Porocrom’s Crappaper

Today, Poromenos turns an astoundingly ancient 22 years old.

There are many reasons why 22 is a remarkable milestone. Let’s run down a few of them.

1. It is a multiple of 11, and multiples of 11 make the ladies hot
2. In certain sub-Saharan countries, 22 is the age at which men must wrestle large alligators for tribal supremacy. Whoever gets eaten the least becomes leader of the tribe. Those who fail to not get eaten… well they get eaten and nobody really cares.
3. 22 is the exact age at which Mozart wrote his 187th opera entitled “Does anyone even listen to these anymore?” starring Tom Cruise and Barry Manilow. Incidentally, 187 is also a multiple of 11.
4. $22 gets you a bucket of chicken and a 40 oz. bottle of malt liquor in Detroit. 22 euros buys you a house and 11 Swiss manservants.

For all these reasons and more, happy birthday Poro. Please leave your love in the form of comments and T-shirt orders.

Dear faithful readers,

First off, we want to apologize to you for subjecting you to such a bland, boring, run-of-the-mill blogging experience as you have witnessed in the past few days. We thought it was funny… until people started telling us they liked it…

At Porocrom, we believe in two basic things:

1. Hot chicks should get naked and take pictures of themselves wrestling in pudding for our amusement
2. WHAT you read is as important as HOW you read it
3. Counting is for suckers

Blogspot has been our home for nearly a year now, but like having to take your 12 year-old cousin to Chuck E. Cheese’s, we’re bored and ready to do something new. Thus, we are very proud and happy to reveal the NEW look of Porocrom. From the beginning, we have tried to redefine what it is to be a “Blog”. Blogging once meant “Online journal for whiny teenage suburban Goth wannabes”. Forthwith and forevermore, it shall mean “Thing that doesn’t suck… as much”

So please update your bookmarks, change your fan-mail appropriately, and sit back as we walk you through a few of the new features you can expect to see here at Porocrom’s Crappaper.

I am Poromenos the Flatulent, and I shall herewith introduce you to our new features of our blog column thing. They are these:

• Layout. A look that will make you feel a tingling sensation in your genital region if female. Other side effects might include involuntary twitching and an irresistible urge for sex with the Porocrom guys. If symptoms persist, see your doctor (and by doctor I mean me. Punani-doctor.). No such symptoms have yet been observed on male specimens.
• Comments. The new comments rock. I love them. They are so sexy. Anyway, yes, you can make comments and write stuff on them which we will read and either praise you or pwn you, depending on if you are 2 kewl 4 skool or a FOOL.
• Site registration. This enables us to keep tabs on you like a totalitarian government. Registering for the site includes entering your name, email address, penis/breast size (whichever is applicable, if both please tell us so we can make fun of you) and our installing secret cameras in your house and monitoring your every movement, unless that movement is not sex. But seriously, registered users will enjoy many more benefits which will range from showing your name on comments to not not showing your name on comments. REGISTER NOW and take advantage of our deal like a chick passed out in a dark alley: A Natalie Portman bedroom spycam for your exclusive use! (*WARNING:* May be fictitious).
• Much easier uploading of pictures. While this doesn’t mean we will begin inserting free porn (hey, what’s p2p for?), it does mean that you will be seeing many more pictures on the site. This will hopefully appease the Fire God Moloch and make him stop lighting my carpet on fire. HAPPY NOW, YOU SON OF A BITCH?!
• Statistics that rock. Now we know who visited our site, where from, what browser he was using, whether he wanted to be born as a different sex and how often they have sex (that last one is just a fixed field that says “Never”, but it’s cool to have nevertheless). Granted, you won’t be seeing any of these statistics, but like sex, you will at least be glad it exists.
• More made-up advantages. Since it’s 5 am and I’m tired, I will just let you imagine of other advantages, like the site making coffee or helping you find the love of your life through comments you both made on a post about gingivitis that turned into a lifelong relationship of mutual respect (because, well, you’re both nerds ).

So, valued reader, we’re excited to have you along on this important step. Over the next few days, expect to see some changes. As always, let us know what you think. If you like, if you don’t like, if you don’t care… we love to hear from you.

And to the people who liked hearing us drone on about our days… yikes. Just yikes…

I have searched high and low for a cause worthy of being promoted on this blog. Testicular cancer, juvenile diabetes, skydiving lessons for uppity rich women… none of these can compare to the charity I am championing in this post. Please friends, dig deep and give all you can to help stop this terrible disease that affects us all.

FUBS

For those of you not familiar with Fat Ugly Bitch Syndrome, it is a wasting disease that begins in childhood and manifests itself later in life. It is not known whether there the disease is genetically linked, but what is known is that FUBS victims often grow up in FUBS households (or as we call them, FUBSogenic homes).

Symptoms include:

- Being fat
- Being ugly
- Being a bitch
- Mild to severe headache (in other people)

Why, you might ask, is this of such personal importance to me? I recently had a run-in with a FUBS sufferer and it was an eye-opening experience. I was with my friend, let’s call her “Julie”, walking her dog. As we rounded the corner, we saw a dog chilling in the back yard. The two dogs began wagging their tails and acting playfully through the fence. Seeing as neither was barking or kicking up any fuss, we decided that it was harmless to allow them to enjoy their sniffing and whatnot. This had gone on for about a minute when a woman came out from the house. I cannot name names in the interest of victim protection, but suffice it to say that she is the female occupant of 235a Cerdarbrae ave. in Waterloo, it’s a brown house at the corner of Cedarbrae and Sunnydale with a chain fence at the side and it’s a PERFECT target for eggs or bricks… there I think that’s vague enough.

As she came out, “Julie” and I waved a friendly hello. Instead of responding in kind, the woman glared at us and then said “Can you get your dog off my property?” Somewhat taken aback, we immediately complied. The woman then turned to the door of the house and called to a person (or perhaps a pie, since I can’t imagine anyone actually living with her) “It’s just some stupid people with their dog.” She immediately waddled into the house.

At first I was angry. I am not a stupid person, neither is my friend. The dog is a dog, and that is nobody’s fault. For what reason did she take such exception? We were not making a mess, nor were we irritating her own dog, since they were both very friendly with each other. What right did this fat, ugly bitch have to call US stupid?

Then the pieces began to fall into place. Fat… ugly… bitch… FUBS! This woman wasn’t a criminal, she was a victim! Her condition was making her behave in such an extremely unappealing way. Instead of attacking her so ignorantly, I should have shown some more sympathy. But that is the thing about FUBS – it is so insidious that you don’t even realize the person is a sufferer until they have thoroughly pissed you off and you have popped them one in the snoot.

So the next time you are out and some fat ugly bitch starts getting up in your face, simply apologize and say “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had FUBS.” Once you have said this, they will know that you are a sensitive, caring person who wouldn’t judge someone merely by their looks… or personality… or actions… and will respond by becoming an even bigger bitch.

For the month of March, proceeds from all Porocrom t-shirts will go towards a FUBS fund to buy treadmills and make-up for the thousands of FUBS sufferers worldwide. We appreciate your help, as every FUBS case is a special one.

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.

Hello dear readers! Today’s post is somewhat special (I mean more special than all the other posts), since it is about one of our readers, who ACTUALLY BOUGHT one of our shirts (why are the rest of you lazy bastards not buying our shirts? Buy lots of them).

This is a picture of him brandishing (or wearing, I can’t remember the order I put the pictures in) his new favorite T-shirt. The T-shirt elegantly depicts a person selling a gourouni in the agora and a gallo buying it.

This picture is something about the shirt also, there is really no hope for me to remember it, so let’s pretend this is the one where the shirt’s back is displayed. The proud owner of this T-shirt (who has had the great honour of knowing me) is proudly displaying the proud address of this site on the back of his shirt, proudly. He is clearly very proud of it, because now everyone who sees the shirt will go like this (sample conversation follows):

Some guy in a bar:
“Wow, look at that dude over there. He is wearing a Porocrom T-shirt, therefore he must be cool. I must pay homage to him. I will go prostrate myself before him right now.” The guy then proceeds to become a slave of the wearer of the T-shirt for the rest of his life.

Another sample conversation illustrates colourfully what happens when women look at the shirt:
Hot chick in club #1:
“Wow, look at that dude. He is wearing a funny and interesting T-shirt. He looks like someone I would like to spank me. I shall take two of my hot friends and go over there and talk to him.”
There you have it, undeniable proof that the sex-appeal of our shirts is almost supernatural. Why have you not got one yet? (Hint: if you already have one, buy another one and wear them one on top of the other to double the effect. The shirts can be stacked infinitely for maximum effect).

This is a picture where we will pretend he is displaying the picture on the shirt. This picture is clearly a work of art from a world-famous artist (me) and everyone wearing it, looking at it, or being in the same city as it must now enjoy life knowing that they have been blessed with one of the greatest honours ever.
Jeff C. (the owner of the shirt) will now be world-famous, since everyone who looks at the address in the back will no doubt visit the site and all the hot women will want to date him. (Girls, his phone number is 555-HOTT).
Lastly, I will bring to your attention some REAL stories from REAL people who have REALLY bought our REAL T-shirts.
Jeff C. bought our T-shirt and said:
“This is the best T-shirt ever. It is almost like second skin to me. When I wear it I am endowed with superpowers and my penis grows ten inches. My life has improved dramatically since I have purchased this T-shirt. I used to be a virgin, but now I have sex three times a day with two different women every day, and the ratio keeps rising. I got a promotion and now I am the CEO of Microsoft in Gambia, and I am running for president in the next US elections.”
Mary B. didn’t buy our T-shirt and she died a few hours later by a flock of wild bulls that stampeded through her house in midtown N.Y.
Jenny G. bought our T-shirt and her blind husband regained his sight just to look at the shirt, and when he did, he was instantly cured of cholera, dysentery, the bubonic plague, tooth decay and chronic impotence. Jenny said “Thank you for this, Porocrom!”.
I could sit here and enumerate all the succes stories of people who have bought our shirt, but since only one has bought one, I would have to make them all up. I could also tell you of all the people that died, became vegetables or got married to the gorgeous and not at all unsightly Bette Davis because they wouldn’t buy our shirts, but I am tired of writing. Bye.

P.S. YOU CAN BUY OUR T-SHIRTS USING THE LINKS ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THIS PAGE.