Random Acts III
Hello again children around the world, it’s your friendly neighborhood ranter, coming to you again from an undisclosed location to bring you yet another round of my unique brand of wisdom. For those of you who’ve read the previous two ‘Acts,’ you know what to expect, so I’ll just jump right in:
Curling is not a sport. I don’t care what lies they fed you, but curling is not a sport. It started as a way of making the janitors who swept the ice feel important by throwing a puck and a measuring stick at them. Seriously, what do you get if you win at curling, a gold/silver/bronze broomstick?
This news may be a little old, but it’s worth saying. Cheney shot his friend in the face! Ha! I don’t mean to be mean, but for heaven’s sake, the guy must’ve have been a masochist. Who else would go out to the woods, armed, with an unlicensed mummy with a known heart condition?
To clarify my last statement, I meant that Cheney was not licensed to go hunting that day, not that he was not licensed to be a mummy, because we all know that that is not true. And I would like to apologize to all the mummies out there that were offended by my rash statement.
Anybody remember PeeWee’s Playhouse? First of all, ewww; the name sounds like a pornographer’s dream job…Wait a minute…Anyway, remember when PeeWee used to give the kids a word of the day? Basically, he’d give the children at home a word and whenever they heard that word, they were supposed to scream like little devils and everybody got a big laugh out of it…My mother did not find it funny when I screamed every time she said ‘Jell-O.’ I wasn’t allowed to have Jell-O for a long, long time after that incident. Thanks a lot you porno-watching, phallus-grabbing, stupid-dancing, reject garbage-pale kid! I liked Jell-O—a lot. Jerk! I hope your kids shout every time someone says the word, ‘dad.’ Let’s see how you like it!
Platypus—God’s hiccup. What? Sorry if that offended, but I’ve been given a quota: At least one, damnable comment in each Random Acts. I don’t make the rules, I just forget them and make up new ones as I go along.
If you lie enough times, people will eventually start to believe you. Case in point: when I was twenty, I convinced my girlfriend that—even though I lived at home with my mother and even though my girlfriend had been to my house several times—I had been married before and had three children named Eddie, Chavo and Juventude—that one I referred to as ‘little Juvy.’ Mind you she watched wrestling with me back then and should have recognized their names as three then WCW wrestlers.
Next I want to try to convince her that Creation was actually my idea but that I forgot to patent the idea and it got stolen from me. (I know: Next stop, Hell).
You ever see a train go by with the conductor’s head is still sticking out of the window and just think, ‘Would it hurt him more or my arm more, if I just reached out and smacked him?’ Well, don’t! The answer is: it’s messier than I thought it would be and it’s hard to write these articles from jail.
Can anyone out there tell me what is the origin of the saying, “A chink in the armor?” Because, my mind keeps jumping to something insulting and probably impossible.
“What would you do for a Klondike Bar?” PURCHASE IT! Stupid commercial
Speaking of commercials. Give that rabbit his f’ing cereal already you f’ing little thieves! It’s his cereal! His face is on the cover! He has rights too! The day that rabbit breaks and kills the whole lot of you, I’m not going to blame him one bit! A normal rabbit would have been dead years ago, but this one has held on just for the hope that one day, you ungrateful little bastards might show a little compassion and give him his F’ING CEREAL!
Non-alcoholic beer makes about as much sense as a sex doll with no holes in it; it just doesn’t work and you end up getting burns in weird places…Not that I’ve ever tried either.
Well, that’s it for this go around—Hey, I went through an entire Random Acts without commenting about homosexuals; unless you count the thing I said about the Platypus. Hey, I have a quota to maintain. And for the record, one of my three favorite people in the whole world happens to be a Platypus)—hope you enjoyed and did not get too offended by what you read. Not that I think my stuff is offensives, but some people are touching, and others won’t touch you even though you agree upon a price—but that’s for another time. Until next time, just remember, I hate each and every one of you equally and without prejudice.