Sex, Lies and ... David Letterman?

What the fuck?


After a long bout of abstinence from television, I decided to turn the damned thing on and check out just what was playing on the 248,827,112.5 channels that I pay recockulous amounts of leafy green spendy money for every month.


I wish I would have just shot myself.

There are FEW things I care less about than what the Kardashian family does on the weekends or with their loose, floppy, grossly overused, incapable vaginas on said weekends. But I have to say, on that elite list of unimportance is the motherfucking Holy Grail of B.S., the David Letterman sex scandal.






Why do we as people take such fascination with the goings on of this man's crotch? I am becoming worried that the youth of America will eventually just STOP breathing out of sheer stupidity.

There are plenty of other things to worry about that are FAR more important and entertaining than the goings on of this man's shriveled member. We could be taking more of an interest in things that might actually benefit mankind. Solving the Energy Crisis, ending World Hunger, establishing Universal Healthcare, Finding Waldo ... I could go on and on.

And yet we have to ask ourselves in spite of this revelation that what he does with his limp little love-limb is his own business and not that of the general public or the media, are we addicted to celebrity?

I have to say that it is a very real phenomenon, this addiction to knowledge. It is an opportunity to be voyeurs without the possibility of going to jail. It is an opportunity to be in on the ultimate Gossip. I cannot even buy groceries without being bombarded with candid imagery of celebrities I really could give two shits about, tabloids filled with stories about celebrities personal lives. It has gotten to the point that we have entire television channels, fucking dedicated frequencies of transmitted electrical signals through fucking SATELLITES IN ORBIT that bring us the news about Miley Cyrus and the godforsaken Jonas Brothers.

The youth today know more about any given celebrity than anything else. Math? Go Fish. Science? Hell no. History? Not a goddamn chance in hell. Lindsey Lohan? If colleges gave out degrees for usless shit, there would be hundreds of thousands of graduates with Ph.D's in Lohanology.

I have a challenge for anyone reading this. Try and go a month without reading about, thinking about, exposing yourself to, or even fucking CARING about what goes on in the media. If you survive, you will have earned some of that humanity back you lost when you momentarily bought into the concept of 9/11 being a government conspiracy.

A Perfect Neener: Saint Chaney's Revenge

Today I finally get to stick my pole in the rectums of those who have sought to abuse me in the past. After many trials and tribulations which shall go unnamed on this holy web-space, I am embarking on what will (or had better fucking be) a great voyage to the pacific northwest. You see kids my ladyfriend lives over a thousand miles away. This is distressing. However this situation is soon to be rectified, starting with this visit which has been long over due in my opinion.

Why the neener, you ask? This is a Neener to all of those who thought I wouldn't show up. This is a Neener to the people who, despite live evidence and proof, still believe I'm a schmuck. Well, I have a little over six inches of dick for those people to suck. It isn't much, but its what I've got. I won't lie to you, its gonna feel awesome for me either way.

The other side of the neener is that I am getting to see and spend time with my ladyfriend. If you are unaware of my ladyfriend, please refer to the Great Neenering posted below.

I feel I'm forgetting something ...

NEENER NEENER - NEENER!!!!

I Hate Hollywood: The Saint Chaney Story

You know there comes a time in every Saints immortal struggle against evil and iniquity where he has to outline the boundaries and definitions of good and evil for himself instead of adhering to antiquated concepts established thousands of years ago by a people who thought it was okay to sell your wife and children.

I was in the middle of soul searching when I happened to wander upon a boot-legged copy of Dragonball Evolution that had been addressed to me by Saint Peter. There was a note attached to it, which I translated from Aramaic into this: "Yo yo, my homie G-Dog gave up this mad sick Dragonball movie dude, fuckin chillax grab a brewsky and check it out. Its mad sweet." I should have known better. Saint Peter is the biggest douche-nozzel of the lot. Why do you think God stuck him at the door instead of letting him into the big party? Most of the time he sends me text message chain letters and spam mail from the weekly world news web-site which he will never stop talking about if you get him on the subject.

I had mixed feelings when I learned that there was going to be a movie based off of Dragonball. When I heard Justin Chatwin had been cast and not Shai Lebouf I felt a little bit better, and then I heard they were going to put him in HIGH SCHOOL. Yeah. High school. In this decroded piece of chimp fuck, Goku is a hapless unpopular socially awkward high school student who struggles with societal and media induced concepts of normality and acceptable behavior while dealing with the ever-present stigma of fucking SUPER STRENGTH. It's like after the giraffe cum-fest that was Spiderman, Fox recycled the cum and added it to the Dragonball film broth mistakingly thinking that it is some mega-hollywood franchise super-goo that automatically makes something good.

The story is about as thin as that crazy bitch from Ally McBeal and about as satisfying as being allowed half a triscuit cracker after having wandered through the desert of 20th Century Fox's creation for a week. The first question I asked was why I hadn't already eaten the business end of a 12-guage when all of the sudden I realize something else is missing from the movie. None other than Goku's childhood pal and constant companion throughout virtually the entire series, KRILLIN. Nowhere to be seen.

Master Roshi looks like he's entering a Joe Piscipo look alike contest.

The dialogue is about as entertaining as watching Dick Cheney's colonoscopy tape.

Piccolo just randomly appears and starts owning people, which I admit is the closest they got to anything from the series, but it still would have been nice to have had more back story than "bam, he's here, he's gonna fuck you with a big green dick."

The kamehameha was the most worthless piece of shit I have ever seen.

My final judgement? I condemn this movie and all involved with it to die of a combination of herpes and ebola.

I hate hollywood.

The Great Neenering : Ten Reasons My Girlfriend is Better than Yours.

Reason Number One - She admits that she masturbates and does it as regularly and as fervently as I do if not more. Try and get your girlfriend to admit it. Even if she does, mine's still better. There are nine more reasons. Neener neener!

Reason Number Two - She loves sex and is open to bisexual threesomes. NEENER NEENER NEENER!

Reason Number Three - Smarter than the average bear, indeed! Highly creative, appreciative of artistic and literary endeavors and is a self taught and accomplished painter. Can I get a straight neener?

Reason Number Four - She is one of the few followers of the Church of Saint Chaney, Patron Saint of Blasphemers and Defilers. Neenerage.

Reason Number Five - My girlfriend doesn't think its nerdy that I like to write, draw, or read comics. In fact, she encourages everything I do with constructive criticism and is just generally extraordinarily helpful. Neener FUCKING Neener.

Reason Number Six - My girlfriend has a long and sordid history in the BDSM community and is well known by many as a holy terror. Thats right bitch. Neener.

Reason Number Seven - Despite my obvious straightness my girlfriend manages to instill homoerotic thought processes...and makes me like them... Neener? ...Juries out on that one.

Reason Number Eight - My girlfriend threatens me with sticky tape and tweezers. And I'm afraid. I mention wool sweaters, she cringes. She's not cookie-cutter, she has an opinion, and she's fun to laugh with. Definite Neener.

Reason Number Nine - My girlfriend has helped shape my interpretation of the metaphysical and sexual nature of being eaten alive. Neener.

Reason Number Ten - She actually suggested I write this. And will probably reward me later. 9.3 on the Neener Scale.