Here is a story that you don’t want to read in front of your college creative writing class, it seems none of these fucking swamp donkey’s that you sat next to……. have any god damn sense of humor at all…..they just sit there and make faces like a constipated ape….fuck them!!!

Having childhood memories is a great thing to have, but when it’s a fucking horrific event you just want to curl up in an assball and cry like a fucking 3 year old

Like any normal morning for me before the bus came for school… I figured I would steal some quarters from my sister as long as I could sift through the plague infested dump she called a purse, after hours of vomiting like a caveman meeting rosie O’donnell for the first time…

I left early so I could go up to 7 Eleven to play a some arcades, and to hassle Hashish sitting behind the counter while he’s arguing to a redneck about cleaning up the fucking slushie his buddy  Joe Dirt  just threw at his neck. I joined in and took Mohammed’s tip jar and smashed it on his turban. somehow we got into a wrestling match and he eventually banned me from ever coming in his store again. His fucking translator’s head was stuffed through the hot dog turner…so it was hard to understand any fucking bullshit these pricks were saying.

Of course I missed the bus, I had to go home and change my blood stained shirt and pour a bottle of peroxide on my penis that got snapped off in the U.F.C fight with Abraham, and on top of that I had to knock down my sister’s door with a sledge hammer just to get her to wake the fuck up to take me to school…because pouring candlewax on her cheek didn’t do the trick

It was great though, when she made an ass out of herself just like Richard Simmons on the Tonight Show after he showed his kitten balls to the nation because his god damn shorts are tighter than Bobby Brown’s choke hold on Whitney…she  had to write her name and address on a piece of paper at the toll booth, because she didn’t have any money to pay the toll…. so they had to send her the bill for $.75 cents…I had to laugh into my jacket because her face was redder than Santa Clause’s fat red ass

Of course my laughing backfired…being that she was so pissed off, I had to shoulder roll out of the passenger side car door, as she squeeled around the parking lot like a pig getting slaughtered with a butter knife

After I flipped her off while I was on the ground, she backed up toward me like a diabolical being with her eyes fixated on running over my fucking bird chest…. which made me run into the school like a fucking child. When school was over I had to stop by the pawn shop and buy a silver bullet to put this bitch in the grave, before she attacked me while I was walking through the forest or some shit…..

I hated school with a passion. You sit through each class, listening to Ben Stein talk about his monotone voice and how fucking annoying it is, and how it got him kicked out of the actor’s studio. Then he asks fucked up questions like if x-y+h=zb…..what does the speed of a gazelle reach when catching a jack rabbit in the back woods of kentucky??

I look around and everyone in the class is more passed out then William Hung after he got his ass kicked for opening up for Journey, I’m the only bastard still awake because I’m still traumatized by the fucking joy ride I had with my hallucinogenic sister. Ben Stein needs an answer so he eyes me down like Charles Manson ready to slice and dice his next victim.

I mumble a bunch of bullshit, hoping the bell rings to end this fucking nightmare…when it does everyone stands up and sprints out the door like a running back on steroids, I pack up my shit faster than Clay Aiken getting kicked out of Hollywood… as I’m leaving I throw a 90 mile hour fast ball with an apple right at Ben’s forehead shattering his glasses, I walk out the door flipping him off ,while he’s on the ground crying like a toddler, I kick him in the neck causing him to die on the scene.

I walk into the hallway, which is cluttered with a pack of chimps like it’s 5 o’ clock traffic on the 405 freeway in California, all the fucking mutants come out to stop in the middle of the hallway where your walking…. they think it’s a fucking buy one get one free sale of blowjobs at “Jenny the math class whore’s” locker.

 So you have to be aggressive and knock down every sick fucker like bowling pins at “Bowlerama”( the place to get more wasted than the people of Amsterdam, and drink gatorade out of your cupped hands) plow through them like it’s a riot….. then finally get to your fucking mayonnaise jar they call a locker, grab your books and get to the next mental ward meeting

If you are smart, you don’t need a locker…just carry all your heavy books in your backpack, and when you plow down some asshole , and he starts talking shit just say        “I didn’t know man” and pummel the bitch with your backpack— which is now a deadly weapon of disaster to any fuck that comes near you…. even Lance, the one every one fears, because he bullshits everyone into believing he’s a green beret. Well, I’ve got a front page news story for him

He walks the halls each day confident and relaxed  thinking no ones going to fuck with him, until that day when I come up behind him with a pack of books to the skull…while he’s talking to Beth. The hottest whore in high school. “Are you relaxed and confident now Lance”????

What I hate most about high school is years later when your doing your own thing. drinking heavily, brawling, and fucking all the fat chicks because your penis is more dried out than a prune field east of India….(get what you can right???)

 you stop into wendy’s for a doublestack and sitting behind the counter besides Rosie O’donnell, finishing the last of the chili in the pot…with her god damn head krammed in there like a midget at an airport urinal….you see the same fuck you pile drived…. his soft head through the drywall……… in the infamous “hall fight”

to the right of him, you see Kevin…the guy you owe  14 months of rent payment and public service bills to…because you skipped out of the apartment in the middle of the night…… jumping off the fucking roof after you found out he’s a faget…..he’s working the fry machine stroking the fucking chicken nugget box like Michael Jackson lubing up Macaulay Culkin

right about now your in a bad spot….so you just casually sprint out the back door and peel away like a fucking bank robber to Burger King down the street. That’s where you see Kathy, your ex-girlfriend…the one you left after she became to serious, the only thing you remember is catching a plane to Canada that night, after a heated argument and tears.

So by now you just say fuck it…. and go home and make your own damn sandwich your stomach’s growling worse than a rabid fox….. 







Portland what a great city!!! Not only does it rain more than a biblical flood, but it’s nice to walk down the street and see everyone’s face caved in looking like Skeletor   jobs1.jpg

because they don’t know how to say no to meth.

Ever since I came to this hell-hole I’ve been handed more shit than a Uganda Elephant trainer….I mind as well give up, like Ralph Macchio did with his movie career 

 I’m getting more responses from jobs, than Carrot Top getting free lap dances at the local whore house off 5th street…….NOTHING!!!!!!…. just like the messages on William Hung’s answering machine from record producer’s

What do I do now???  

That’s what Kurt Cobain asked right before he took a 12 guage to his fucking brain……. I don’t even have a dime to my name, I didn’t think the stock market crashed again did it?

only for me…

Either that, or I happened to stumble on a Tibetan Monk who cursed me…when I talked shit to him…and ripped the cloak off his back

  Who knows what’s next, I’ll just sit here and rot like the cess pool of filth that wander aimlessly downtown, why don’t employers hire a fucking Elephant to just stand around for 8 hours behind the desk and answer the phones…then we will teach him to punch in and out for lunch. 

I think it’s better than hiring someone who’s resume is more fucking unbelievable than the fucking CEO, but yet he get’s paid millions of dollars a day just to scratch his ass with a feather duster. And on top of that he can embezzle money and never get caught, because it’s his father’s company.

If you think about who lives in all these million dollar homes…you guessed it.

It’s not only the rich and famous, and the doctor’s and lawyers, but the bastard’s who cheat themselves through life.

Maybe I’ll just burrow back inside my hole…. and wait until all the elephants are extinct.




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 … 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 …….

…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 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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



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”




The glory days

I used to get up about 3 in the morning, eat a shit load of sugar, jump on my bike and ride to my friends house. After I fist fought his old man in the living room… because after I supposedly woke the whole god damn family up when I kicked in the front door…. causing the fucking aquarium that was behind the door to shatter…. killing all the damn goldfish.

The ambulance came to cart my friends dad away on a stretcher, so we sped away to this path that was  known as “our fucking trail”

“Our fucking trail” had jumps as high as big bird, turns that made you wreck into a muddy river, trees and bushes that you had to dodge from having your head ripped off like Jason Voorhees did to a sorry son of a bitch in all of his movies.

“Friday the 13th part 112″….. this time they try to suffocate Jason with a backpack at the retirement home.

We were having a blast speeding…. around, across, through, twisting and turning…laughing like a pair of wasted white trash. But the important thing is ….we had fun and no son of a bitch was going to tell us no. Except for the fucker’s land we happened to stumble on while we were chasing a sasquatch with a beebee gun ….we forgot to read the sign that said…. “–Private Property–any fuck that doesn’t obey will be shot down like a pair of Jews at base camp!!!”

Unfortunately, my friend got blown away, while pedaling as fast as he could go…..I had the better bike, so I beat him to the “safe point”, which was a big fucking mound of leaves that we used to stuff innocent little children under if they happen to ride “our fucking trail” without us knowing……….and I lived to write about it.

We always used to play Basketball all the time, but he always brought out a ball that was from the 1940’s. It was more worn out than Lindsay Lohan’s Vagina.

 plus it was flatter than the top of sean connery’s skull and it only bounced about as high as william hung’s songs on the billboard charts…..we usually played horse or pig because we were as bad as the clippers playing a real game of basketball. And I looked like a nine year old girl trying to dunk a basketball filming the next episode of “Little People Big World”.

 We were more bored with horse or pig than most of these old bastard’s at the retirement home with limp dick’s

 We decided to add our own game called “The sorry son of a bitch that loses gets to buy the next round of beer for a week” It usually took us eight and a half weeks to finish, but it was well worth it when I pulled away a victory. Seven days of drinking heavily…..

 until I ended up like Nic Cage in Leaving Las Vegas…. talking shit to him across the table like an abusive father. All the while, he’s drinking water out of his cupped hands.

Oh What Fabulous memories…….



 Why is gas so damn expensive…..

One day it’s $1,343 dollars a gallon, the next day is $2,693,5970!! it fluctuates like a Tijuana crack whore’s blow job prices…I fill up, then about 12 minutes later I have to fill up again, like a meth addict in denial…

When I accidently slide my library card in the reader at the pump, because I’m so fucking wasted from the doobi I just inhaled….. and the smokes billowing out of my car like a volcanic eruption— every dumb bitch next to me is staring at me like I’m a god damn wax museum… I hear some assbag overhead on the p.a. system (so everyone on the fucking planet can hear) telling me to “prepay” first…..

While I’m walking over to the mother fucker, not only are my ears ringing– like I just came from a Slayer concert… swan diving onto the fucking lunatics in the mosh pit….I’m thinking, how the fuck am I supposed to know how much my fucking little 1736 Dodge Dart gas tank will hold— and I’m also wondering if they have any of those fucking hot dogs that rotate like a slaughtered raccoon in a fire. to cure my munchie cravings

Instead of making one trip and doing everything at once, I have to make 5 trips 

One to pay the son of a bitch 

 One to go pump 

….. Another to get my change back 

 And one to go back and kick his ass…after I grab the pool stick from the car

  And one more to walk back to my car…with a blood stained shirt and my knuckles sore from hitting his jaw so fucking hard it shattered…. 

 The moral of the story is FUCK prepay 

But you do feel good…when you see him in a bodycast and an IV attached to his neck…..        minutes later when you fill your tank again!!!


The System



You have to love community service I know I do!!!

Remind me to tell the judge next time that I would rather rot in prison for life getting ass fucked by “Hank The Homosexual”

Here’s an idea..

let’s pick up every  piece of  trash on the side of the road with a stick that snaps off like Michael Jackson’s fucking nose when you try  poke through a soda can.  Let’s also have 22 garbage bags they use to wrap up homeless people in the dead of winter in Alaska…. sticking out of my pockets, my ass cheeks, my ear lobes…. and any other fucking hole that can hold 32 more bags ……just so I can throw the bag into the god damn  sewer system, and interrupt the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles gangbang with April…while Casey Jones is crying in the corner, and Splinter’s filming it.

 Raphael couldn’t blow his load because the foot clan crashed through the ceiling, so they had to re-film it….. this time that crazy fucking rat on steroids got a piece… and Master Shredder died of   heat exhaustion for leaving his fucking helmet on the whole time.

“Turtle Power”

  Let’s try to schedule community service either when the wind is blowing harder then the end of the world,  and Donald Trump has to re-staple his toupee every god damn 3 seconds…. or when there is a typhoon knocking over all the Jap’s in Hong Kong, making a tidal wave the size of Mothra

Fortunate for me, I had it when it was fucking hotter than standing on the equator while a Volcano was spewing  Lava on my skull….all the while my flesh is getting torn off the bone like a pack of irate chimps eating a human…it’s like taking a swim through hell

To top it off they make you wear this bright orange flourescent vest, so everyone that passes you on the road can zoom by and splash mud on your chest like it’s a fucking biker rally in the back woods of Tennesee…..all the while honking repeatedly like an LSD addict and waving the middle finger at you, like you just murdered a puppy

Isn’t paying the court fees enough, I had to file for bankruptcy after the judge slammed his gavel. Now my credit’s worse than an illegal immigrant, trying to buy a shack in the woods…so his wife Gabriella and there 29 kids could live the american dream.

Next time  I’ll be sure to  drive my car off a burning cliff  and then celebrate in the seventh circle of hell; that I have escaped the wrath of the court system..