Cults

 

I love cults and the Earth is the perfect place to start one, because it’s been fucked up since the beginning

You either have to have mental illness or have down syndrome to start a cult. And the people that “exalt” you as a leader– must be a pre-school class because there brains are as useless at that age… as a fucking gerbil.

There are many cults, but let’s narrow in on 2 of the most fucked up ones around

Buddhism and Voodism….. as Quagmire would say—”all right”

Let’s talk about an eight and a half year old buddhist monk getting trampled by a pack of llama that just got there nuts guillotined….what a bloody fucking sight, don’t show your children!!! Not to mention the sorry son of a bitch who has to get out the dust pan and sweep it up, usually the crazy fucking Buddhist’s  just let the  the wind  blow it away….but this is a “special” case, because the Dalai Lama doesn’t tolerate that shit. 

Even though he just celebrated his 211th birthday, he has no fucking clue about Buddhism, and he often asks himself  ”why are all these fat fucking bald looking tan motherfuckers bowing before me when I blow my god damn nose”

 The simple answer is just—WHO GIVES A FUCK!!!

 If  I’m Going to bow to something…It’s not going to be to a porcelain bobble head  statue of  John Candy…. It’s going to be a muppet figurine of John Candy.

And then you get Voodism
where a bunch of drunk fucking lunatics prance around a stone cave, wiggling and jiggling like Dolly Parton’s tits after she rides the roller coaster “Debbie does Dallas” at her very own amusement park the National Enquirer calls “A FUCKING SILICONE CATASTROPHE” and Rolling Stone calls it ” A FUCKING UNBELIEVABLE NIGHTMARE”
I think they gave the same reviews for Titanic, although Ebert was generous when he said “I can’t wait for the sequel, that way I know when to commit suicide”

The moral of this story I’ll let you clowns make one  up….

But my moral is, if you want to start a religion or a fucked up cult….then come with me as I pick up the bottle and drink until I die….because it solves all of my problems.

Insanity

 

 

Have you ever wanted to get someone’s Autograph who isn’t famous, but it’s the thrill of the chase that drives you to insanity…… here is a story for all the children out there on what not to do…for an autograph that’s at most worth 4 Rubles in Russia!!!!

Remember not to write it when your wasted on hash and popping pills with a bottle of scotch……or else it will get shredded from the F.B.I in a matter of seconds

I am writing you because not only am I a fucking alcoholic who’s more nocturnal than a rabid bat who just took a hit of acid… but also I’m a fan…not quite a stalker like David Hasselhoff masturbating to Pam Andersons tits sitting in his rocking chair in a high security prison…with the only thing blaring in the background is a duet featuring Clay Aiken and William Hung singing chipmunk songs from 1937…

but someone who saw your show at comedy works when Dave Attell was here sipping more vodka than Joseph Stalin whipping turkish immigrants with a belt buckle ..and then taking a bath with Hitler in a nazi concentration camp….best friends for life…

you even signed my shirt…which I still have hanging up in neon lights right over my glass case with the “fragile” paper mache penis of Carrot Top..I received on E-Bay for 32 cents..and only 700 pesos for shipping…what a hell of a deal…..

even though I was more plastered than Paula Abdul during the American Idol auditions…I still needed to get your autograph man…because your cool.. so I trampled the security whore behind the steel curtain and I punched Dave Attell right in the esophagus…

then this gigantic black motherfucker came running out of the back room carrying a machete ready to slice and dice me like a fucking horror flick ..I dodged him and shattered a bottle of o’douls over his head ..he went flying into a glass wall of homeade bong pipes..then I reached you with a black crayon in your hand..ready to sign like a fucking 2 year old who just got smacked like a bitch across the room ..because you took a dump on the carpet in front of the church pastor..singing koom- bye- ya- my- lord…. with a megaphone….

all I’m trying to tell you..is … I get more bored than some of these porn stars who have limp dicks…. so I have to write like Stephen King on crack… turning out stories every time I wipe my ass …….

there more jaded than a tibetan monk who worships some bald guy with a cloak…..I’m not like the government who rapes you on every april 15th…and takes more money from you than a hooker on sunset blvd….after your hangover the next 17 days later..you search through your panty drawer looking for your wallet..the only thing that’s there is 1 fucking dime…realizing that the 50 dollar blowjob turned into a six hundred dollar mindfuck..

all because the 28 gallons of petron you drank took you completly out of fucking reality and into a god damn coma.

So as I write to you from this fucking psychotic mental ward…. I believe that The Moral of the story is don’t arm wrestle a lion because he is probably hungry and needs to be fed first!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BIGGER THE BETTER

Why do they make everything you buy in stores so god damn BIG…and more expensive than renting out Bill Gates house for the night???

Pretty soon bringing home 5 bags of groceries will force you to sell one of your fucking children (probably the one that sides with mommy all the god damn time—fucking Cynthia, I knew I should have suffocated her, after she saw me walk in the patio door with a whore)

The prices keep fucking sky-rocketing like a midget getting blown from a cannon, instead of steak for dinner…were going to have a bowl of shredded wheat.

 But instead of tossing the leftover milk in your wife’s face after she argues with you for selling Cynthia—pour it in a ziploc baggy, so you can use it for the box of macaroni you got from the fucking food shelter with an expiration date on it that says ”When chimps were banging each other in the ass”

I was dragged to Costco the other day with a noose around my neck and a sawed off to my fucking forehead, ( my wifes way of therapy)  so I had no choice but to browse the aisles and gasp at the insane prices and squeel like the hottest bitch in a horror movie getting her tits chopped off with a crowbar (why do the hottest one’s get killed off first, it only gives me 10 minutes to masturbate)

“Super duper size fucking cheetos”— on sale for just 15 thousand dollars —or—”a gigantic overflowing god damn silo of Evian bottled water”—-  2,329 gallons for a down payment of  only 382,000 dollars!!! For christ sakes man, am I going to hike the great wall of china??? I don’t need that much fucking water…unless I looked like E.T on a salt binge.

I’ll need to buy a god damn duffell bag the size of Rosie O’ donnell’s left ass cheek just to carry the shit,  and my extra,extra,extra large bail of toilet paper… to cure my plague infested shit attack…… after I chew down on the 542 pack of nutra grain bars I bought at Walgreens for 107 dollars. 

Fuck It

I’ll just rent out a u-haul truck the size of Mount Everest 

Talk about getting out of traffic easy, just start yelling chitty- chitty- bang- bang…at the top of your lungs…and turn the wheel real sharp into the fucking ditch

In you pull, right into the front yard of your shack—you bougt on E-Bay from a guy named Vanilla Ice.

 For buying yourself into bankruptcy…you mind as well live with Michael Jackson in the closet with his chimps—-jerking off little boys who got lured into his “art class”………

“How to bleach your body and feel great about yourself”