. The ergonomics are also superb. Nintendo used millions of dollars on research and development to create a zapper that fits perfectly in your hand. I heard that Nintendo’s findings led them to the conclusion that: yes indeed, everyone on earth’s hands are about the same size as a twelve year old girl’s.

The setup makes sense as well. The thumbchuck thing goes in the back and the mote goes on top. So by using your left thumb you can look around and the trigger is pulled with your right trigger pulling finger. It’s kind of like an inch long sub-machine gun which is cool since inch long things fit comfortably in two hands. Now that the gun is setup, it’s proper time to get your kill on. In eight levels..I think…you are confronted by a slew of fearsome enemies. Not only are there targets,(the scary kind) bird-like creatures,(the evil kind) and goblins.(the goblin kind, cept these start with a B, so they’re not really goblins. Maybe they’re Boglins. That my friends is genius) There is also some other shit that pops out of the ground and skeletons and balloons.

With your trusty zapper in hand you shoot stuff. The more shit you shoot the more points you get. If you get attacked, you lose points. Since it’s ultra easy to aim a light gun that does in no way look like a pistol (thank the gods!) getting a shat ton of points should be no problem for those who do not suck at life, or suck at using zapper guns that feel so awesome in your hands. Who needs aiming when you can shoot targets from the hip? The shooting style works especially well in the levels that are like old west whore towns. I really wish Nintendo would have used the graphical style of the rest of the games on the Wii. Specifically the ones that are twenty years old. Honestly now, did anyone really buy a Wii to play games made in 2007? Fuck no! The people want old games and Nintendo knows this. That’s why they grace us with more virtual console games than games that are “new”. Nintendo knows what the fuck is up.

Garth Ennis weeps.

Once again I find myself playing a game on the Wii that was released thirteen years ago. The reason: My friend bought it to hurt my cerebral cortex. That and there are a total of ten games on the Wii that are worth purchasing. So Comix Zone is one of the games he purchased on the v.c(lingo) to slake any thirst he may have had for Sega Genesis games made in the 90’s, and for hurting my head. Since I am too cheap to buy a Wii, I’ll quit bitching nowish.

In Comix Zone( fucking eedddgggyyyy) you take on the role of Sketch Turner, a man shunned from the world of porn because of his lame ass name. Relegated to a life of ” holy fuck I suck that bad” with his pet rat “Roadkill” he takes on the daunting task of writing crappy COMIX! I’m not sure if SEGA noticed, but he looks a lot like Duke Nukem’s slower brother who did not get picked at all during elementary playground games of dodge ball. It sort of plays out like Last Action Hero-which fucking sucks-but in game form. Yuppers , you are trapped in comic land. As opposed to Last Action Hero where the opposite goes down( comic book guy shows up in real life) , you are stuck in one of Sketch’s vile attempts at making enough money to afford Top Ramen.One of his main villains comes to life and wishes to punish him for making him appear in so many horrid COMIX! So…yeah..let this game begin.

I tried playing this game with the Wii mote alone , and it is a lot like telling your friend born with no arms or legs that nobody thinks he’s different or strange. Oh no,no,no, that shit is fucked. It is never worth it. Quit being a cheap bastard and buy a god damned classic controller. It does not work, and neither do your friend’s arms or legs, he doesn’t have any.

After the antagonist Von Trapps you in your own shitty comic , you must fight your way through what I imagine every turn of Satan’s bowels must be like: sewers punctuated with the statue of liberties head divided by comic book-esque box things. Do not be dissuaded by Sketch’s running shorts and jean jacket, you are on a fucking mission to stop the guy in the fedora from completing his boast of ” I’m going to rock this world!”. This world needs no more rocking, and Sketch Turner and his rat are the ones to make sure this shit never goes down.

If I were stuck in my own shat comic, I can only hope the powers I have are punch and kick. This game had the foresight to include these two bad ass abilities in my repertoire of bitchin ass moves. Forget the ability to set down a bundle of TNT, the coolness of throwing one knife, and lest anyone forget Roadkill being charged with elecrticity, punching and kicking things always makes my fucking day. Oh yes…and so does having one life. Naysayers may think this spoils a game, But I believe it makes it worth the air I breathe. One fucking life. Great call dick heads.

If you are a fan of deep puzzles ( while standing on a fucking box;- “The switch is too high”) and even deeper dialog( “Lemme see your lungs”") then…uh yeah have at it. Thank you SEGA for rotting away the few synapse’s I had left, assholes.

Those breaths are gone forever.

I love games involving cave children that look a shit ton like Charlie Brown. I stopped looking at Frii Porn on The Wii long enough to peruse the old games you can download and play on the whatever generation awesome box Nintendo made, because there are no new games you really want to buy. I decided on Bonk’s Adventure or Adventure’s, or whatever the title screen had on it. Strangely enough my love of cave children and Charlie Brown were both satisfied.

Bonk is a cave child, and he is orange. Your purpose in the game is hitting things with your abnormally large head. There is a good chance Bonk’s mother dropped him headfirst onto a rock for two minutes. This may explain his anger issues and his freakishly large cranial area. The world he lives in is populated with retarded pterodactyls and dancing cacti that kick my ass every time I’m near them with my huge head. Oh yeah, every time I fucking die, my eyes bug out Rat Fink style then I start foaming at the mouth. After all of that I curl into a fetal position and await the pressing of the start button. Throughout the level ( 1-1 ) there are flower deals that you can jump on. Sometimes they release meat, which turns your head into a fucking volcano like atomic mushroom cloud and you turn from orange to red. Sweet. It’s not really a power-up, but it’s nice to look at a red baby instead of an orange one. Sometimes you have to climb up things. You use your teeth  because your super cave baby Charlie Brown super strength says ” Do ittt braaa!!!”

I played long enough to reach level 1-3. The onslaught of slugs with dsl lips was amazing. Said slugs are also harder to kill, but not less sexy. I then jumped on a dinosaur’s hat and made him cry. My soul is now in pain. I jump onto his tongue and walk into his mouth to find…………The Mario Brothers water level mixed with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles water level, mixed with red, AND the top and bottom of the outside of the dinosaur that just allowed me into it’s mouth……and now intestines. I am tired of dying because of stomach bacteria, and hereby vow to never play this accursed game any more.

Thank you Michael Bay.

The Transformers movie came out on DVD recently. I know this is true because my mom bought it for me. Thanks mom! It’s awesome this was purchased for me since, spending my own money for this moldy bucket of ass water would be a damn shame…..yes I’m broke. I read reviews that gave me a glimmer of hope that this movie would not be a total raping of a franchise that I was mildly interested in as a kid. Nope, this shit got raped.

I guess hating every actor and actress in a film never helps shed positive light on things, and let me be the first to say that it never will. I’m not trying to be cool and act like I don’t know who these people are. I honestly do not know what the hell their names are, who their famous parents are, what other celebrity waste of life they are dating, or where to find out the answers to these life changing questions, except for Google. I do know that these people were prolly paid wwwaaaayyyyyy too much fucking money to act like teenagers and super bad ass special forces guys.

When the helicopter robot landed at the air force base in whatever Muslim country we feel the need to keep airplanes at, started transforming, kicked everything in it’s path’s ass, and shot out a robot scorpion from itself, I thought this may not turn out all bad. Nope. The next hour or something introduces the cast of horny teenagers and Bumblebee “the retarded robot that could” to this epic. Teenager #1(the main-ish person in the movie) spends the whole movie saying stupid shit like ” like there’s more to you than meets the eye” and the more impressive” c’mon,c’mon,c’mon, c’mon”, “no,no,no,no,no” and I think that’s about it. The next mostly water pile of suck(teenager #2) is an Australian super hacker pretty girl and her cadre of equally teen aged super hacker draft picks. Then there is super hot slutty poor girl who knows about cool stuff like cars and fucking…and how to be loathed(teenager #3, or # seven if you count the other hacker virgins). Bumblebee chose the form of a shitty Camaro and spends the rest of the movie getting his ass handed to him, even after he takes the form of a new shitty Camaro. So from now on I’m not mentioning him again, except for his really lame “beeoytch” air freshener. That was stupid.

The rest of the robot cast includes the special forces guys ( the two white ones, the one Hispanic/creole one, and the African American one) and the big metal fuckers. The Autobots are brought to you by GMC, Porsche, , the u.s army and whatever makes Bumblebee. At the very least the Decepticons are all military or involving something with guns,explosions and death, so they are cool but you have no clue what they were doing while the Autobots snuck around outside teenager #1’s house. They just sort of pop back in the general scheme of things. And wreck shit.

I should mention that every race  is made fun of equally . The tech support guy is in India and talks like a white person making fun of someone from India. There is also a fellow in the background with whatever men in India wrap around their heads. Well played, I think I got the picture that this is what Republicans laugh at. Jazz talks like a B-Boy and break dance fights robots who have missiles and guns and other shit. He gets ripped in half by Megatron after asking him ” do you wanna piece of me?” The white,white inbred, and black special forces guys tell the Latino dude not to talk in Spanish, theDecpticon’s are all German. See, that’s everyone!

The movie ends with some epic music( or not) and teenager #1 laying next to teenager # 3 on the hood of a car that turns into a robot that cannot eat solid foods. Oh yeah, Optimus Prime and Megatron are brothers. Optimus shoves the whole point of the movie( allspark ) into Megatron’s chest cavity and says some shit having to do with them being related. And that is Transformers as far as I can tell.

The Orange Box: Portal and a couple of other games.

On the 20th of October ( thanks Amazon, assholes!) my copy of The Orange Box arrived. To say I wasn’t excited by it’s arrival would be like saying there is not a priest in a twenty mile radius molesting something. So, like a priest with a stink finger I was happy! For the price of one you get: PORTAL, Half Life 2, and some other stuff. The focus of this writey-magoo will be on Portal.

Before playing Portal there are a few rules that are detrimental to the actual playing of the game that need to be addressed.  The first rule is: You should be very,very,very high before playing. Rule number two: I totally forgot rule number two and three, or any other rules of Portal.  How’s about you read the manual and give me a call later or something and let me know what the other rules are. Okay? Cool.

So yeah, you play as test subject number 1100 or other and you sport leg braces.  Your mission is simple. Get the aperture gun( as opposed to the ISO gun) then shoot holes in walls. After that, make your way to the elevator. This may be a decent time to explain a minuscule portion of the game play mechanics. You have two different colored options whilst shooting portals in walls. Fire and Ice, Heaven and Hell, Ying and Yang, or as I like to call them: Blue and fucking Orange. Orange opens one portal and blue opens another.  Put them really close to one another and you can travel between the two at incredible amounts of speed. Not too sure why this is necessary(life feeds on life), but fuck it, it doesn’t really distract from the fact that you get to shoot intra-dimensional portals into shit and jump around.

Another neat-o- thing about Portal is it controls just like some game called Half Life 2, which I hear is super great. If the controls in Portal are any indication, then this Half Lifes must be pretty badass.  I still haven’t beaten this game but I’m sure sooner or later I’ll get around to it. Hell I haven’t ruined Portals face yet. Since there are no enemies to speak of( unless you consider pneumatic dodge ball throwing robotic wall things your enemy) there are scant opportunities to “ruin” anythings face. This is by no means a bad thing, but with an aperture gun I feel the need to kill stuff by throwing stuff at it.

Look before you leap.

There are prolly half a million men in the world who think it would be crazy erotic to shave their shaft’n sack. I have been guilty of this same decision. I too hoped for a career in either pron or something that would make sex with a million random women a super badass reality. Shaving your balls however is not the key to fooling yourself into this  lifestyle. Before you take a razor to your sack think about this: You are about to make you pride and joy’s look like baby mice. Not necessarily size wise, but appearance wise. Your crotch has not been exposed to sunlight for like….ever. It IS pale. So by shaving yo shit, you have essentially uncovered something that has been covered for , however the fuck old you are minus the age it took you to grow some hairs. Add the wrinkle factor that is associated with weiner, and you now have a baby mouse.

Not only does your junk look un-appealing, but in a few days time it begins to feel no good.  I have been the proud owner of zero fucking venereal  diseases, but shaving pubes down to nihil sure as fuck makes you feel like a scratchy whore in about two days.  If the ladies are turned on by the distinct red lines my finger nails leave from scratching my fucking crotch, the quality of said ladies should be called into question and so should my decision to shear my scrotum. This whole deal should reek like no good to all involved.

Sin and Muthafuckin Punishment

My friend is the proud owner of a little white box of badass named Wii. So by proxy I am the proud owner of a friend who is the proud owner of said Whee. The Oui as it turns out is not a $250.00 Frii porn machine, but really is a tiny computer type thing that plays a game called Sin and Punishment. This is the only game that can be played , so the expenditure is so worth it…unless you hate Japan and any Nintendo 64 game made in Japan. Holy fuck you suck for thinking this.

Sin and Punishment goes a little like this: Space Harrier and something else had some hot nasty pixel like sex, then the something else gave birth to Sin and Punishment. Run and shoot. Blow up trees. Wear short shorts. Blow up trees. If you were thinking ” That sounds fucking cool”, you are right for thinking that particular thought. For fuck-sakes, it has something to do with the army using the blood of Japanese school girls to make them( the army, or police, whatever) super soldiers or super duper police officers. Instead of “sticking it in the ‘man’s’ ass” in real life, you can safely protect adolescent Japanese schoolgirls and fuck the police from the comfort of your dirty sheets. Once again, how does this not rock?

I have found if you play this game sober and happy about life you are a liar and should probably drink and give it another shot, since it makes perfect sense as long as you are in no way sober. The control scheme exemplifies this. A and , or B and A, or Y and X fuck I don’t know, moves you left and right. Action is always located in the forward compartment of the plane, so left and right is where you are allowed to go if you need to move out of the way of say…a fucking rocket or a dog that shoots lasers out of its mouth. Sober, this gets annoying. Faced, you feel an immense sense of satisfaction moving about the Compass Rose without getting your fucking face melted by a laser. Drunk: 1. Sober: you suck. There is a continue system of saving, which looks like shat, but is awesome because every hundred kills you make happen, you get a continue. If you suck at life and do not have at least12 continues by the time you reach the first boss, you probablly think minoritres suck and Hitler is cool, and your mom is wwwaaayyy hot and you like having sex with her.

Another goddamned blog…

Here we are. Hands that lie. Another fucking blog! When will it stop? Who cares? We don’t! We like blogs asshole!

Anyway, we’ll be covering pretty much any topic you can think of, art (film, music, literature, mimes, human statues, magnetic poetry, etc.), politics, religion, culture, video games, and anything else we damn well please.

Stay tuned:) lol! hugzorz!