February 22, 2006

FEMALE POEM

I want a man who’s handsome, smart and strong
One who loves to listen long.
One who thinks before he speaks
One who’ll call, not wait for weeks.
I want him to be gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, be not annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! For a man who makes love to my mind
And knows what to answer to “how big is my behind?”
I want this man to love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.

MALE POEM

I want a deaf-mute nymphomaniac
with huge boobs who owns a liquor store and a bass boat.
I know this doesn’t rhyme and I don’t give a shit.

 

via reader ‘The Bastard’.

 


Hey, I Gotta Tell You…

September 11, 2002

These cunts who marry Ay-rabs, and then whine about losing their kids, like that major whiner-cunt Pat Roush, can just go fuck themselves as far as I’m concerned.DUH!!!

What did you expect, you raghead wannabe douchebags!!!

Ooooh, lessee, “I sold myself to this dark-eyed romeo (gad, go fuck a spic…they’ll be greatful, and mexico is a lot closer to get your kids back from) and now I’m whining because because he, following his religion, beats me with a stick, and takes my kid back home where I have no rights at all?”

These loser sluts who apparently can’t get a decent Amurrican to fuck them, so they start bottom feeding…well, they can all just go hang.

By the way, if I see another fucking firefighter or cop memorial today, I’m gonna puke.

Where are the monuments and ceremonies for all the janitors, pizza guys, secretaries, and hot dog vendors?

I am SO conflicted by this whole 9/11 thing…if you would have asked me before 9/11 if I would have liked to see those shitheads in those buildings get blowed up…I would have enthusiastically said “Hell Yes!!!”

The Pentagon? Why not?

Congress and/or the Senate? Fuckin A!!!

Then it happens, and I gotta pick which victims make me sad and which don’t…

Every time an angel farts, another faggot croaks, that’s my philosophy.

One of my sons was almost in the Pentagon that day, and I’m glad his meeting was canceled, but I can shed no tears for that bloated military industrial bureaucracy getting center punched…

I regret the loss of the passengers and crew, and I hate it that the tools used against us were these subhuman wastes of chromosomes and skin we label as ‘ragheads’.

But, my basic philosophy still holds…don’t bitch about the ride when you bought the ticket.

Eight years of Clinton and her Whore, and thirty years of escalating decadence…

Yeah, we bought and paid for our future.

Deal.

.


Men And Women…

September 7, 2002

…are two alien species that just happen to be able to interbreed, and achieve a little enjoyment whilst doing so.

Each species is dependent on the other or it would die off, so they’ve formed a sort of give and take truce over the ages in a mutual contract for survival.

Men are thoughtless, unfeeling idiots; Women are thoughtful, all-feeling idiots, and it’s a wonder either one can make it across a room without falling and sticking a fork in their brain and swallowing their tongue and dying.

All of their offspring are self-centered little ‘tards until they begin to gestate and become dangerous to themselves and everyone around them by causing the most car accidents, shootings, surprise pregnancies and bad movies and music.

Then they get old enough to where most movement hurts in some way so they do less of it, tend to cause less trouble (except for the ones who circumnavigate the country in steroidal, goiter-like ‘motor-homes’, blocking traffic for hundreds of miles) and wait for whatever dreary death that was inevitable from the moment they jumped through the love-ring and into their first experience with latex.

So, there, get used to it, deal or not. No woman can be trusted in a jewelry/Costco/clothing store, and a man in a hardware or electronics store will come out feeling like every fleeced rube leaving a carnival has ever felt…guilty and a little flushed, like he just tongue-kissed Gramma for his allowance.

The jewelry will sit in a box, the reciprocating saw will sit in a box, and your kids will bitch about having to try to unload all your crap at the garage sale they will throw after you’re dead.

Hope this helps! Your mileage may vary…