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Current Mood: Shitty (sweet Jesus H. Fuck I am witty)

All Pooped Out

I have an absolutely irrational fear. Far more frightful than my fear of popular success.

Luckily this ultimate fear of mine has a zero chance of happening. It still keeps me up at night though. I am totally terrified, even speaking about it makes me cringe, that somehow, someway something I say or do will make the world a better place, if only a little.

A lot of misguided spouters of shit bitch about things and lie to themselves and others that they are doing so in the hopes of making a positive change in the world. Or creating this mythical “awareness” bullshit, panacea. They hope others will see the enlightment in their ideas and arguments, be persuaded that their way is the right way and society will hop on their idea and change the way they live to better align with their utopia.

Not me.

I bitch about things that are retarded in the world not for the world’s benefit but for my entertainment. It would god damn kill me if people actually listened, decided I was right, implemented the change and the world became a better place. Jesus, I am getting a little skittish entertaining that irrational idea.

I don’t really want blogs to end, or people to stop putting up roadside crosses, or child abuse to end or world hunger to be solved or creationists to embrace evolution or pompous fucks full of themselves to stop being pompous fucks full of themselves. I genuinely love the way the world is—its ills and idiots make me happy.

If everyone saw life my way and stopped being such dumbasses, I would have to stop bitching about it. And like most people, the thing I love most is bitching about shit. Change the world to how I think it should be and all I will have left to bitch about is how I don’t have anything to bitch about.

And god damn it, don’t put that past me, I am hypocrite enough bitch about that even.

I love seeing people wallow in their own crap, then getting to point at them and laugh. I would hate absolutely hate to have those people look up, go, ‘Jesus Christ, that guy mocking me is right. I am wallowing in my own crap. I better make some changes in my life’.

That would absolutely kill me.

Right after it astonished me.

Luckily that’s just a pipe dream. I mean, people not only disbelieve in evolution, some are adamantly against those who say it is real. Certain people you can present with a mountain of evidence have the ghost of Christmas future take them 20 years down the road to confirm what you are trying to tell them and the motherfuckers will still not change their mind nor lifestyle.

And I love them for that. People who can be shown that they are absolutely wrong and still refuse to accept it make my life worth living. People are not rational and it’s irrational to treat them as such.

Knowing that is really my own saving grace. Everytime I hear some do-gooder dumbfuck talk about if their actions/message could only get one person to do something how happy they would be and their endeavor would be a success, it makes me get a boner and want to shit.

What fucks.

If my ideas, actions and words only get through to one person and they change their life accordingly, well I will be really, really really fucking amazed. And then crushed.

So, remember, keep on blogging, keeping killing each other over warm beer, keep putting up roadside memorials, keep on keeping on to the next internet fad and keep doing all the stupid unthinking shit you do in your lives because the world is here to entertain me.

Kiss my rosy red black ass,

Jason Curless

Oh The Places You Will Shit

Allocation Of My Shit By State For 2009

Like an Electoral College map on election night, this is just a projection. Of shit.

I still owe you one turd in 2009, but through complex statistical polling, I project that this year’s last turd will will be awarded to the state of Kansas. The map above reflects this. If somehow Dewey Doesn’t Defeat Truman, I will update this map, designate tomorrow’s poop correctly, issue an apology and vaporize some Japanese kids (I used to live in Independence, Missouri: Harry-Truman-nuking-innocent-Japanese-civilians jokes never get old).

(Or laughed at).

All in all it wasn’t a bad year. I crapped in 5 different states, 3 different time zones and only twice in my pants. I calculated how much poop has and will ever come out of my ass, found out my brown eye doesn’t need to be, got my MBA, saw another human being shit, tried to grow peas on my poop, crapped out some money into the economy and amazingly didn’t make one dirty nickel off my shit.

America, of you I sing.

Comprehensive Blasphemy

Prepare to have your mind blown by the deep societal statement I created in my toilet.

I got a page from a Koran, ripped the 10 commandments from a Torah, dropped in some holier-than-thou atheist propaganda, sprinkled in some confetti made from the Book of Mormon, dropped in a picture of L. Ron Hubbard and then took a huge nasty crap and squirted about a quart of really yellow piss on all of it. Then I wiped my ass with John 3:16 from the bible, got my camera and created this post.

If I missed any of you fucks, please email me and let me know.

I just pray that my toilet flushes.

Bob Sagetitis

I have an absolutely rational fear. My penultimate fear in life is that something I create will be universally loved.

Oh jesus, I don’t know if I could handle that.

I don’t like people and the thought of creating something that every single one of you sons a bitches likes all at the same time is just terrifying. Think about how banal that has to be. The lowest common denominator isn’t anything I want to be a part of.

Popular success is personal failure.

Who sells the most hamburgers in the world? McDonald’s. How many people do you know if given the chance to have a hamburger from any place in the world would choose McDonald’s? Nobody. Popular doesn’t mean good. I’d rather be that shitty bar in the bad part of town that people make a special trip to once a month because my hamburgers are so good.

I aim for a nice 10-90 love-hate relationship with everything I do. I prefer that only 1 in 10 people love whatever I do. Of course, that’s still a little high, for my taste, but makes it a simple fraction.

I once did a comedy show with about 100 people in the audience. This table of about a dozen 40 year old women got up and walked away 5 minutes into my act. Sitting 2 tables over and to the left was this family of 10 that I had never meet—parents, grandmother, daughter with a boyfriend, 3 sons, an aunt and an uncle. Everyone pissing themselves and laughing hysterically. And that was it. The other 78 people—silence.

Every now and then the 78 would chuckle or groan, but other than that all you heard was the family busting up laughing and far in the room you could hear the 40 year old cunts bitching to the manager about me.

That was the perfect show. I could live a happy life if everything I did was received like that. And would have to shoot myself in the brain stem if anything I ever produced was loved by all.

Tushy Von Heineybottom, M.D.

I like to think that somewhere, somehow, someone’s life was saved by an overzealous proctologist. A guy who serendipitously comes upon a person with an as yet undiagnosed medical emergency of their butt. And because of the overzealous proctologist’s knowledge and immediate action the guy is saved from an agonizing and eminent death.

Unfortunately, I am neither a proctologist nor overzealous. That guy’s not going to be me, no matter how hard serendipity tries. So instead I probably am a little culpable for some guy dying today. Or in the near future.

I had to use a public shitter today and despite my lack of formal medical training, I think the guy before had some health issues he needs to get checked out by a professional. Like immediately. How much blood, dark black tar with streaks of yellow in it and scar tissue in the toilet after you shit is too much?

Again, I’m not a proctologist. Maybe that guy prior to me has the right amount of blood, dark black tar with streaks of yellow in it and scar tissue in the toilet and I produce too little. Maybe I’m in dire need of medical assistance and need someone to serendipitously intervene me.

It was a lot of not healthy looking shit in that stall. Maybe he didn’t notice it. He was on his way to a very important appointment, had to crap, shoved one out, wiped off, zipped off and never had a chance to see the pestilence he left in the toilet. That would explain how I cam upon an unflushed toilet full of death.

Then what. Do I rush out after the guy? Yelling as I run down the hallway for him to stop and lay down? Forcible requisition a cell phone from someone and call an ambulance? What’s the proper protocol here?

There’s a fine line between life saver and weird poop fetish stalker.

Just Shut Up And Get Off The Internet

Its my 0th annual Closing My Blog Closing-My-Blog Post . This is the time of year where I sit around with my dick in my hand, remind you this shit sucking blog is closing in a week and poke fun at blogs who felt the need to make posts about how they were/are closing their blogs.

Like anyone gives a third of a shit.

The Perfect Shit

Here’s a holiday mystery for you Scooby. What’s missing in the above picture?

Give up?

Here’s another hint.

Subtract 1 from that and there’s your answer.

Fuck Abortions, Will The Government Cover My Butthole?

What problems do you get with your asshole from old age? Loose Anus Syndrome? Soupy Bowel Condition? Wrinkled Brown Eye Spots? Sphincter Parkinsons?

What’s in store for my pooper? Anything I can do to increase the mileage on it?

I don’t want to sound like one of these new age, yoga posing health nuts, but I don’t think all this shitting is good for my asshole. You ever see a retired mechanics hands? Permanently swollen thumbs (that’s assuming he still has both), nails that aren’t quite right, callouses that will never go away, tiny scars all over the place, cracking, chafing and fingers that aren’t at the correct angle with regard to each other. A life of use takes its toll.

If you get a chance take a look at the feet of someone who has played soccer for over 20 years, the skin of a 50 year old lady who has sunbathed for a good portion of her life or the forehead and ears of an athlete who has had to wear a helmet. Not pretty.

Just gradual wear and tear over a lifetime will permanently affect anything. Especially something as soft, malleable and scarring as tissue. I don’t even want to imagine what shape my asshole will be in 50 years.

The 4.46 miles, 2.160.44 gallons and 7.74 tons of shit that will come out of my ass by then won’t have done my anus any favors. And that’s not even taking into account the various fingers, bottle rockets, plunger handles, small pets, Vodka bottles and other items I have had gently shoved up there over the years.

More fiber? Should I stretch it out before using it? Do some anal calisthenics? Maybe constipate myself? Switch to a liquid diet? There any creams, salves or lotions I should be looking into? Will AARP send me a pamphlet about heiney health when I hit 55?

My brown eye has definitely seen better days. I just wish there was something I could do to get and keep that youthful pucker back in it.

Raising Ignorance About Awareness

You know what I could live a day without: Being made aware of shit I know about.

Autims exists? No fucking way. So does Cervical Cancer? And Alzheimer’s? You’ve got to be shitting me. Next thing you know you’ll be trying to convince me that non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, Asperger’s and child abuse all occur.

Holy shit, you don’t say?

Oh and I should be aware about motorcyclists, the environment, child car safety, controlling the pet population and teen drinking? This is really all too much for me to conceive of at once. Are you sure my awareness is needed? Isn’t there enough already. Or can’t I just outsource my awareness to some 7 year old kid in an awareness factory in Thailand?

What? Child labor, sweat shops and outsourcing are things I am to be aware of too? Jesus Fucking Christ.

Honestly, I I’m getting a little overly aware at this point. Somethings gotta give. I have finite awareness resources. There’s only so much surface area on my car for magnetic ribbons, a limited amount of wrist space for rubber bracelets, I don’t even wear lapels so I am going to have to find somewhere else to stick all these god damn pins and my mental awareness capacities are reaching saturation.

I really think you’re going to have to scale back on your ambitious awareness plans for me. We are going to have to prioritize my awareness resources. Maybe set a revolving awareness schedule.

Monday-Wednesday-Friday I can be aware of gang violence, lupus, Prostate screening, Gay-Lesbian-Transgendered issues, down syndrome and rabbits indigenous to Lithuania.

Tuesday and Thursdays would be for being aware of organically grown produce, Freeing Tibet, Microsoft Windows 7, elder abuse and properly disposing of used kitchen grease.

I could rotate Saturdays among being aware of racial and cultural diversity, endangered species, children with special needs, hang nails, turf toe, pink eye and homelessness.

The first and third Sundays of the month would be for awareness about hunter safety and rain forests respectively. Second Sundays would be open for any ad-hoc awareness issues that may come up. And maybe, just maybe I could use the fourth Sundays of every month to lay around the house stroking my boner and fingering my own asshole while I eat peanut butter straight from the jar and not giving a slimy fuck about anything.

I think that just may work. Wait a minute.

Fuck.

I totally forgot that breast Cancer exists like you wouldn’t fucking believe. Scrap everything; I’m only going to be aware of breast cancer 24/7 for the rest of my life. My awareness is the only thing standing between the eradication of this terrible disease and every tit in the world getting a tumor.

I’m so sorry sickle cell anemia.

Christianity, It’s For The…Well You Know

At first I thought it was a tired, shitty Christian metaphor. You know, something about soaring with God or how we all need Jesus in our nests or how the holy spirit is there to preen us and regurgitate sustenance into our mouths or how god indiscriminately shits all over our freshly washed cars.

But no, This Porkjerky.com Shitty Blog Winner has a title that is more a literal than figurative phrase. Birds of The Bible Blog is really about birds in the bible. Its subtitle is ‘Birdwatching From A Christian Perspective’. Riveting.

Thank god though. Finally someone has offered a morally superior alternative to the ordinary heretical bird watching that so many of us do.

I am simultaneously disgusted and amused at how the word ‘christian’ has become an ordinary adjective. It adds nothing to describe something, yet somehow Christians feel the need to describe everything they do as ‘christian’. They have successfully genericized the name of their savior.

The blog itself sounds like one of those new-fangled sci-fi weapons the military is working on. The kind that even science fiction writers haven’t imagined and are so far fetched they aren’t covered by the Geneva convention:

Lastly, Birds of The Bible Blog has a copyright notice, because lord knows the posts about what birds were seen during the 2nd week of December 2009 in Polk County Florida is going to make someone a ton of money and they have to protect it.

Congratulations Birds of The Bible Blog, you are the current winner of a Christian Porkjerky.com Shitty Blog Award. Because just when you thought ornithology couldn’t get any more boring, you went ahead and proved it possible by adding god to it.