People are straight fucked up.
I am fine with that, for I find your mental illness and overall sickness and depravity intriguing and hilarious. Whoever you fucking are out there guy, I am ever so pleased that you discovered Hellwagon by typing "big women fire pussy farts" into Google. I love that this construct allows me to see how you got here, so I can tell you to go fuck right off to anywhere else. I know some fucked up people and they even said that made them sick.
Congratulations, fat pussy fart dude, you are the bottom.
Granted, I do say a lot of messed up shit. I am foul mouthed and disgusting and a bit twisted. Fair enough. One thing I am not is a sad ass dick slapping weirdo pervert. Now, if you typed "big women fire pussy farts" because you were looking for a fat woman setting a queef blast on fire? Totally acceptable due to its inherent hilarity. I hope you find a video of a woman sitting in front of a roaring campfire and the ensuing explosion scared off a grizzly bear.
Now, if you are getting off by watching a fat woman fire off a shitload of pussy farts? Totally unacceptable and what the fuck is wrong with you. How is that even a fetish? Women are hot enough just being women. They shouldn't have to do anything weird or special and they really shouldn't have to, or be able to, fire off a barrage of fucked up twat farts for you. Women get the rawest of fucking deals because men have led themselves to believe that a woman just being a woman isn't enough for them anymore. Now they have to do tricks like dogs.
I have never seen a dog pull off that trick. She can catch a Frisbee, yes indeed, but she cannot do that.
Now, I thought "big women fire pussy farts" was bad enough. I had no idea that including the words "pussy farts" in a previous post would lead to such catastrophic discoveries. Apparently these fusty bursts of air are an terrifying epidemic. The plague of our modern age. Another person was brought to Hellwagon by typing "my wife's pussy blowing pussy farts after hard fucking". I guess I am going to be perceived as some kind of queef expert at some point due to all of these freaks finding me from pussy farts.
This dude must have been to a point a frenzied terror. His lady was just blasting one after the other after all that hard fucking and he was getting frantic. The sheets were scorched and his beanbag hair was singed off. Her muff hair was flapping so hard in the breeze it looked like an Irish setter with its head out the window. What do I do now, he thought. Can this be stopped? I know, I will do an internet search about "my wife's pussy blowing pussy farts after hard fucking", then I will finally get some relief from all this queef.
Goddamn right you will sir. Does your wife queef beyond belief after some good hard fucking? Does the force of it blast you right out of the bed? Are your bed sheets and draperies always stained and wrinkled and flying about from being subjected to thunderous pussy farts? WELL NO MORE!!! No need to call the fire chief, say so long to the grief of all that queef thanks to The Queef Thief!
Yes, for the low price of $3.47 you too can own The Queef Thief, it steals the stink as quick as a blink. I know it may just look like a dirty old funnel taped to a stolen garden hose with the other end of the hose stuck out the goddamn window because that is exactly what the fuck this thing is. Just duct tape this stupid shit all over your wife's lady business and get the hell on with your evening. Sure, the neighbors will think its Oktoberfest because it sounds like a German oom-pah band, but fuck your neighbors. This is about your burning retinas, the safety of your children and the paint peeling off your walls.
So say auf-wiedersehen to pussy fart stains, and wrap the funnel on her tunnel. Ich Bin Ein Queef Theif!!! Patent pending.
I thought that guy was having a bad night. Then the third searcher found me, it was like A Christmas Carol, only instead of being visited by ghosts who wanted me to change my ways, I was being discovered by random pervy jackasses with gross ass pussy fart problems and this poor son of a bitch...
"Has anyone tore their anus from farting?"
Awesome. I say that out loud slowly without a hint of sarcasm.
How powerful does a fart have to be for this to become a genuine concern for you? Was it one incredibly long and forceful fart, or multiple power blasts? I can't imagine what brought someone to that point, but this is the person I want to come back and talk to me. If you do come back, oh ye of the hard nasty rectum ripping fart that nearly tore your anus asunder, please describe the scenario that led you this dark place.
I think I am assuming too much, to think that this poor ass ripping maniac is a man. It could be an old lady who is having an adverse reaction to her new medication and is concerned for the waning tenacity of her O ring. I just picture her hunched feebly over her computer, farting and shaking and sobbing at the same time. A single tear lands on the keyboard as a fart blows her billowy nightgown about. She has no one else to turn to, she cries out from both ends, but no one hears her. Her dog just sniffs the air as it cowers in the corner wondering how a thunderstorm got inside the house.
She trembles with fear over what the next fart might do. Searching everywhere for an answer because the doctor can't take her call right now and then she goes to the internet and she finds me. The best worst fucking luck ever.
As if having your asshole raped from the inside out isn't bad enough, in your darkest hour you encounter nothing but sarcasm.
I hope your old lady asshole is doing swell.
I don't know. I don't have any solutions to these problems. Though I would like more of these people to stop by so that I may laugh and rejoice at their depraved plight. So, this is going to be science. I want to get normal people to find this place by typing in simultaneously normal and fucked up things.
Make your wife happy in bed by learning how to be a gentle passionate lover by remembering to flush to fucking toilet, that mountain of inhuman shit was like a war crime. If the Korean War was a pile of shit, it was that pile of shit and I love you.
The best diet in the world let's you eat all the sweets you want and helps you lose weight by fingering a bear or getting fingered by a bear. I do not claim to have originated bear fingering, that honor belongs to my esteemed friend Mark. A man so fundamentally awesome that he has fingered a bear, your sister.
Seriously though, Mark is super rad and way better than you, and way better than bears. Mark invented fingering. I bet he even invented bears, just so he could finger them. And he did all of that without being a braggart about it. You losers could learn something from him, least of which is how to invent and consequently finger a goddamn bear.
I think guys tend to forget about fingering after high school. I think it is good that they move on. It's not that I think that fingering is a young man's game, but I imagine that fingering is pretty much the equivalent of a hand job. Hand jobs are not at all awesome. If I can do it myself then I am already bored with it. And the best goddamn hand job ever is still just a goddamn hand job. You ever pull a carrot out of the ground? It's not really that big of a deal.
No one is ever going to be impressed that you got a hand job. It's like you got a new car, but it's a Ford Focus. I'm happy for you, but not at all impressed.
Hellwagon.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
THE UNDERNUTS VS THUNDERNUTS
Once upon a time in a dirty shithole not far away, I was in WalMart doing my shopping. I had to buy various household items, one of them being milk. However, much to my dismay standing in front of the cooler was a haggard group of amorphous pock marked hillbillies having a witty and raucous conversation. I did not inquire as to what they were discussing, cold fusion perhaps, maybe even the long term effects of third world industrialization upon the global climate and economy. At the very least I was able to discern their favorite wrestlers and race car drivers from their stunning attire.
For me, nothing exudes dignity and class like armpit hair and being too fat to walk. I was particularly moved by the sobering gravitas of a chunk of underarm deodorant clinging to a mank patch of matted fur extended down one man's triceps. It demonstrated that he took the time. He cared about those around him. Deodorant is really just a bath you can hold in your hand. I am relatively certain that it is widely applied to the undernuts by certain sections of the populace. It has all the characteristics of a third armpit without all the attention and glory.
There are two superhero possibilities with the word undernuts. A super hero team called The Undernuts. They are constantly underestimated and it drives them crazy. They always come together and win in the end. See what I did there, I managed to not spell come together "cum" together. Way to go me. I'm slowly making progress, like gradually overcoming constipation.
One hard and round and musclebound turd at a time.
The other possible hero is the amazing and all powerful superhuman they call Thundernuts. His balls rumble with raging thunder so low and heavy it makes the ground shake. He shoots bolts of white lightning from his rod. The Undernuts is starting to sound more like a band of dastardly villains to me. They lie hidden in a dark sweaty place where no one but the bravest dares to go. When they meet, it will be an epic battle for the ages.
The Undernuts vs. Thundernuts for galactic supremacy.
Anyway, one of the people in front of my goddamn milk was slopped all over a motorized scooter. The scooter used to be for the aged and disabled, now it is the official vehicle of the fucking enormous. Coincidentally, it is also the official ride of Thundernuts, because the nuts of thunder are big and difficult to manage.
The scooter manufacturer obviously has not widened the seat to accommodate the wide humans who ride upon them because this lady's girthy swamp ass was all over the place. I am surprised it didn't get caught in the tires. There was a faintly visible skidmark, but that was from something else. All in all she rode upon a fine and sturdy piece of machinery and the men and women who make them should be commended.
I stood and watched the braying herd with mounting anger. I noticed several other patrons calmly suffering through their own impatience. We all waited for the dazzling repartee to cease of its own accord. I hadn't seen such a gathering of pure analytical thought outside of a truck stop chemical toilet. They did not move. It became insufferable. So, I calmly said, "Would you mind moving the Survivors of Incest support group so I can get some fucking milk?"
They looked annoyed and puzzled, it could have been my use of multiple polysyllabic words, it could have been that they heard 'fucking milk' and it triggered a memory of when they all gang banged a mentally challenged cow and took turns giving a reach around to its udders. Oh yeah, milk it baby. I had no idea how they took it. They moved, I got my milk and moved on.
How do I get away with such shenanigans you may ask. I just fucking do. Also, I have been told that I look like a white trash mental patient and an escaped convict. I just happen to be one with a shower and a vocabulary.
I need to clarify something. I don't think I am better than everyone. Fuck everyone and fuck me too, who the hell even cares. I do think that I am better at insulting everyone, and making fun of people is funny. Fuckin' A-holes, it's called making fun. Let me make my own fucking fun you sensitive dicks. I am a trying to be a goddamn inventor of awesomeness and fun for myself. You don't like it, then go somewhere else and look at dicks or something like you usually do. Yeah, if you like porn, you like looking at dicks. You aren't watching all lesbo porn ya dicklover.
Everyone follows their own paths. People will like what they like and act how they act regardless of how stupid and lame I may perceive their actions and thoughts and preferences to be. That does not mean that I have to keep my mouth shut if I find your choices stupid and absurd, or if you just piss me off on the wrong day. Which is usually most days.
I can be, and am, civil when it is necessary. I cannot function in society without holding back my true thoughts most of the time. But I have been known on occasion to call men sloptwats and snaggletooth cunts and dicklovers. I once called a woman "eyebrow". It was the first thing I noticed. It was thick and fat all over her stupid face, it may well have been a headband. She probably had mad bush.
I should have called her Mad Bush, I bet she really was a member of The Undernuts. Dammit, I hope I see her again, if only to foil her plans for world domination. She wants to turn the whole world into a dirty hairy jungle where the rivers run red with clots of blood. Period jokes are easy. Not like a period piece, fancy costumes are hard.
Anyway, I hate society anymore. We have to be so nice to everybody and for what? To be sensitive and spare their feelings.
Well, you want to know how I feel about that? Here goes...fuck your fucking feelings. Just fuck 'em right in the ol' undernuts. Go fuckin' feel yourself if you like fucking stupid feelings so much. Go feel some hogballs you pantywaist. That's something my fifth grade flag football coach used to call us kids. Pantywaists. He also called us fruits. He was super right, because flag football is super fruity. You are trying to grab and pull at dangly things hanging around a dudes waistline.
He was an odd coach. Whenever one of us was going low to grab at a flag he would scream "OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!!" I doubt the open mouth tackle has made its way into pro football. If you think that really happened then open your mouth.
Anyway, if you go through your life with everyone being super nice and accommodating to you and always making you feel better about yourself and telling you to OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!! even when its insanely obvious to you and everyone else that you need to make changes and keep your mouth shut, then you will never have any reason to shut up and change anything. Everyone can be better at being themselves and judging from what I see all of this positive reinforcement is having a negative effect.
Do you think Thundernuts got to where he is because everyone said it was alright to have rumbly balls and a shocky cock? Of course not. People were mean and horrible to him because he was different and strange, but he took that pain and criticism and persevered and eventually he took on Lady Eyebrow McMadbush and The Undernuts and he fucking won. Unlike our fifth grade flag football team, which didn't win a damn shittin' thing.
I am not saying that those stupid people I insulted can be heroes, but they can take the first step towards greatness with a shower. If you look and smell like ballskin, if you look like you just woke up and peeled yourself from under the weight a giant scrotum, if you are just plain fucking balls you should by buying soap.
You shouldn't be hanging around in front of the fucking milk boring me to death as you OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!! and make me wait. You are some ballskin livin' motherfuckers.
For me, nothing exudes dignity and class like armpit hair and being too fat to walk. I was particularly moved by the sobering gravitas of a chunk of underarm deodorant clinging to a mank patch of matted fur extended down one man's triceps. It demonstrated that he took the time. He cared about those around him. Deodorant is really just a bath you can hold in your hand. I am relatively certain that it is widely applied to the undernuts by certain sections of the populace. It has all the characteristics of a third armpit without all the attention and glory.
There are two superhero possibilities with the word undernuts. A super hero team called The Undernuts. They are constantly underestimated and it drives them crazy. They always come together and win in the end. See what I did there, I managed to not spell come together "cum" together. Way to go me. I'm slowly making progress, like gradually overcoming constipation.
One hard and round and musclebound turd at a time.
The other possible hero is the amazing and all powerful superhuman they call Thundernuts. His balls rumble with raging thunder so low and heavy it makes the ground shake. He shoots bolts of white lightning from his rod. The Undernuts is starting to sound more like a band of dastardly villains to me. They lie hidden in a dark sweaty place where no one but the bravest dares to go. When they meet, it will be an epic battle for the ages.
The Undernuts vs. Thundernuts for galactic supremacy.
Anyway, one of the people in front of my goddamn milk was slopped all over a motorized scooter. The scooter used to be for the aged and disabled, now it is the official vehicle of the fucking enormous. Coincidentally, it is also the official ride of Thundernuts, because the nuts of thunder are big and difficult to manage.
The scooter manufacturer obviously has not widened the seat to accommodate the wide humans who ride upon them because this lady's girthy swamp ass was all over the place. I am surprised it didn't get caught in the tires. There was a faintly visible skidmark, but that was from something else. All in all she rode upon a fine and sturdy piece of machinery and the men and women who make them should be commended.
I stood and watched the braying herd with mounting anger. I noticed several other patrons calmly suffering through their own impatience. We all waited for the dazzling repartee to cease of its own accord. I hadn't seen such a gathering of pure analytical thought outside of a truck stop chemical toilet. They did not move. It became insufferable. So, I calmly said, "Would you mind moving the Survivors of Incest support group so I can get some fucking milk?"
They looked annoyed and puzzled, it could have been my use of multiple polysyllabic words, it could have been that they heard 'fucking milk' and it triggered a memory of when they all gang banged a mentally challenged cow and took turns giving a reach around to its udders. Oh yeah, milk it baby. I had no idea how they took it. They moved, I got my milk and moved on.
How do I get away with such shenanigans you may ask. I just fucking do. Also, I have been told that I look like a white trash mental patient and an escaped convict. I just happen to be one with a shower and a vocabulary.
I need to clarify something. I don't think I am better than everyone. Fuck everyone and fuck me too, who the hell even cares. I do think that I am better at insulting everyone, and making fun of people is funny. Fuckin' A-holes, it's called making fun. Let me make my own fucking fun you sensitive dicks. I am a trying to be a goddamn inventor of awesomeness and fun for myself. You don't like it, then go somewhere else and look at dicks or something like you usually do. Yeah, if you like porn, you like looking at dicks. You aren't watching all lesbo porn ya dicklover.
Everyone follows their own paths. People will like what they like and act how they act regardless of how stupid and lame I may perceive their actions and thoughts and preferences to be. That does not mean that I have to keep my mouth shut if I find your choices stupid and absurd, or if you just piss me off on the wrong day. Which is usually most days.
I can be, and am, civil when it is necessary. I cannot function in society without holding back my true thoughts most of the time. But I have been known on occasion to call men sloptwats and snaggletooth cunts and dicklovers. I once called a woman "eyebrow". It was the first thing I noticed. It was thick and fat all over her stupid face, it may well have been a headband. She probably had mad bush.
I should have called her Mad Bush, I bet she really was a member of The Undernuts. Dammit, I hope I see her again, if only to foil her plans for world domination. She wants to turn the whole world into a dirty hairy jungle where the rivers run red with clots of blood. Period jokes are easy. Not like a period piece, fancy costumes are hard.
Anyway, I hate society anymore. We have to be so nice to everybody and for what? To be sensitive and spare their feelings.
Well, you want to know how I feel about that? Here goes...fuck your fucking feelings. Just fuck 'em right in the ol' undernuts. Go fuckin' feel yourself if you like fucking stupid feelings so much. Go feel some hogballs you pantywaist. That's something my fifth grade flag football coach used to call us kids. Pantywaists. He also called us fruits. He was super right, because flag football is super fruity. You are trying to grab and pull at dangly things hanging around a dudes waistline.
He was an odd coach. Whenever one of us was going low to grab at a flag he would scream "OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!!" I doubt the open mouth tackle has made its way into pro football. If you think that really happened then open your mouth.
Anyway, if you go through your life with everyone being super nice and accommodating to you and always making you feel better about yourself and telling you to OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!! even when its insanely obvious to you and everyone else that you need to make changes and keep your mouth shut, then you will never have any reason to shut up and change anything. Everyone can be better at being themselves and judging from what I see all of this positive reinforcement is having a negative effect.
Do you think Thundernuts got to where he is because everyone said it was alright to have rumbly balls and a shocky cock? Of course not. People were mean and horrible to him because he was different and strange, but he took that pain and criticism and persevered and eventually he took on Lady Eyebrow McMadbush and The Undernuts and he fucking won. Unlike our fifth grade flag football team, which didn't win a damn shittin' thing.
I am not saying that those stupid people I insulted can be heroes, but they can take the first step towards greatness with a shower. If you look and smell like ballskin, if you look like you just woke up and peeled yourself from under the weight a giant scrotum, if you are just plain fucking balls you should by buying soap.
You shouldn't be hanging around in front of the fucking milk boring me to death as you OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!! and make me wait. You are some ballskin livin' motherfuckers.
Hellwagon.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
REINCARNATION = SOMEDAY I MIGHT FUCK ON A TURD
I am forty and I am tired of shitting. I've had it. Yeah motherfucker I said it. I know that men are supposed to totally love taking a shit, like making a huge pile of waste is fucking awesome, and that sentiment is ingrained into every sitcom husband and stand up comic in history. The show usually goes 'I'm an old sloppy fat faggy fuckload and I love to take a long giant shit and brag about it,' and everyone howls with disbelief and laughter because its mostly stupid and true.
Well, taking a shit just isn't fun or funny anymore. It always stinks, it's hot and sweaty and boring and a waste of my goddamn time. It's not always hot and sweaty, just lately, because its been really hot. I am sure people with phones you can finger get a lot of important stuff done on the toilet as they finger shit, but later that day you are basically just putting your mouth on your own ass when you talk on the phone. Now that's sexy, no wonder your breath smells like shit.
My shit has been going on long enough. I mean, a shit never really ends. You know there is more shit in there waiting its turn, it's just not ready to emerge from the cave. Hell, when I die there will still be shit left to do. I guess I will have a shit bucket list. Technically I have been taking a forty year shit and living my life in between the turds.
My Life In Between the Turds. Sounds like a Lifetime movie biography of a fly. The only time he is really left alone is on a turd, who is going to step on or smash his guts out then. It's his peaceful moment amidst a world trying to murder him. I really hope that reincarnation is an impossibility. If so, I will likely end up being a fly. Reincarnation certainly sounds stupid enough to be true. If something is stupid, it's usually true.
For example, math. Adding shit, subtracting it, who cares, it's boring and stupid, but true. Honesty. Honesty is usually true and always stupid. For example, your great aunt has rampaging hemorrhoids and oozy anal warts and you smell like one too. Super true, and slightly stupid. In my opinion, math is far more idiotic than your aunt's anal warts, unless you feel like counting them, then I guess you will need fucking math for that. In any case, if you count anal warts you are gross and stupid and need a better hobby.
Except for math. Math is not a hobby option. I don't like math.
Me plus math equals fuck math.
Back to some dumb ass reincarnation shit. I hate almost all insects and would hate to be reborn as one, given my horrible attitude and general assholiness my life as a bug would be inevitable. (I would love to be The Pope of Assholes just so people could call me His Assholiness, The Asshole Pope). Anyway, I have no doubt that I would be reborn as the lowest form of life. A fly. A fly is the lowest for one reason, who in the hell fucks ON a turd.
Plenty of people in the world love to plow ass, more ass pounding power to them. It must be super great if so many people love it, men love it, some women love it. It's not for me but hey for you, way to go, good luck with all of your dick and ball stink. Anything that touches ass smells like ass, that's fucking science. Dick and balls, and let's be real, all crotches in general stink. It is a musty sweatshop down there. Plus, it's adjacent to ass. Adjacent to ass equals a hint of ass.
There is some fucking math for you math, you fuck. Crotch plus ass equals Crotchass. I wipe my ass with you math. Crotch is tainted with an aroma of ass. A spritz of ass. Has to be. If you fart a lot, you are just spending your day perfuming your crotch with Chanel Number Two.
It's stupid and true, like fucking math and reincarnation and your dead relatives drippy hemorrhoids. You probably fart directly onto your own balls and it sounds like a horse pulling it's hoof out of the mud. You and your Mom.
Anyway, I know that insects aren't really trying to set the mood with some Barry White and candlelight, but man, you gotta get off the turd to do your business. I know that the ladies like to make the distinction between making love and fucking, so let me be clear to all the fly ladies out there, if you are getting nailed on a turd, you are fucking. No one makes love on a turd.
Let us reconsider that though, because for a fly a fresh dog turd is the place to be. They love that shit. So, maybe taking your fly lady to the local turd for some hot lovin' is like taking her to a five star hotel. It's a meal and a soft place to get it on all in one. I have seen a lot of dog turds in my life and now I am wondering if they all turn white because it's a fly fuck spot. An aged dog turd just may be coated with a silky sheen of fly cream. I am not sure if that is true, but it's stupid enough to be true.
I guess the real reason I hate to shit now is because of my kids. I promised myself I wouldn't talk about my kids, but fuck you so there. My bathroom is not a sanctuary anymore, it's a prison. I sat down the other night to shit and in walks my three year old daughter saying she has to poop. No knock, no warning, for a kid every bathroom visit is a fucking emergency and the entire universe has to heed the unstoppable tsunami. "I am in here and I am taking a crap now, fuck what you're doing old man, my shit supersedes yours." Kids have manifest destiny over shit.
I was going to do the gentlemanly thing, the fatherly thing, clean up and give up the toilet. I wasn't even given the chance. She sat on the plastic potty and it immediately sounded like hailstones hitting a car roof. She finished in thirty seconds and left. She left the potty lid up leaving me sitting there on the toilet faced with a pile of unwanted shit. It tore apart the room like Satan's napalm.
The best part of taking a shit is that you are not watching it happen, you are getting rid of it as you stare in the opposite direction. That is the whole point. That is why toilet bowls are not transparent. If you watch yourself shit you should be quarantined and sterilized and have your shit taken away from you. So, there I was, left half naked in a small room confronted with a pile of someones shit, and I found that to be a harsh and bleak reality.
Looking at shit as you shit, well, it just makes you hate your life. It makes you feel less than human, like a worthless insect. It's a grim and humbling spectacle to be left alone with. It makes you want to give up. Even my asshole said, yeah pal, we're done here, let's get the fuck out. This shit is over. To be stupid and honest about it, what my asshole said was popsnappurplemachinegundynamitepoweroutage. Snap, Crackle, Pope.
X plus X equals fucking X. Solve for X. X is shit.
Fuck you math.
Hellwagon.
Well, taking a shit just isn't fun or funny anymore. It always stinks, it's hot and sweaty and boring and a waste of my goddamn time. It's not always hot and sweaty, just lately, because its been really hot. I am sure people with phones you can finger get a lot of important stuff done on the toilet as they finger shit, but later that day you are basically just putting your mouth on your own ass when you talk on the phone. Now that's sexy, no wonder your breath smells like shit.
My shit has been going on long enough. I mean, a shit never really ends. You know there is more shit in there waiting its turn, it's just not ready to emerge from the cave. Hell, when I die there will still be shit left to do. I guess I will have a shit bucket list. Technically I have been taking a forty year shit and living my life in between the turds.
My Life In Between the Turds. Sounds like a Lifetime movie biography of a fly. The only time he is really left alone is on a turd, who is going to step on or smash his guts out then. It's his peaceful moment amidst a world trying to murder him. I really hope that reincarnation is an impossibility. If so, I will likely end up being a fly. Reincarnation certainly sounds stupid enough to be true. If something is stupid, it's usually true.
For example, math. Adding shit, subtracting it, who cares, it's boring and stupid, but true. Honesty. Honesty is usually true and always stupid. For example, your great aunt has rampaging hemorrhoids and oozy anal warts and you smell like one too. Super true, and slightly stupid. In my opinion, math is far more idiotic than your aunt's anal warts, unless you feel like counting them, then I guess you will need fucking math for that. In any case, if you count anal warts you are gross and stupid and need a better hobby.
Except for math. Math is not a hobby option. I don't like math.
Me plus math equals fuck math.
Back to some dumb ass reincarnation shit. I hate almost all insects and would hate to be reborn as one, given my horrible attitude and general assholiness my life as a bug would be inevitable. (I would love to be The Pope of Assholes just so people could call me His Assholiness, The Asshole Pope). Anyway, I have no doubt that I would be reborn as the lowest form of life. A fly. A fly is the lowest for one reason, who in the hell fucks ON a turd.
Plenty of people in the world love to plow ass, more ass pounding power to them. It must be super great if so many people love it, men love it, some women love it. It's not for me but hey for you, way to go, good luck with all of your dick and ball stink. Anything that touches ass smells like ass, that's fucking science. Dick and balls, and let's be real, all crotches in general stink. It is a musty sweatshop down there. Plus, it's adjacent to ass. Adjacent to ass equals a hint of ass.
There is some fucking math for you math, you fuck. Crotch plus ass equals Crotchass. I wipe my ass with you math. Crotch is tainted with an aroma of ass. A spritz of ass. Has to be. If you fart a lot, you are just spending your day perfuming your crotch with Chanel Number Two.
It's stupid and true, like fucking math and reincarnation and your dead relatives drippy hemorrhoids. You probably fart directly onto your own balls and it sounds like a horse pulling it's hoof out of the mud. You and your Mom.
Anyway, I know that insects aren't really trying to set the mood with some Barry White and candlelight, but man, you gotta get off the turd to do your business. I know that the ladies like to make the distinction between making love and fucking, so let me be clear to all the fly ladies out there, if you are getting nailed on a turd, you are fucking. No one makes love on a turd.
Let us reconsider that though, because for a fly a fresh dog turd is the place to be. They love that shit. So, maybe taking your fly lady to the local turd for some hot lovin' is like taking her to a five star hotel. It's a meal and a soft place to get it on all in one. I have seen a lot of dog turds in my life and now I am wondering if they all turn white because it's a fly fuck spot. An aged dog turd just may be coated with a silky sheen of fly cream. I am not sure if that is true, but it's stupid enough to be true.
I guess the real reason I hate to shit now is because of my kids. I promised myself I wouldn't talk about my kids, but fuck you so there. My bathroom is not a sanctuary anymore, it's a prison. I sat down the other night to shit and in walks my three year old daughter saying she has to poop. No knock, no warning, for a kid every bathroom visit is a fucking emergency and the entire universe has to heed the unstoppable tsunami. "I am in here and I am taking a crap now, fuck what you're doing old man, my shit supersedes yours." Kids have manifest destiny over shit.
I was going to do the gentlemanly thing, the fatherly thing, clean up and give up the toilet. I wasn't even given the chance. She sat on the plastic potty and it immediately sounded like hailstones hitting a car roof. She finished in thirty seconds and left. She left the potty lid up leaving me sitting there on the toilet faced with a pile of unwanted shit. It tore apart the room like Satan's napalm.
The best part of taking a shit is that you are not watching it happen, you are getting rid of it as you stare in the opposite direction. That is the whole point. That is why toilet bowls are not transparent. If you watch yourself shit you should be quarantined and sterilized and have your shit taken away from you. So, there I was, left half naked in a small room confronted with a pile of someones shit, and I found that to be a harsh and bleak reality.
Looking at shit as you shit, well, it just makes you hate your life. It makes you feel less than human, like a worthless insect. It's a grim and humbling spectacle to be left alone with. It makes you want to give up. Even my asshole said, yeah pal, we're done here, let's get the fuck out. This shit is over. To be stupid and honest about it, what my asshole said was popsnappurplemachinegundynamitepoweroutage. Snap, Crackle, Pope.
X plus X equals fucking X. Solve for X. X is shit.
Fuck you math.
Hellwagon.
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