On behalf of Poromenos and myself, I’d like to wish all of our readers a happy and joyful Christmas holiday. If you don’t celebrate Christmas, please follow this simple mathematical instruction
IF ((Religion = Christianity) or (Religion = North American or European secular) then %1 = ‘Christmas’)
IF ((Religion = Judaism) or (you just like to wear a yarmukle) then %1 = ‘Chanukah’)
IF ((Religion = Russian Orthodox) or (Religion = Greek Orthodox) then %1 = ‘Your calendar is off by two weeks, Christmas is Dec 25th, not Jan 7th, you weirdo’)
IF ((Religion = Hindu) or (Religion = Buddhist) then %1 = ‘Day of double pay at your job’)
IF ((Religion = Muslim) then %1 = ‘Christmas. We know you celebrate the Santa part. Dun worry, we won’t tell anyone.’
And those of you who are computer geeks will jump down my throat saying “Um, excuse me Skivven, that is not actually any computer or mathematical code. Why are you making things up?” OMFG MY NAME IS NOT SKIVVEN! The question you SHOULD be asking yourself is “Why am I reading a blog on Christmas instead of hitting on my cousin’s new wife?”
Happy Whatever, people.
I realize this isn’t a very Christmasy sentiment, but seriously, women, WTF!
I read this comic in the morning paper advertising “A world without men”. Three women were sitting around a TV and it said “Today, no crimes were committed and no puppies were put down in shelters” and the women are having a conversation:
Woman 1: More pie?
Woman 2: No thanks, 4 pieces is my limit. But I will go for more shoes, who wants to go shopping?
Woman 3: No thanks, 317 pairs of shoes is MY limit. But I will go for that 5th slice…
Apparently the artist’s view of paradise is one in which a bunch of fat women with too many shoes can gorge themselves without fear of censure. Now I will allow that it is supposed to be humorous, exaggerated, and a reaction against years of female oppression, but it is still downright offensive. Now maybe if I had my logic circuits rewired to a pair of ovaries the panel would be funnier, but there is a problem here.
I am often shocked and chagrined by the amount of male-bashing prevalent in the media. Apparently it has become okay to treat men as stupid, childish, brutish and unnecessary. “But Ian, they are!” will quip some dumb broad with an IQ I can count on my fingers and toes. Shut up bitch, men are talking.
See? Now THAT is offensive. Why? Because it is classifying an entire group of people in a certain way to get a laugh. Are the women laughing along? Only the ones with senses of humour, I suppose. I’ve said it before, and I will keep saying it until people start listening. EQUALITY DOESN’T MEAN YOU ARE BETTER! Equality, as the word would suggest, means that you are EQUAL! If a cartoonist submitted a strip in which female stereotypes were perpetuated to such an extent, he would be strung up by his… err… thumbs. This is because we are sensitive to the unequal status of women in our society, as well we should be. But ladies, don’t bite the hand that wears the other ring. Men have their deficiencies, and BY GOD so do women. You’re not perfect, you’re not closer to perfect than men, you’re not smarter (and yes, science has “proven” this, Gill), and you’re sure as hell not better.
I could go on at length, but I will spare you a further tirade. In conclusion, please read Poro’s posts because he is a funny guy (even though he can be a dink) and remember Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all Men. Now get back in the kitchen and make me a sandwich.
Ebeneezer Scrooge was woken by a strange noise in the middle of the night. Ebeneezer was in his thirties, still handsome, and an incorrigible womanizer, but that night he felt more lonely than ever. It was probably because he was alone, he thought, quite correctly. It was already Christmas of 1843 and he hadn’t found a single woman to keep him company on this cold night. He felt that something was missing from his life, but he didn’t know exactly what it was. He had probably forgotten to buy milk again.
The noise continued. It sounded like someone was knocking on the door downstairs. Ebeneezer slowly wore his gown and walked down the stairs. Opening the door, he saw a woman he thought looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember where he knew her from.
“Mom?” he said.
“What? No, I’m the chick of Christmas Past!”.
Ebeneezer remembered where he knew her from. It was the woman he was with last Christmas. A few hundred women later, it was obviously hard for Ebeneezer to remember her, let alone her name. Suddenly, all the good times he had spent with her came to his mind. One, namely, because he had only spent one night with her. It was quite good though, because she had a bountiful booty. Ebeneezer wondered what she wanted.
“What do you want?” he wondered.
“Ebeneezer, I am two months pregnant!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, that is great…” he mumbled.
“Ebeneezer, THE CHILD IS YOURS!” she said, passionately.
“IS NOT!”
“IS TOO!”
“Wtf ho, dontcha be startin shit on my porch, you know I haven’t tapped yo ass in a year.”
“Oh… I hadn’t thought of that… I guess you’re right. I better go find out who the father is, then. Bye!” she said, and left.
Ebeneezer went back to his bedroom to try and get some sleep, but he couldn’t. The thought of that woman kept tormenting him, and reminding him how good his life used to be, and how sad it had become. He got that empty feeling again. “I have to buy milk first thing tomorrow morning,” he thought.
Just as he started to fall asleep, another noise woke him up. Someone was knocking on the door again. Ebeneezer wore his gown again, noticing for the first time that gowns were a bit gay, went down the stairs and opened the door, only to find a beautiful woman staring at him. He immediately found himself wondering who she was and what she wanted at that time of the night.
“Who are you and what do you want at this time of the night?” he asked.
“I am the chick of Christmas Present,” she replied. “My name is Maya and I want to have the sex with you, you handsome man.”
Ebeneezer felt all happy down there in his pee-pee. He found Maya very hot.
“I find you very hot.” he said, not too surprisingly.
“Well then, let’s go to your bedroom.”
“Let’s.”
They went to his bedroom and had the greatest sex ever. For me, anyway. I am a bit jealous of him. After mating, Ebeneezer lit a joint and stared at the ceiling mirror, still feeling that same, familiar, haunting, empty feeling he always felt. He spread some cocaine on Maya’s ass and snorted it, and he felt a bit better. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep only to wake an hour later and find her gone, together with all his cocaine stash and like a few thousand quid cash. He felt quite devastated. “I feel quite devastated,” he thought. That Christmas was not going to be any better than all the previous ones, it seemed.
Suddenly, there was another knock on the door. Ebeneezer wondered whether his house was mistaken for a brothel. “What the hell, this is not a whorehouse, fuck,” he thought. Nevertheless, he slowly proceeded down the stairs and to the door, to find Christmas Carol outside. Christmas Carol was the local tramp, every night with another man. “We are quite alike, in that respect,” Ebeneezer thought. He had had her at least thirty times that year already, and although she looked great, with perky breasts and an ass that wouldn’t quit, he was starting to get tired of sex.
“Ebeneezer, I am in love with you.” she said.
“Oh Carol, that is very unexpected!” he exclaimed. He suddenly realised that that empty feeling was not caused by the lack of milk, but the lack of a wife. He was not getting any younger, and he needed to settle down. Plus, Carol was like eighteen and muchly hot. He was in a quandary, though, because it might not be very nice to get married to a tramp. He wondered if she would stop sleeping with other men if he married her.
“Will you stop sleeping with other men if I marry you?”
-“Oh yes, Ebeneezer! I will do anything to be with you!” Her promise looked candid, and Ebeneezer decided he would turn his life around, forget his old ways, and forever commit hisself to this chick of Christmas Future.
We would like to wish everyone merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, krazy Kwanzaa, or whatever. And if a hot 18-year old chick comes to your doorstep and wants to marry you, I’d accept. It’s not like you’re going to get married with that face, anyway.
Just recently, some comments reached my perfectly perfect ears about my not using paragraphs. People told me my posts look like one big chunk of text and they just skip over it. To this, I reply:
FUCK YOU.
How is that for a paragraph?
First of all, I DO use paragraphs, I just don’t leave three million blank fucking lines between them. A post looks like one post, not like three thousand, pay attention. Secondly, WHAT THE FUCK. I can understand it being tiring or whatever when you have only learned how to read yesterday, but to skip over an overly magnificent post just because there are not many blank lines to help you follow the trail of characters while reading is just retarded. I should post each post twice, a normal one and one with spaces between every characters and many many blank lines between each line. By the way, if you are reading this you are probably not one of those people, since this post DOES NOT HAVE BLANK LINES BETWEEN PARAGRAPHS. Let me capture the other peoples’ attention.
FUCK YOU, READ THIS SHIT, DON’T SKIP OVER IT!
Now that I have everyone’s attention, I must urge those of you who haven’t read the post to scroll up, it contains many delicious profanities. To scroll up, move the mouse pointer to the upper right corner of the window, over the up arrow, and click on it a few times. Be careful or you might miss it, because the up arrow button does not contain clearly separated paragraphs.
I love you.
Have you ever watched an ad on TV and thought “What the hell were these guys thinking?”. I don’t mean that the ad was horrible or terrible or bad, just dumb. For example, I was watching a
Hugo Boss ad the other day, in which there is the perfume bottle on a rock or something and a young man tries to pick it up, but he can’t. Then a mature man tries to pick it up, but he also fails. Lastly, a somewhat middle-aged man goes to pick it up, succeeds, and perfumes himself. Following this, a compelling voice booms “
Baldessarini by
Hugo Boss. Separates the men from the boys.”
Sure, the ad is nice and the directing is great and all professional-looking, but do they really expect middle aged men to jump up from their barkaloungers as soon as they see it and, with a gleam in their eye, proudly exclaim “I must purchase Baldessarini by Hugo Boss IMMEDIATELY! I want to be separated from the boys!”? I bet noone did,
NOT ONE! I mean, “
Baldessarini. Hides the foul smell of fish.” would be much catchier. I know that many older men would think “Wow! Now I can finally stop smelling like fish and smell all flowery-like!”.
But, to give credit where it is due, there are some great ads.
Intense, also by
Hugo Boss, features the superhot supermodel super
Daniela Urzi who, by the way, is superhot. The ad is generally great and its song,
Tanga – Intense (Soulcleansing), is superb.
The best ad of all time, however, was the Axe one, where a chick wore her boyfriend’s Axe because she couldn’t find hers and then all sorts of hot chicks started hitting on her only because of all the Axe. That ad made me want to go buy Axe
RIGHT AWAY, but I didn’t, but I didn’t have any money and I smell like roses anyway. That was sheer genius though.
Bored. Another mediocre post. Oh well, I’ll go stare at Daniela now.
