Holy shit, fraternities are fucking awesome! The other day I went to a frat party and it was so fucking great! I was standing around, minding my own business when a couple of guys came over to talk to me! They asked me what the fuck I thought I was doing there! I told them I was there for a party! They seemed displeased! They asked if I was considering pledging to their frat! These guys were so cool! They had collared shirts! And rolled up sleeves! And sunglasses! Indoors! How fucking awesome is that?! Of course I was considering pledging! They gave me a beer and told me to go talk to Cindy! She would suck my dick they told me! But, I said, she was asleep! She’ll definitely suck your dick they said! Frat guys are so awesome, they can fuck sleeping girls!

Where’s the nearest tanning bed?! I need to get my tan on! MORE »

Today is Valentine’s Day and so I’m going to be a bit sentimental and share with you a poem I once wrote for someone I loved. I hope you enjoy it…I don’t normally get this sentimental, so please be sensitive.

<3 <3 The Night (I Found My Love) <3 <3

The night was cold, the rain was falling soft
And in my heart I knew that love had bloom’d.
The soft white face and lips my mind had oft
Dreaméd about; naively I assumed
The favor was returned in full and whole
That we would be as one for evermore.
An overwhelming yearning in my soul
Cried that this was what I’d been looking for.

The night wore on and smitten though I was
I found the strength to share my secrets bold
And listened -my heart fluttered as it does-
While sim’lar thoughts from you came to unfold.
While music played, I sought to hold you tight
And wish you’d never want to leave my side.
Inside my head I knew our time was right.
My love for you I could no longer hide.

The night died down and then I had to choose
To spill my heart or let my true love flee.
As our eyes locked my mind began to muse:
You were too good, too beautiful for me.
I left you then in shock and silent awe
And watched my love fade slowly in the rain
And knew the choice I’d made -from what I saw-
Was one I’d never choose to make again.

The night had died; the fear I’d never see
My love again tore swiftly o’er my face.
But then a jolt spread quickly over me!
My true love here! You seemed so out of place!
Your hair so fine and eyes so dark and pure!
Your smile and body causing me to shake!
My loins did burn and yet, I was not sure
That it was you; my knees began to quake.

Your finest features glistened from the rain.
My man stick pumped, my jeans became so tight.
I did not want to fumble once again
And stared at you and chose my words just right.
And lo, I knew I lovéd what I saw
And looked at you again and, filled with glee,
I stared into the mirror on the wall
And said, “Fuck yes, I am in love with me!”

Holy shit, I just came.

Other than for serving as a vessel to further stroke my own massive ego, Valentine’s Day is useless. It’s just another day smack in the middle of the most dreary, depressing, boring fucking month of the year. So in that sense, it’s a reflection of almost every relationship ever. I’m sure there are people who will argue that Valentine’s Day is a day to express love and joy towards others. Those people are stupid. And pussies.

We get it: you think you’re in love with someone and that you should publicly display this love for everyone to see. Strangers send strangers gifts for no reason and don’t leave return addresses. Stalkers crawl out of the woodwork like emotionally unstable, butcher-knife wielding cockroaches. Morons go on and on about how much they love their boyfriend/girlfriend and how this day allows them to show the world how much they love one another.

Fuck that and fuck you.

If you do that shit on any day other than Valentine’s Day, you’re considered a prick or a sexual predator. What they should call Valentine’s Day is “The Lauding Pricks and Sexual Predators as Hopeless Romantics Extravaganza.” At least then it’s a more accurate description.

Some people will say that I’m lashing out at people who like Valentine’s Day because I’m jealous of people with relationships. Yeah, I’m really pissed that I don’t have someone to constantly nag me for sitting around in my underwear, farting and watching TV. I’m really upset that I don’t have someone expecting me to buy her shiny, expensive trinkets on inane holidays to keep her from lopping my penis off in my sleep. I’m crying in my dick-beard over the monotony of a committed relationship in which I can’t see or speak with other people for fear of igniting a jealously induced, dick chopping rage due to her insecurity. You guys caught me. Please, sign me up for an opportunity to experience all these joys as soon as possible.

Valentine’s Day is for people who have boring relationships and need an excuse to take the drabness out of it but won’t try anal.

If there’s one reason I love Valentine’s Day, it’s because I get to spend an entire day with my one true love. Me.

-Fuck Valentine’s Day.

I’ve heard some pretty stupid things in my life, but as of today I have heard the absolute dumbest thing ever. Some dumbass animal rights activist broke into a zoo late at night and snuck into a cheetah cage in Belgium. Guess what happened? You’re damn right, she got mauled to death. I say good. One less moron stealing my precious air. What really pisses me off is that the cheetahs are getting blamed for this. Jan Libot, the zoo’s spokeswoman and inherent muff diver, had this to say: “Karen [the idiot who broke into the cages] loved animals. Unfortunately, the cheetahs betrayed her trust.” Are you fucking serious? Betrayed her trust? Anyone stupid enough to trust a 400 lb. speed demon with a penchant for stalking and killing live prey deserves to fucking die the way she did. Cheetahs don’t care whether or not you trust them, or love them or “adopted” them or paid for their fucking food. All they care about is that if you’re going to sneak into their cage in the middle of the night, you’re a free meal. What could this woman have hoped to accomplish by sneaking into the cages of these ravenous and, as of today, awesome killing machines? Seriously, was she looking to pet them? I can’t wrap my mind around how anyone can be that stupid. Honestly, if you’re going to climb into a locked cheetah cage in the middle of the night because you trust wild animals, you deserve to die. No one that dense deserves any kind of sympathy. Holy tits, I going to shit my pants I’m so pissed at this level of stupidity. MORE »

I can’t stand the University of Notre Dame. If everyone at Notre Dame had their urethrae invaded by vicious flesh eating piranhas, I would never be able to stop laughing. In fact, I just shat all over a Notre Dame cheerleader laughing so hard about that thought…and because she’s into that kind of thing. There is only one group of people I’ve ever heard of that tickles its own egotistical prostate with a peacock’s plume more than Notre Dame students and alumni, and it’s U2. That’s saying a fucking lot.

If you haven’t read the best take on abortion ever yet, what the fuck are you waiting for? This is probably the one and only time I will ever say something not on my site is worth leaving my site to read, so if you haven’t read it yet, kill yourself. The author of the article is a genius, smarter than me by a long shot. Long story short, he wrote a very witty and suggestive rebuttal of a Notre Dame professor emeritus’ stance on abortion and concluded that the best thing he can do to support the University’s pro-life morals is to “take down names on clipboards, painstakingly penciling each one in for a particular time slot; and when that time comes, I will do my best to create a new life in each one of these hitherto barren wombs.” The humidity in South Bend just tripled with the slew of freshly moistened panties.

Naturally, when irony finds its way into a publication read by dimwits who take themselves too seriously, the first thing these morons do is launch a barrage of idiotic accusations as to why the author is wrong and try to justify their thoughts on why the author shouldn’t believe what he believes. The author received such an email from some jerkoff alumnus who heads a pro-life organization. Before this turns into a pointless “whose god’s magic is more right than the other’s” argument, I would like to refer all of you to the least wrong stance on abortion by someone in a position of power. What startled me most about the hate mail that he received was that it was from an alumnus who graduated in 1974. Let’s just assume he graduated when he was 22. That would make him almost 56 years old.

Why the fuck do you still care what’s being written in your alma mater’s fucking student directed newspaper THIRTY-FOUR FUCKING YEARS after you graduated? Here’s a complete list of things that are relevant outside of the university’s campus that can be found in a student directed newspaper:

* Abso-fucking-lutely nothing

The fact that this ancient graduate dicknose took the time out of his obviously open schedule to write a stumbling retort about how the author is an embarrassment to Notre Dame serves as proof that Notre Dame graduates never get the fuck over themselves. What, Mr. Pro-Life Leader didn’t have any whores to guilt into birthing their children into a shit life of welfare checks, Wal-Mart expeditions and saltines with meth laced breast milk for dinner every night? Fucking leech.
(Note: The hate mail the author of the abortion article got was actually written by a student at the school. Even better. Here’s why, spelled out for the slow.)

Face it. You aren’t in college anymore. You’re a middle aged floor manager at Kids-R-Us with no prospects and no goals outside of getting all 15 inches of a foggy glass dildo up your ass and eating that dinner-for-two box of Rice-a-Roni by yourself in dim candlelight while listening to “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” you fuck. I don’t understand why Notre Dame alumni have such a huge boner over the fact that they went to Notre Dame. There is nothing outstanding or spectacular about it and yet people boast and brag about how they went to Notre Dame. “Oh, well, it’s got a lot of long standing tradition behind it,” one might say. What the fuck are you talking about? What tradition? If the tradition of voluntarily wafting the stench of your own shit and jerking off in the mirror while wearing your Notre Dame sweater vest is one to be proud of, fuck that. I have never heard one convincing argument about why Notre Dame is better than every other university in the universe like all their students and alumni make it out to be.

You can always tell who’s a Notre Dame graduate too, because the first thing that comes out of his or her fucking mouth is “I graduated from Notre Dame.” Every time. Whether you’re meeting a business associate for the first time or meeting up with a woman for a mid-afternoon blowjob, if they’re from Notre Dame, they will go out of their way to let you fucking know it. In case you weren’t paying attention, here it is plan and simple:

No. One. Cares.

Much like being the heir to a business empire doesn’t make a person talented or successful, simply graduating from Notre Dame doesn’t make you any more qualified or special than every other schmuck that graduated from Dick Fuck University. Congratulations, Notre Dame, you’re the fucking Paris Hilton of colleges: all pomp, little productivity.

Oh, and your football team sucks. Just in case you forgot. Pricks.

-Paris Hilton was embarrassed to be compared to Notre Dame.

For those of you who don’t know, Lent is a Christian tradition in which people give up an object of affection beginning on Ash Wednesday (the day after Mardi Gras) and ending on Easter Sunday. It’s a symbolic gesture of sacrifice akin to that of the Christian Lord and Savior Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ’s death on a cross for the salvation of mortal souls. I have a couple of friends who happen to be Christian and decided to give up something for Lent: pop, candy, Facebook…you know, things only people without hair on their nuts would give up because they need diapers to eat spicy food and are generally whiny cry babies. After a few of these taint scabs told me things they were giving up, I felt it necessary to fuck start their skulls and propose they give up something that requires something more than a pulse and blind fear of a god to do. Too easy.

If you’re a Christian fanatic who can’t think of something bad ass to give up during Lent, I have complied a list of things only real men and a few women’s basketball players would have the balls to give up.

* Masturbation

Ever been addicted to nicotine, morphine or heroin? People will try to tell you that those drugs are some of the hardest things to give up. But, in the end, it’s possible. How many times have you ever heard of someone giving up masturbating for any amount of time, let alone 40 days? Never. And if you have, that person was lying to you. If you combined all the addictive elements of nicotine, morphine, heroin and beef jerky, you wouldn’t even be close to the sheer dependency masturbation holds over anyone who’s ever done it. The only positive that comes out of giving this up is that you will be angry. All the time. You will shout at children for no good reason. You will abuse the elderly. You will punch loved ones in the face while you sleep and at funerals. You will fuck mattresses and grapefruits and call it legitimate sex.

Everything you say or hear will connote masturbation. The story of how your aunt finished off cancer treatment? Yep. The time your grandfather told you how he beat off a slew of raccoons gnawing at your father’s genitals, which, coincidentally, explains your aptitude in being a completely inept bag of fuck? Absolutely. The promise your uncle made to you not to jerk off inside your ass, but would pull out and douse your sister in her sleep? You bet your traumatized, sodomized ass.

The dilemma of asking yourself “What pants do I wear today,” will have only one answer, and that answer is wrong. Too tight and you’ll swear there’s nothing better than thigh fucking yourself. Too loose and you’ll join Greenpeace to pay back Mother Nature for the incredible blow job she gave you. The only option you have is man up and get laid. Except you couldn’t get laid if you were a Persian rug. You lose.

* Menstruating

Myth has it that Jesus gave his blood for the salvation of all peoples. One person’s blood is more than enough for mankind. Do yourself and everyone else a favor and stop menstruating. I know some people will argue that it’s impossible to do so unless you’re a crusty old lady. I ask, what kind of Christian are you? Jesus fucking DIED for your soul. You can’t give up belching blood from the ol’ squish mitten for 40 days? How much more selfish can you be? I guess if you aren’t willing to give up menstruating, how about giving up bitching about it? We know, you’re cramping and irritable. Get over it, pussy. We don’t care.

* Breathing

Imagine how grateful Jesus would be if you just decided to stop breathing for 40 days. That would be one hell of a sacrifice. And in the end you’d be closer to Jesus than ever. Shit, I might even respect you if you managed to pull that off (See?). Don’t hold your breath though. Actually, do. Forever.

* Being a fat fucking slob.

Seriously, just because you have big tits doesn’t make you attractive. Stop wearing fucking cutoff shirts. The last thing I need is a reason to avert my eyes from the one marginal pair of assets you have by means of an amorphous glob of “it’s genetic” spilling over the waistband of your homeless-lady sweatpants. Just because you can’t squeeze your fat ass into a pair of fucking men’s 48 waist jeans doesn’t give you the right to dress like a fucking vagrant. By the way, pulling your thong so far up your ass that it comes out half digested is just fucking wrong. Dick, meet hot oven door. Yeah, we see it half way up the small of your back. Can fat chicks even call it that, the small of the back? Probably not…it would justify them eating another eight pies if you describe anything on them small. And yeah, you think you can pull it off. You can’t. It’s gross. It’s like looking at a sumo wrestler’s ass crack. Stop it. Lose some weight for Christ’s sake. Literally.

-Jesus high fived me for my ideas right before he rode his motorcycle into the sun.