The EPIC Turkey Day.. ZOMG & THE EPIC XMAS D.T BOOM ROASTED!

Please do elaborate on this "ricking".

 

So had my first 4loko last night. I imagine that if you filtered barbeque sauce, malt liquor, caffeine, and soda water through a cats arsehole, into an obnoxiously coloured can - it would still taste way better.

 

Er, rocks.

Came back home. Waiting for a cab. Booooo. But, yay for no DUIs.

 

Fresh squeezed Oj and vodka, fighting my cold and sobriety at the same time. KRU 82 in the aluminium bottle is shit vodka

 

So I'm on my mom's computer and there's a picture entitled "[Her boyfriend] and I kissing". There's going to be a sextape on here isn't there?

 

Question is Wheelz, are you depraved enough to find out?

I'm feeling just a little bit dusty and a drink would fix it right up but I know if I have even one the indigestion is going to come back like a tsunami and I have nothing for it.

 

Sorry for polluting the thread with my music choices but I'm bored as fuck

And they've been good shit

 

I'm not clicking on any video or picture, regardless of title.

 

When did the New Years Eve specials on t.v. become a sounding board for every talentless "rapper" in existence?

 

NYE pub crawl. Drunk as shit. This bus is fucking rocking.

 

Good Shit

 

Too much?

 

Airplane! Is still hilarious after all these years. Especially when you watch it with two teens who haven't seen it. And we had enough Chinese food to feed the Red army. And so the tradition holds up another year.

HNY idiots. I gotta go drop a ball or two.

 

I am in a great mood, because I got off work early. I am ringing in the new year by marathoning Community Season 2, drinking, and relaxing with the wife. Happy New Years, kiddies!

 

Happy new years!

 

I found something I wrote the other night. Apparently I was quite drunk because I have no memory of writing it. My drunk imagination amuses me to no end. Hopefully it makes someone else laugh.

Spoiler

So there I was, painting my cows.

Yeah, I understand this isn't a normal thing to do, but I live in the south and we have some odd rituals. Like painting cows.

I wasn't painting them in pastel colors or anything crazy like I hear the granola shitting hippies in California do, I was simply painting the word "Cow" on their sides. It's hunting season in Mississippi and quite
honestly I like my cows. Sure they're big, stupid creatures who do little more then moo, eat my grass, and stare at me with a horrifingly blank look in their big, vacant eyes, but I'm kind of protective of my enormous charges. They also cost me a lot of money I could've used to buy booze, ammo, and possibly a darkie in days gone by. I was hoping against hope that any hunter that stumbled across my property was somewhat literate and understood that a huge bovine with the letters" C-O-W" emblazoned on its side was not something to shoot at indiscrimatly.

Anyways, I was standing there in my field with a paint roller and a bucket of whitewash surrounded by huge, lumbering creatures that were indifferent to my efforts to keep them from being turned into leather colinders by hillbillies with unfortunate teeth and frightening 2nd amendment protected firepower.

That's when the flying saucers appeared. Yup, I said it... flying saucers.

My first thought was "What in the holy fuck is that?", followed quickly by my second thought of "Who played second base for the Yankees in the 1952 world series?" The last thought probably wasn't relevent to the situation, but relevent thought is hardly something that's usually attributed to a man painting cows.

I've never been accused of being a smart man, and quite honestly standing in a field painting cows doesn't exactly bring the term "Nobel Prize Winner" to the forefront of one's cerebrial cortexts. Still, there I was witnessing possibly the most incredible thing ever seen by man....huge flying discs of unknown orgin hovering over my field with possibly foul and evil intentions. I wish Stephen Hawking could see this shit. I'm sure he would've said in his metallicly assisted robotic voice "What...the...fuck... is... that?" And then kicked his futuristic wheel chair/voice box into turbo mode to get the hell out of the vicinity, without asking any further questions.

My first instinct was to shoot the bloody hell out of these unholy objects, but all I had handy was a paint roller and that was hardly an acceptable weapon. So I shook my painted stick at the discs in the most menacing way I could muster. Yeah, that did about as much good as you might think...the discs continued to hover over my unsuspecting cows and I stood there in the field shaking a paint laden stick like an idiot. Apparently the occupants of the flying discs had done their homework and I'm sure that's exactly what they expected when they decided to invade Mississippi. A hillbilly standing in mud and cow shit shaking a stick at them in the most angry way possible. Will Smith I'm not. They'll never make movies about me saving the world.

So it seems we had a Mississippi stand off. Me and my stick versus an apparently much more technologically advanced foe. Thinking as quickly as a dimwitted Mississippian can, I came up with an answer...Mickey Mantle played second base for the Yankees in the '52 World Series. It was the correct answer, but to the wrong damn question.

Coming back to the reality that was at the moment my life, I took stock of the situation.

And a cow mooed.

Obviously my cows weren't going to be of much help and neither was my stick, so I did the reasonable thing...I ran like hell.

I ran as swiftly as a person knee deep in cow shit and mud could, not surprisingly that is to say, I didn't move an inch. My boots made a sucking sound as I tried vainly to excavate them from the slop, but that hardly exited my dumb ass from the situation. In fact it only made matters worse as the momentum of my upper body met the laws of physics pertaining to my stationary lower body.

" A body in motion tends to stay in motion, while a body at rests tends to stay at rest."

My upper body was certainly in motion, but my lower body was, well, as at rest as a big fucking rock. Everything I learned in 7th grade science became overwhelmingly clear as I yelled "Newton you murphle murhk batlinger..." the last words were drown out by the shit, mud, and dispair as my face became one with my field, but I'm sure he knew exactly what I meant to say.

Somewhere Sir Issaac laughed at my predicamant.

And a goddamn cow mooed.

Face down with a mouth full of shit I pondered life, because fuck you Buhdda. If there's ever a time to think about the deeper meaning of life this would be it. Buhdda worried about rice and I don't know, maybe ninjas, but I had more pressing matters at hand...namely a mouth full of shit, goddamn flying saucers, and trying to get my ass out of the field before my nether regions were explored in a way best described by the lunatic fringe in 1950's Fate magazine articles.

It brought back horrifying visions of my last trip to Canada when I was subjected to a body cavity search by Mounties. They said they were looking for illicet drugs, but I suspect they had more then that on their mind. It's only a hazy memory of bass driven music, flashing lights, and hairy naked men making me sing "Oh Canada", then getting angry when I couldn't hit the high notes to their liking. Thus began a lifelong fear of Mounties.

Now I was presnted with the flying equivelent of those foul breathed Mounties intent on me being Pamela Anderson to their Tommy Lee and I was in the most vulnerable position possible. I'm sure even Pamela wasn't very pleased to find herself in this position with a dick the size of Norway hovering over her, ready to impale her like a Mountie supposedly looking for drugs in a wayward hillbilly. She's Canadian, and she should be used to this shit.

I, on the other hand, am not.

On the whole I'd rather be wrestling a honey badger with a bad attitude. Like there's such a thing as a honey badger with a good attitude. Those bastards just have a general "Fuck you" attitude towards everything. Needless to say, I was fucked seven ways from Sunday and that's never a pleasant place to be. Like waking from a drunken binge and finding yourself in a herd of Iraqi Shit Camels, what with the spitting, shitting and general unpleasantness of the whole situation.

Then I heard a voice calling my name. It wasn't a soothing voice, it sounded like the wounded cries of an entire village being eaten by bears. I opened my eyes and it was Bethesda, my neighbor who has all the charm and beauty of an extremely large object named after a naval base. That is to say, she's not a pleasing woman, unless you're into battleship gray skin, a voice that can etch glass, the personality of a oozing genital wart, and a face that could haunt a house. It was at this point that I came to the conclusion that God really, really hates me.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, it was time for me to choose the lesser of two evils.

I frantically threw my arms into the air and surrendered to the flying saucers.

Apparently the flying saucers were as dismayed by this turn of events as I was, because they were gone in a blink of an eye. *Bang!* No more flying saucers and I was alone in the field with Bethesda. I suspect they were afraid of her gravitational pull. Already several of my smaller cows were orbiting her and the larger ones were leaning heavily the opposite direction trying not to be sucked in. What I'm trying to say is that she is a big, unpleasant woman and I was now a unwitting and unfortunately positioned stationary pawn in her game of gravity vs. "Oh please God no." Once again, Fuck you Newton.

"Are you ok baby?" It sounded like a horrible nightmare come to life. Has Hollywood ever made a cartoon of a loveable talking deer that sounds like it's trying to pass a battleship through its bowels? No? There's a reason for that.

"At least she doesn't have antlers", was my only thought. I gained a bizarre sense of peace knowing I wasn't going to be gored to death by this abomination of nature that must have been fortold in the Bible as a harbringer of bad tidings.

On the whole, I'd rather be in Arkansas. (The only state scarier then Mississippi.)

"Uh, Hey Bethesda...Do you know who played 2nd base for the Yankees in the 1952 World Series?"

" I do", I answered myself.

A remarkably coherent thought for someone that had just looked into the face of a biblical apopoclypse and was now in the most vulnerable position known to man.

"Mrrrmpphhh" She replied after removing a turkey leg from under her arm and taking a bite. "Do you need some help sweetcheeks?"

I recoiled in horror as she smacked my ass with enough force to drive my face several inches further into the mud. Damn the God that left me in this vulnerable position.

"Fuck God and all his angels" I replied in my head, but it came out as "Murmble fluff...grumple stumf."

"Do you want a bite baby?" She replied and waved a ravaged turkey appendage in my face.

Sadly, I was in no position to debate this offer. I shook my head vigorously and spit mud out of my mouth. The functionally retarded would've understood this meant no, but Bethesda was sadly lacking in half of this equation. She was functional in that she was probably as bouyent as a beach ball, but she also had the mental facilties of a shit eating badger that knew somewhere in the far recesses of its mind that it was doing something horribly wrong.

She shoved the half eaten turkey leg in my mouth.


"I'll take care of you Baby" She cooed, in a voice remarkably similar to a foghorn signaling ships several miles offshore. Then she burped and sent several orbiting calves spinning off into the trees. It was quite fascinating to see. Or rather it would've been if she hadn't licked her lips, grabbed a stick, stuck it up my ass, and lifted me out of the mud like she was dipping a moose quarter in fondue. I had suddenly become a unwilling human popsickle, about to be devoured by what best could be described as a walking, talking, medium range destroyer.

I waved frantically for the UFO's to rescue me.

I suppose at the very least I should be thankful. I was now unstuck from the mud, but I was facing a fate even worse then death. A large hob-goblin had a stick up my ass and that's never a good thing, and she was hungry. Once again I cursed God and the minions at his disposal. A few minutes earlier all I was doing was innocently painting my cows, now I was fucked seven ways from Sunday and hating life.

Bethesda looked at me like a Hungry, Hungry Hippo.

I gulped a deep breath of air and swatted at her with all the effectivness of an ant kicking at a big fucking cloud with all its might.

"Are you alright baby?"

"Oh Hell," I mumbled. " I'm just fine, This is just a wee bit uncomfortable. Can you put the stick somewhere other then....I dunno...up my ass?."



Bethesda put one hand around my neck and I instantly knew that in a few moments I would be facing an angry, vengeful God and having to answer for all the blasphames that had recently raced through my mind and occasionally escaped from my shit addled lips.

I'd forgotten just one small detail...God doesn't like me that much.

What happen next I thought was only reserved for the lowest circles of Hell. Have you ever heard someone describing ,say, a bayonet attack from a crazed Japaneese kamakazee soldier as "It hurt worse coming out then it hurt going in"? Well that pain is nowhere near comparable to a Mississippi Sweet Gum branch being removed from your your unlubed ass while you're being manhandled by a creature that's a few chromosones removed from the evolutionary chart.

I imagine I screamed like a banshee with a megaphone attatched to a deep cycle battery used to start a scrambling P-51. I don't know, my mind wasn't ready for this horror. I simply blacked the fuck out.

And that's when things got ugly. Or even uglier, if that's even possible.

I awoke in her lair. My vision slowly came into focus on a Bay City Rollers poster tacked to a wall constructed of rough hued lumber. It was afixed to the wall with 16 penny nails that she no doubt had pounded into the wall with her clinched fists. Or possibly her forehead. Either way it was not an act I wished to see reanacted.

Somehow I had landed in a reality that was best described as a cross between the Seventies and the flu. Every which way I turned I saw pretty boys and my ear drums were assaluted by a chorus of "S-a-t-u-r---d-a-y that's the best day" I promptly vomited from the sheer volume of oritory and visual overload.

My head throbbed and I imagine my ass resembled an enraged baboon's. I rolled over and showed my angry red ass to Bethesda in the hopes that part of evolution had imprinted itself on her brain and it might fill her with fear seeing an enourmous, inflamed red ass. No dice. She told me it looked like Shaun Cassidy was offering her chocolate as I emptied my bowels like a horrifying red mouthed clown after a 200 hour marathon of honking horns, little cars, and vacant eyed children clapping and praying for death. Truthfully I'd never seen my ass or clowns as that attractive, but in her pea brain my ass was a teenage idol vomiting yummy goodness.

It was then I understood that somehow I had to reason with this abortion of nature and that was not a pleasant realization.

Reasoning with a crazy woman is akin to masturbating at the moon. You know from the onset that it's a fool's quest and you're a fucking idiot. Even if you do blow your load no one cares, and they don't give a blue fuck about how you get your freak on. It's one of those things best kept to yourself. Even if you outwit the goblin who looks at you like you just drew dicks all over her parent's wedding photos, you still lose.

Plus I was starting at less then ground zero in my reasoning ploy. I'd just shit myself and you automatically lose style points for that, but I had to try...

"Beth, baby, that's an awesome Donny Osmond poster you have"....I began..."Did you know he fucked his sister while she screamed for Maloconi to blow his horn?"

I caught her by surprise, she wasn't expecting depravity and incest. Obviously, she wasn't Mormon. This could work in my favor.

"No" She replied "That's not true. Donny would never do that!"

"Sweetie...you never heard?" I ask feigning ignorance. "Donny was caught fucking feral horses and then he got kicked in the balls by a horse, so he started fucking his sister. It was all over the news. They had children with forked tails that were born screeching "Hail Satan! That's the reason she left her children and family a few years back and ended up on Jenny Craig. She figured if she was only good enough for her brother, life wasn't worth living and she was as ashamed of her hell spawned children as God was ashamed of her for being a fat girl."

"God ahbors a fat girl Bethesda" I told her, "Just like you ahbor excercise like...well...like a fat girl making a frowny face at a moving treadmill. Don't you remember that treadmill that you punched?"

It helps to add a dash of truth into your stories and the Donny and Marie thing seemed to strike a resounding gong in her enormous, overworked, and strained heart.

Bethesda slumped in her bed. "No, I don't believe it."

"Look up the stories Beth.," I answered, "It's true, Donny was a "Little bit rock n' roll"...he rocked his sister and rolled her like she was a Jeep taking a corner to fast at high speed, and Marie was a "Little bit country" like inbred rednecks are supposedly in the south...as in "We get freaky with our relatives because why the fuck not?"

Bethesda's head was ready to explode with this sudden infusion of hillbilly logic, and the horror that Donny and Marie were possibly bumping and grinding in ways that would make a painting of Jesus cry tears of blood.

I pointed at her Leif Garrett poster and screamed "OH MY GOD it's the Anti-Christ!" with all the force my lungs could muster. It wasn't the most brilliant of plans, but you have to go with what comes immediatly to mind, and sadly that's what popped into my head. Shouting about Mickey Mantle fucking a donkey in the '52 World Series probably would've been overkill, even if it was true. If you watch the MLB channel you can occasionally see footage of The Mick as a young man plowing a donkey in between innings.I don't care if it was rookie hazing, it's still quite fucking disturbing. Seriously, what was wrong with that man?

Bethesda wasn't quite ready for all this misinformation....she should've of known that some fucked up shit would come from my mind seeing as she was dealing with a dude painting cows and pondering a long ago forgotten sporting event. But Bethesda wasn't gifted with that kind of mental ability.

That was the last I saw of Bethesda as I went head first through what was possibly a load bearing Brady Bunch poster and raced into the wilderness. She was left wallowing in her own silent hell of Donny and Marie procreating in a world that God Himself wouldn't allow and Mickey Mantle fucking a donkey in view of God and everyone.

So be it.


2


Now I was face to face with a whole new set of problems, number one being that I was butt assed naked in the woods of bum fuck Mississippi. Like Lady Godiva, minus the horse and awesome boobies. And the gawking admirers. I doubt that any raccoon that may have witnessed me in all my glory even thought about grabbing his crotch and proudly bellowing "Hey baby, I got something for you." Somehow that's how I picture things happening if Lady Godiva went parading about nowadays, not with raccoons of course, but with her gawkers.

Now my Grand-daddy was a preacher man and in the far recesses of my memory I recall some of those lessons imparted on my young, impressionable mind. Something about "...and Adam and Eve saw they were naked and felt shame."

I looked down at my naked body. "Hmmm...", I thought to myself, "I'm rather proud of what I have." Like I had something to do with it.

Just to prove a point to myself I swiveled my hips and watched my dick make a full circle like some sort of obscence alarm clock that you would give as a joke gift. I did it again. And once more. Then I giggled pridefully to myself as I imagined the watching raccoons shinking in embarrasment and shame while they shook their furry little paws at an unjust God that created them so woefully inadiquate.

And then I remember another long lost lesson from the Bible, something about pride being a sin. That damn God takes all the fun out of everything. Seriously, if a man can't stand in the woods alone swinging his dick around for his own amusement and the shaming of woodland critters, is life really worth living?

It was about that time that I realized standing there making raccoons feel bad about their own manhood was wasting my precious time. Maybe that's what God meant about pride and this was one of Satan's tricks.

I suddenly felt ashamed of myself...just like Adam. Maybe that's what happened in Genisis...a suddenly self aware Adam was waving his pecker around like some sort of ungodly alarm clock and yelling at critters "What time is it bitch?!". Yeah, I could see where that would piss God off.

Hell, it pisses me off just thinking about it, the downfall of humankind may have been caused because Adam was waving his dick at a rock.

I didn't have any fig leafs to cover myself with so I grabbed a kudzoo leaf. Thank God they're big leaves. You know, because I'm big. "Huge" would probably be a more apt description. No...strike that..."ENORMOUS" would probably be a better word.

Enough of my prideful shennanigans, somewhere in the wake of my confusing antics lay angry aliens and a very large and confused woman. The aliens are a new twist. Sadly the large, befuddled woman is pretty much something I'm used to.

Even worse, being naked in the woods is hardly something new and unusual. Hey, it happens.

I was in the woods with a leaf covering my private parts, feigning humility and then the UFO's showed up again. This also was a new twist to my story.

Apparently they felt the coast was clear with Bethesda safe in her room pounding nails with her huge mishapened, and confused head. I really wish I had a stick to wag at them to show just how I felt about the entire situation.

Why the hell are the UFO's following me? I mean really, aren't there more important targets then some moron standing in a field painting cows? Am I some sort of threat to the safety of the cosmos? Seriously?

My train of thought was interupted when a stump next to me exploded in flames. Motherfucker! They're shooting at me!

Aren't there more stratigically important targets? Like The White House, or Applebees corporate headquarters? Seriously why are they targeting me? I'm just a simple hillbilly, with "Simple" being the operative word.

 

Happy New Year, idiots! Hope everyone's 2012 is a damn sight better than their 2011. Peace!

 

Happy new years ya freaky deaky mamma jammmas. GUess whos fucked up? Jesus this bash I'm at licks taint. Some chronic showed up with bud that would red eye Ziggy Marley's entire band.

Later days, dude.

 

Happy New Year everyone. Wife and I skipped the party to spend a much needed day together. Watching Breaking Bad, watched the ball drop, great day. Hope this coming year is better for all.