9 September 2004 - 0:00Women bitch too much.

Women bitch a lot. There’s no doubt about it. No matter how perfect you think a woman might be, all of them have bitching programmed into their systems. I know it, you know it and they know it. If women didn’t bitch, they’d go crazy. Bitching must be to them what masturbating is to men, because they constantly do it, in public and private and seem to love doing it. Some women bitch more than others. Like ugly chicks. They complain about how fat and/or ugly they are and then they go and wear clothing that fat, ugly people shouldn’t be wearing. So when I throw a net on them and proclaim that I’ve caught Moby Dick or the elephant woman, they get pissy and bitch. If you can’t fit into the clothes you are wearing or look like a 50 year old whore in them, don’t wear them. You aren’t “sexy” you aren’t “cool” and you certainly aren’t gaining credibility. Damn, if aliens came and saw some of the chicks I know, they’d be like “Shit, what an atrocity. Let’s put this race out of it’s misery.” Stop flaunting what you don’t have, whore.

The only thing worse than seeing a loud, obnoxious, bitchy woman is being accosted by a loud, obnoxious, bitchy woman. I was sitting around, watching porn the other day, when I was accosted by one of the local whores that leech off of my awesome presence. Here I am, sitting around on the internet, doing what I do best, and I’m interrupted by some bulldog of a woman. So I decide to indulge her urge to talk to a supreme being. She makes small talk about how I am and what I’m up to lately. She rambled on and on, seemingly not picking up on my many subtle hints that I’d rather have a five finger prostate exam than talk to her (like when I told her, in a subtle fashion, that “I’d rather have a five finger prostate exam than talk to you”). I started to go back to watching my favorite pornographic epic “Backdoor Beauties I-IX.” but I simply couldn’t raise myself up to the levels I had been at prior to the conversation.

Anyway, this steaming load of mammoth shit, who is uglier than sin itself, interrupted my marathon of lesbians eating beef jerky and tacos. She also ruined any possibility of me pitching wood for at least a year. As if this weren’t bad enough, she had the nerve to ask to buy pot from me. That bitch. If I even had pot, I wouldn’t sell it to her. I’d sell it to children for a profit, then rat out the children and be a hero in my neighborhood. Dumbass kids think smoking is cool? It won’t be cool after I rape you of your money then put you in prison single-handedly. Then the only thing cool will be the wall your face is slammed against while you’re getting a human booster shot from a guy named Rhonda. Pot smokers suck. They think they are so great, acting all dazed and confused about everything. “Woah man, the colors.” I’m going to personally jam an axe into the forehead of the next person who tells me how great smoking pot is. The the only color you’ll see is red. Eat axe, fucker.

So I proceed to give this girl an oral flogging. Using my awesome skill of pounding skulls into the ground, I decimate her character and make her question her place in the world. No one beats me in a yelling contest. This baby tried to out cry me once, so I yelled really loud in its ear. The baby’s ears started bleeding and it stopped crying. I won. So just as this girl was walking into my dark alley where I dish out verbal rapings, she starts pulling random, nonexistent words out of her swaz soaked ass. Trying to sound like an intelligent person, she says “Your lackuaciousness exceeds your happiness.” I almost had a massive heart attack and shat out my liver. I wanted nothing more than to bludgeon her head in with a sharp rock. I’m surprised she hasn’t collapsed into a black hole of dumbass. She’s a dense whore. But even though she sucks at, well, everything, it didn’t take me long to figure out what ho-bitch was trying to say, because I rule that damn much. She wanted to tell me that my “Loquaciousness exceeds my happiness.” Let’s give her a hand for almost not raping a sentence. Actually, let’s give her a swift kick in the ass. Loquacious means full of excessive talk, or talkative. So, according to our English scholar here, my talkativeness exceeds my happiness. Man, what a dumbass. It’s hard to have an intelligent conversation with the girl when she’s not making up words. But when she starts throwing in a dialect of dumbass rambling that is understood worldwide by ugly girls that think they are smarter than everyone, it’s impossible to talk to her without punching her in the spine. So I went to her house that day and gave her a missile dropkick to the ovaries.

Then this bitch told me to watch my back because she would get her people on me. Now, this would normally not scare the shit out of me anyway, because I can crack a human torso into seperate pieces with my finger nails. But to think that she actually hangs out with humans boggles the mind. I assumed she hung out with sewer alligators, periodically emerging from the sewer systems to feast on virgin blood. But apparently, she hangs out with people, so I had better look out. Look out for what? I’ll know when her people and she are within a mile radius of me. The sky goes black and all you can hear is the inane babbling of dumbass stoners who having nothing else better to do than sit around with their thumbs planted firmly in their asses, experimenting with drugs and having sex with each other. Look out, they might try to plow my ass, or gang up on me at a five to one ratio. Doesn’t matter. Five mortals against one Rigolega always equals five severed human heads on stakes mounted on my lawn, Vlad Dracula style. Take that bitches.

-Ugly whores have had their heads posted on my front lawn.