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

Opening Day

Message to the Team Porkjerky.com Shitters (you know who you are):

Goooooooo Team Porkjerky.com Shitters

The World’s Most Beautiful Turd

I love people who complain about how things that have made life easier and better screwed up and worked just like they were suppose to. They get mad because a piece of technology that is programmed to respond in the exact same way every time, responded in the exact same way it does every time. This time though, they wanted it to read their mind and not do what’s always does. Stupid fucking technology.

For a bad example, smoke alarms. On multiple occasions I have seen them destroyed because they functioned perfectly. Dumbass burned something on the stove, the smoke made its way all through the house and triggered the smoke alarm. Dumbass goes over, waves the smoke away, turns the stove vent on high and takes a towel to fan the smoke to an open window. But when the smoke found the detector shortly after that, dumbass went crazy. ‘Stupid fucking thing, can’t you see there’s no god damn fire’. Then he tried for 30 seconds to pry the battery out of and smashed it to the ground when he couldn’t. That fixed the problem he was having with it of operating properly.

In that vein, all me to be the dumbass.

Stupid fucking automatic toilets. God damn self flushing pieces of shit. This is why I don’t use public restrooms. Fuck the nasty toilet seats, the misspelled witless poems on the walls, the dysentery patient in the next stall passing 4 gallons of the foulest poop soup out his ass, the perverts who pretend to not know the stall is occupied so they can peak in and see me shit. The worst god damn thing about them is those self flushing pieces of shit toilets.

There I am pounding out the most beautiful shit ever crapped. They were going to put that turd on a marble pedestal and display in the Louvre. The picture I was going to take of it was going to get me my Pulitzer. Children were going to sing folk songs in music classes for generations to come about my heavenly excrement. It was going to be the background image in its own insipid poster about teamwork or inspiration or unity or some other rhetoric heavy bullshit idea. People were going to pay $12.25 per adult, $7.75 per child under 12, $6.50 per senior on the first Thursday of the month and an additional $4.25 for the guided audio version for a tour of the stall I dropped it in. It truly was the most beautiful piece of shit ever pushed through a mortal’s anus. Then I wiped, reached into my pants pocket for the camera I always carry for such an occasion, but as I was turning after I stood and pulled up my pants, it happened. Out of the blue, that god damn automatic, self-flushing toilet automatically self flushed.

Mother fucker.

So no picture today, but I guarantee you that turd would have made you weep it was so beautiful. Venus herself would have painted pictures of it. Cherubs would wear t-shirts adorned with images of that turd. Compared to it, new born babies would be so hideous the sight of them would make people gag and throw up in their throats a little.

Down Shit Creek

Where do my piss and shit go? I understand the theory: when I get around to it and flush the toilet my poop and pee snake through my house on a stream of water, through pipes and out to the sewer and then to some waste treatment center in the poor part of town.

But I want specifics, I want a map. I want a Discovery Channel documentary. I want a tour. I want someone to set up shitpath.com where I can enter my address and see the exact route one of my turds takes from my asshole to wherever its destined.

The ocean? Fertilizer on some farm? Africa? Cheez-it factory? Landfill? Yucca Mountain? Burned up as fuel for the power plant? I have no clue.

I’ve seen the plumbing in my house so I know exactly how my turds flow out of my house, and I’ve had the luck of seeing it come back in. So I have that covered—a big fucking pipe in my basement. But then where?

Do all the houses on my block feed into one line running down my street? After that does that line feed into another larger line somewhere? Is it like a river system where small brooks of shit form small creeks of shit which dump into streams of shit until it all dumps into the main shit artery? Is there like a huge pipe of shit running beneath Main Street?

And what happens to it, the unwanted pet alligators, used tampons and prom babies when they finally traverse that river of poo and get to the waste treatment plant? Yet again, I am failed by my public education.

I assume it’s a series of filters. First stage huge turds, second stage small turds, so on and so on, down to where there’s a pool of brown colored water that gets filtered into something we can bleach to safely drink. But jump back to that first stage—huge turd seperation. Once separated then what? You got a literal pile of shit on your figurative hands. That just get chucked in a landfill? Bagged up and sold as fertilizer? Don’t say burn it, because then I am going to ask what happens to the shit soot.

Where does all that poop go? Sounds like a question for my civil servants. Stay tuned.

Divine Copyright Infringement

Its really a god damn shame that the bible has entered the public domain. Now, and don’t put this past me, any fuck can print, copy, rewrite, publish and sell bibles without legal recourse from Matthew, John, Paul, Ringo or even god himself.

It’s in the public domain, its free for the infringing. Use it how you like. Set it to a rap beat, sell some Xeroxed copies at a flea market, make it into a children’s book with pornographic pop-ups on every page. Or, even set up a blog and simply copy and paste random excerpts from it without context or comment.

And that’s just what today’s winner of the Randomly Bestowed Porkjerky.com Shitty Blog Award does. About 5 times a month the Just Give Me The Truth Blog gets updated with passages lifted straight from books of the bible. No comment, no explanation, no discussion about why those passages are important or thought provoking. Just random bible passages randomly parceled out at in random intervals.

Now, I’m not all that up on the 13 Amendments but I am pretty sure one of them is thou shall not steal the lord’s shit. Say what you want about Scientology, but there’s obviously an upside to a religion that has lawyers on staff to defend their copyrights and trademarks. In the name of the almighty L. Ron, amen.

Lastly and bestly, its trying to sell out. Not having much luck, but still its trying. There’s an image at the top right of the page that says ‘Advertsie Here’ (literally, that’s what it says. I typed their typo correctly) and gives an email to contact about buying some space on their bible rip-off site. Its one thing to rip god’s material off, its another to try and make money off the shit you stole from him.

But in all fairness, though; if you want to read 4 random passages from the Book of Revelations, then the Just Give Me The Truth Blog can’t be beat. And that’s why I proudly bestow on it the Porkjerky.com Shitty Blog Award.

Mazal tov.

Roses And My Ass Are Red, Violets Are Blue…

I once had an awesomely hairy tush

A candy binge left me straining to push

A turd of gummy bears

yanked all my anus hairs

Thus the end of my beautiful ass-bush.

Ass Deep In Team Bullshit

Jesus H. god damn fucking christ lord almighty cunt fuck shit piss whore.

Now, I know I say that a lot, but this time I literally mean it. And when I literally say ‘literally’, I literally mean ‘literally’. Literally.

Jesus H. god damn fucking christ lord almighty cunt fuck shit piss whore. Last week I got my big brown granny panties in a huge shriveled up menopausal bunch because every fucking thing in the word is shoehorned into being a team activity. Research papers, charity events, individual athletic events like track, tennis and bowling, even weight loss programs all get aggregated up, rolled into a ball and hammered into teams. Every fucking thing in the world is now done by a team. Every fucking thing.

That’s why I formed the Team Porkjerky.com Shitters. I figured if everything is better in teams, its high time we reinvented (don’t even fucking get me started on that cock sucking phrase) how we shit. No longer will crapping be a solitary endeavor, hidden behind doors, sealed off from the rest of the house. Now, we can all do it with pride, knowing that we have a group to back us as we squat down, push out our bowels, wipe ourselves off and in rare instances wash our hands when we are done. High fives all around.

Then, as I do, I decided to see how much I could disgust myself by being right. I googled the term ‘“blog team”‘. 476,000 results. I don’t know if I have mentioned this, but jesus H. god damn fucking christ lord almighty cunt fuck piss whore.

And then just because I love stomping on my own nuts, I clicked on a few links. I am not even going to bore you with the details. Just the overview: Loser Trekkie teams; dumbfuck housewife teams; literal retard caregiver teams; geeks and nerds sliced and diced into teams of unimaginable amount and boringitude; reams of teams composed of fat, uncoordinated losers who spend their days typing about sports other grown men play.

God damn it all to hell, I even found a bunch of blog teams who formed to help others blog.

I am at a lost for words, so let me repeat some that seem apropos:

Jesus H. god damn fucking christ lord almighty cunt fuck shit piss whore.

You Should Have Seen The One That Got Away

She was the length of an oarsman’s row if she was an inch I tell ye. And thick as a turret to boot.

This was my Moby Dick. Holy crap. I first noticed this beast at 2 in the morning. Rumbling, tumbling, churning and convulsing. Oh, it would be fight for sure. A fight I don’t know if I was up to.

By 4 in the morning though I was buns deep in a fight with her and I knew one of us wouldn’t make it out alive. It was either me or the great brown beast, and I as sure as hell didn’t want it to be my time. So with one hand bracing on the port side and one against the starboard side of the porcelain vessel I was captaining, I thrust down and went to battle.

And when the mist settled and dawn was breaking, the beast had been run aground. Nary a tissue, not one was left upon the roll. Victory was mine and I would live to shit another day.

Where Art Thou, Billy Mays?

2 days ago we took a trip down memory lane, reminiscing about a much simpler time. A time when gasoline had lead, presidents were white, movies were either G, PG, R, or X and we were so ignorant and misinformed that we actually expected women to have hair on their cunts.

How young and naïve we were.

Luckily we as a society have evolved. To quote a group of poets of the time:

We can’t rewind we’ve gone too far

Pictures came and broke your heart


Put the blame on the VCR

As with the radio star, video killed the unkempt poon. Pornography became something that was easy to enjoy in the confines of your own home. Then, the more conscious we were of pussies and the more conscious women were of peoples consciousness about pussies, the more self-conscious women got about their pussies and groomed them accordingly.

Thus, bush fashion went mainstream.

The march of self-consciousness and grooming has kept up with the retarded pace the march of technology has set. First, as discussed earlier, somewhere it got legislated that all pussies not only be trimmed, but bald. If you’re cunt doesn’t look like a 9 year-old’s, then sister, it ain’t sexy. Second, plastic surgery is commonplace. Granted a snatchlift isn’t all that frequent, but in 2009 we all know someone who has had a boob job, tummy tuck, nose job and/or some other form of scalpel induced self-esteem placebo. It wasn’t like that 15 years ago. We all knew it existed, but hardly anyone actually knew someone who had done it.

And finally, the coup de gras of technology inspired vanity, people are actually bleaching their assholes. Don’t take my word for it, Wikipedia it. Then google some products you can buy to do it yourself.

Repeat it with me, just to help it sink in: People are putting chemicals on their assholes to lighten their appearance. God damn delicious.

At this point, I really think its time to close up shop. We have reached the pinnacle of humanity. We are the zenith of creation. I defy any species, earthly or extra-terrestrial to claim to be more advanced than us humans who have evolved so thoroughly, so perfectly that we allocate energy and resources to making our buttholes a shade lighter than what god gave us.

Oh, you will hear people talk about opposable thumbs, a sense of humor, the ability to communicate, be self-aware and a lot of other ultimately meaningless things humans do as proof that we are a higher species. Those are all well and good, but now we have definitive proof that we are God’s finest creatures.

He truly made us in his image. Of course his butthole is a little too dark for our tastes though. Good try, though god; and don’t worry, we can fix your mistake.

That’s too fucking awesome. People are actually whitening their buttholes. I am sure like silicone breast implants, Roux-en y obesity surgery, Phen-phen and Red Dye #5, this will end well without any health ramifications on down the line.

There’s No ‘I’ In ‘Shit’

For a country so in love with bravado talk about individuality, capitalism and self-determination, we sure are a bunch of socialist, communism acting pussies.

Everything is a fucking team event. Not a sport mind you, an event. School projects you get put on a team, although you’re graded individually. At work there’s all kinds of bullshit teams within bullshit teams, although, you’re paid individually. You can’t even just help charity anymore without joining some team.

Even exclusively individual events are unnaturally forced into teams. Go check out a school’s extra-curricular programs: bowling team, tennis team, gymnastics team, golf team, track team, chess team, math team, speech team. Not one of those fucking things lends itself to being done by a team, yet to condition future generations into this culture of team bullshit, we force everything we can into it.

Like most things I hate, I am embracing it. And trying to suffocate it with a pile of my own shit.

So, it is with great fanfare and a spirit of communism, that I am announcing the Porkjerky.com Shitting Team. That’s right. Its high time we grouped together as people and cultivated the synergy of our abilities by helping one another out to take our cumulative shitting to the next level.

No longer will you have to crap solitarily, all your teammates will be on that crapper with you helping you strive to do your best and push out the best turd you can. Through teamwork and dedication to another we can collectively prosper and reach the pinnacle of our shitting abilities. But only if we are selfless and put the team above all us.

You guys with me? Alright. Huddle up and hands in the middle. On three, ‘Go Team Porkjerky.com Shitters’, on three.

One.

Two.

Three.

GO TEAM PORKJERKY.COM SHITTERS.

That’s the spirit, now let’s get out there and pinch one off for the gipper.

Pussy-dos

Remember the good ole days when chicks had hair on their cunts? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to seem like some deranged social deviant who doesn’t love the look of a 10 year old’s pussy. I’m not a weirdo ok–I can’t get enough of the pre-pubscent, status quo snatch.

Every chick in the world is shaving her muff. And like the curmudgeon ole man I have made myself out to be on this blog, I blame the internet.

How many pussies do you think someone in the early 80’s saw in a year? 4? Of course there’s going to be a big variance on that, but on average 4 poons a year sounds right. Then as technology progressed and people were able to view VHS pornography in their home, Playboy became a socially acceptable magazine and the world was blessed with Cinemax, that number had to at least double by the time E.T. phoned home.

By being exposed to so many spiffy snatches, women became conscious not only of the fact that other women groomed theirs, but that if they didn’t they would be the weirdos. Thus, the pussy-do was born. Some shaved it into a thin strip, others a heart or other cute shape, some just took a little off the top and others waxed it bald. Whatever the case, the groomed lady gash entered our culture. It wasn’t that popular, but still everyone knew about it and it was almost a status symbol.

Then the internet hit and the average number of pussies a person saw in a year rocketed to at least 100. The coiffed cunt became ubiquitous, almost mandatory. It was yet another feature women could be judged and judge others on. Oh they will bitch about the world working that way, about hating to be judged physically, about having to spend so much time grooming themselves just to appease others, but it’s a load of crap—they bring it on themselves and revel in it. They like doing it, they like being judged highly and they like being able to judge others not so highly. Pussy primping is exactly the kind of retarded shit chicks love.

Anyway, thanks to our technological advancement, everyday, millions of vulva are stripped of their hair for no reason other than that’s what women think others expect of their cunts.