There’s something grinding my gears to the breaking point right now and I’m sure many people share my frustrations. Economies have been known to expand and contract. It’s a regular cycle of economics, but when you take an already contracting economy and then blindside it with years upon years of stupidity catching up… shit gets real… MAD REAL. It’s no secret that everything is fucked much more than normal because of cock sucking assholes in the finance field. It happens! Cataclysmic mistakes have been made in the past and I’m sure they’re going to be made again. But giving bonuses to the same fuck heads that got the whole world into this shit storm is not a way to prevent them from happening in the future. It’s how mistakes are forgotten, and then repeated, and it will end us all.
So let’s say you’re a young chap and you do something good. You get rewarded. I can recall getting good grades in my youth and being rewarded for them. Teachers would place golden star stickers on top of “A” grade papers. Mom and Dad up the allowance money for good school performance. So the standards are set at a young age. Do something good = reward. To coincide with that norm, there’s also punishment for misdeeds and below average performance. So why has it become commonplace in financial corporate America to dish out bonuses to the same people that are responsible for fucking everything up?!

To start, I understand that there are many complex things that take place in today’s finance industry. There are a lot of people fresh from college, or even 30 and 40 somethings in the middle of their careers that pull in meager salaries at financial giants working thankless 9-5 jobs. Sorry that you chose that career path, but it doesn’t justify you receiving a bonus. Knowing how bullshit flows, I understand that the little people that comprise the majority of these shitty organizations are not the ones receiving the biggest bonuses. It’s the idiots that started this financial catastrophe that are rewarding their own stupidity with fat bonus checks funded by taxpayers. “But my contract states I get a bonus! (stomps feet and pouts) I’m entitled to bonus money via a legally binding document.” Hey! Fuckheads! People are killing themselves because their hard earned retirement funds are being decimated by falling confidence in our investment system because of YOUUUUUUUUUU. So stop crying about your fucking bonus and quit pointing at the fine print. Do something good, get us out of this fucking mess, and then you’ll get your precious bonus money when it’s funded by your success and not by the people you’re fucking.

Regardless of your gender or sexual orientation, try to picture this scenario. Getting fucked while sucking the same dick at the same time… can’t happen. That’s what these insurance and financial giants are doing to people right now. Because of their decade plus of loose lending standards they have inflated and crashed an otherwise stable and sound financial system. So they’re taking you the tax payer, fucking you, and having you suck the same dick while it’s inside of you. Pretty much sums up getting a bailout and then distributing bonuses.

It’s not like the US is busy making friends all over the world right now. No hiding the fact there’s a shitload of people pissed because of our Middle Eastern deployments. During our Arabic tour, let’s fuck up the world’s financial system while we’re at it so the veterans of these increasingly ambiguous struggles return home to perpetual joblessness. THEN… here’s the kicker.. THEN, we’re going to demand bonuses for fucking everything up. Congratulations assholes! You are now in textbooks explaining why it’s a bad idea to keep 35-1 debt to asset ratios. Take any retard, give them one Oreo, then ask that same retard if you can borrow 35 Oreos. Even that retard knows that it’s a fucking retarded idea. You CEO’s can take your elitist lifestyle and shove it up your ass. Look at the mess you made!

First, I want to make things perfectly clear: I am totally for drinking water. The majority of the liquids I consume consists of plain, old water. I don't even fuck around with that flavored bullshit. I swore off soda (or "pop," if you're over 40 or have some extra genetic material on your 21st chromosome) a long time ago; the only alternatives I flirt with are iced tea and--when I need a swift kick in the ass before a potentially stressful and mind-numbingly boring day--coffee. It's not just proven, but blatantly obvious, that water is a necessary staple of a well-rounded diet. I mean, the shit has zero calories, it moves the garbage through your system faster, your cells need it just to function properly, and every other animal on this planet survives on just that alone (and also on the blood of their victims' younglings). All in all, I'd say water is pretty goddamn important. If you disagree with this statement, you probably call "soda," "pop."

That being said, I find it simultaneously dumbfounding and unsurprising that an entire industry has been created selling something that is otherwise essentially free. Normally, you pay less than a penny for a gallon of water. Think about that for a second. It's okay, I'll wait.

Have you processed that figure? Great. Now realize that your lowest priced vending machines spit only a quarter of a gallon out at you for a dollar. Actually, that's a pretty conservative price for your typical bottle of water from a vendor. If you are reading this and mouth-breathing out loud, "yeah, I pay for bottled water, hell, I just bought a case," then you sir or madam are fucking retarded.

If you are a corporate drone like most of us (and chances are, sadly, that you are), then it happens at least once during your tenure: the dreaded company trip. Entirely on the company's dime (cigarettes, alcohol, prostitutes, and police bribes excluded), you are required to fly to some bullshit multi-day event, far away from your established comfort zone. You could be participating in what the company considers "training" (i.e. spacing out all day in an environment unique to your cubicle while somebody rambles on all day about something you will never use during your actual job). Maybe you're attending a seminar, which likely consists of a room filled equal parts yes men and those like you, whose good nature has been systematically beaten into the ground, becoming some bastard child of cynicism and misanthropy. Hell, maybe you're out there because the manager needs a peon to carry their bags while they diligently send emails on their blackberry to you, obviously not in the office as you stand next to them, demanding that you email those reports ASAP. Fucking douchebags.

As my particular journey did not fall into any of those three categories, I will instead cover the basics of a typical company trip that I learned when away. Maybe another article will cover the other thing I learned--Why California is Horribly Overrated.

If you're lucky during your plane ride, you will get the best service available, share intimate conversations with only the most entertaining and enlightening of individuals, and the view of Earth from 38,000 feet will remind you that most of your problems are petty and myopic--like how you keep getting piss spots on your pants after zip-up at the office urinal and have to violently scrub off the wet marks before a coworker walks in and thinks you have the pissing skills of a drunk Michael J. Fox.

But then you don't get a window seat, and all of your problems still matter. Also, your trip will most likely consist of being squeezed into a space that makes a coffin look like the Canis Major void, getting served a 9 dollar box of 2 dollar food that a raccoon would have second thoughts about, and having to keep yourself busy with Hemisphere magazine because the people on each side of you are as eager to hold a conversation as they are young and in shape. When you get seated next to an old couple who left an empty seat in between them in the hopes that it wouldn't get booked, and then hear them say (rather loudly), "Look at all of these empty seats in front of us...guess we didn't get lucky this time" in a gruff, passive-aggressive tone, you know this will be a long flight.

Unless you are an employee with the word "senior" in your title, your hotel will come with its own set of problems. The room will feel like a meat locker when you first enter, possibly because the hotel staff knows that you're just another stiff, and you only have a 30% chance that your air conditioning controls are easily accessible and/or in working order. You also run the risk of getting one of the hotels that filters the minerals out of its water--you know, those necessary little microscopic particles your body needs in order to actually scrub the bullshit off your skin. You'll know this is the case when you leave a 10 minute, piping hot shower and feel like you're covered in snots (and not feel like a sunning elephant, like you're supposed to).

Since I'm feeling pretty jetlagged and disinterested while writing this, I'm going to cap it off with a few lessons that I learned/remembered from traveling:

-Mexicans DO hang out in front of hardware stores
-Nobody has Comedy Central, anywhere
-Chicago's airport really fucking hates smokers
-California's crossword puzzles include area-centric bullshit, like Jewish words and political figures
-The Prius is so bad it enjoys the smell of IT'S own farts
-There's twice as much empty landscape in the U.S. than settled parts
-I never thought that I'd actually miss Pennsylvania!

-Bizob

Dead hookers. HAHAHAHA. Just the thought makes me laugh. I never really bought into the dead baby jokes that much, even though I think a dead toddler is hysterical. Following dead baby jokes in popularity is the notoriety of actually murdering prostitutes. There is a solid ratio of hookers that are killed for every bachelor party in this country. Somewhere in the area of every six bachelor parties thrown one hooker is brutally murdered. It’s like grand theft auto comes to life, but you get ALL of your money back after you kill her. So why does everyone have to make a big fucking stink about a few hookers getting killed? Oh, because Craigslist was the means that lead to their demise… ((FART!)) WHO CARES?

This incident is just another way the media loves to take a story and blow it out of proportion. Let’s start asking questions that will never be answered and yield no good results. So fucking what, a prostitute was killed. That shit happens every fucking day all over the world. Why give a fuck about it when an online site enabled it to happen? I’ll tell you why. Because we are all obsessed with distributing blame rather than spending the resources towards solving the problem.

I can tell you without reading the news today that people died all over the country and all over the world. Someone was probably shot. Another person probably died of a weight related heart attack. A few people probably died in a car accident. You don’t hear about them. You don’t see them getting plastered all over the news. Why? Because you can’t market shit like that to a tragedy hungry audience. But when something like this Craiglist whore death happens, we can’t write enough bullshit because everyone eats it up. “OH MY GOSH JEE WILLIGERS! A hooker was killed because of an internet site?” Yeah, where’s the crowd to give a fuck about a hooker getting killed because she needed more rock? Why don’t we get in touch with the CEO of Crack Cocaine and ask them what they plan to do since someone got murdered in pursuit of their product? Oh yeah… that’s retarded. Well so is taking a little shit stain (Craigs murder) and smearing it all over media outlets. It’s like the question; “do I listen to sad music because I’m sad, or am I sad because I listen to sad music?” A good side note is someone was murdered before via Craigslist, but it was for a babysitting job. That’s just not sexy! Now a murdered prostitute? THAT we can market!
There are two good things coming from this whole media mess. The first thing, I think it’s hilarious that the police had to inform the victim’s parents that their daughter was a whore. After that, this story will extinguish itself out in its own stupidity within the next few business days. That only being if Fox News doesn’t beat the living shit out of this story to interchange with their hour long specials reminding us that Natalie Halloway is still missing.

~ Jack .45 ~

In life, there is no shortage of annoyances. We have broken through to a time period where we no longer worry about getting attacked by wild animals (frequently) or death via dysentery on the Oregon Trail. Today, we are so advanced that a high percentage of human fatalities are actually caused by man made things. Car accidents, cancer from smoking, heart attack from trans fat, diaBEETIS from soda, and even video games have ended a few people. Same goes with annoyances. So without further, unnecessary, opening redundancies, I bring you the three most absurdly annoying things on the planet!

Cell Phones:
Yes people, fucking cell phones. Something that was once considered a luxury is now deemed to be a necessity. I can’t play coy with this, I too feel lost without my cell phone and that’s why it’s so fucking annoying. When’s the last time any of you reading this have actually memorized someone’s phone number? Exactly! What did people used to do when they were lost or in serious trouble? They figured out what to do to survive the situation or they died. Now we’ve all become technology reliant pansies that dial 911 the second we can’t figure how to get out of the car.

“I’m trying to watch a movie here, turn that fucking thing off!” Everyone has been out and had a pleasant evening interrupted by their own or someone else’s fucking phone going off. Cell phone makers have tried to combat this by enabling a “vibrate only” mode, but most phones’ vibrate feature is actually louder than the fucking ring tones! Television isn’t bad enough with all of its bullshit, now it’s loaded with commercials where people pay money to have the latest shitfuck of a song as their ringtone. To get off the subject at hand quickly, I recently got tangled trying to download music and found myself in torrents that offered the top chart 100’s of recent years. As far as I’m concerned, 2003 is where all decent music ended. Since then, the airwaves have been polluted with insufferable songs I can only equate to partial birth abortions. So why would anyone want to pay money to have “Paper Planes” blare from their phones every time someone calls it? As if a cell phone going off in a crowded restaurant isn’t annoying enough.

Finally, why do you think all of these people have been engaging in murder suicides? All across the country families are being wiped out by an angry father at the end of his miserable road. The liberal news media will have you believe that they do it for financial reasons. They even will cite goodbye notes apologizing for the atrocity and blaming the shitty economy. No. You are being lied to. You want to know why this is happening? Because people keep calling their cell phones. There’s no escape, no sanctuary. Every aspect of their lives have been intruded upon by other people calling them. “Where are you?” “Hey, what are you doing tonight?” “You busy this weekend? Want to go shopping?” BLAM! News Headline: “Husband and Father of four kills wife and kids then takes own life because people wouldn’t stop calling his fucking phone.” Cell phone companies are quick to the scene to forge final letters citing the bad economy. It’s not the economy. People are just tired of being on their cell phones all the fucking time!

Car Alarms:

When’s the last time a baby did anything for you? Babies are probably the most useless thing to inhabit this planet with the exception of Ryan Seacrest. The parents of babies are more unbearable than the babies themselves, but for the most part, at least they have jobs. If Aliens are watching our planet they are going to think that fucking babies are in charge. Look at all the attention people give them! They feed them, give them drink, clean up their puke and excrement, clothe them, buy them shit, and pretty much worship them. Babies are fucking pussies and no one does anything to change that fact. Adults feed into and perpetuate it. To contrast, let’s take a baby giraffe. “Welcome to the world!” 7 foot drop from mom’s vagina, only to recover quickly and be running around a few hours later. Now that’s a tough ass baby!

No, I don’t want to hold your baby. No, I don’t think your baby is cute, I think it’s disgusting. No, I don’t want to take a picture with it. Babies smell, they’re loud, and they do nothing but suck in vital resources and shit them out with no beneficial output. Babies are like little AIG CEO’s and if I were in charge, there would be no babies. Future generations would thank me.

~ Jack .45 ~

How many people hate Hilter? I’m sure a lot of you, but how many people HATE Hitler? Okay, I started this off wrong. Now… without the aggressive invasion of Europe and the attempt to exterminate the Jews, who hates Hitler? Exactly! He was an okay guy! A World War One veteran and an innovator. Look at the Volkswagen Beetle… that came straight from Nazi Germany folks! First jet propulsion fighter aircraft? Hitler’s Germany people! Ya, he cracked some eggs while making his enormous hatred omelet, but the guy was one for innovation and the progress of man kind’s big picture. Of course, throw back in all the killing, everyone hates him, he gets his ass whomped on in WW2, and no more Hitler. World’s a better place right? Wrong! Just think of all the current problems we would be avoiding right now if the Allies would have just let him get his way. Middle East?! Ya… exactly. There definitely would be no fight between a Jewish and Islamic state because my money’s on the fact that NEITHER OF THEM WOULD BE AROUND TO FIGHT ABOUT IT! Okay, definitely getting off track here! I hate Hitler because of all the stupid shit he did I will never be able to sport a small patch of facial hair in between my nose and upper lip.
Look at all the people in history. Every last fucking one of them! Nobody else has a facial hair pattern named after them. Hitler does. Hitler was a bad guy. Therefore, anyone who grows a little facial hair in the same or similar pattern as him is imitating him and should be considered a bad guy. Currently, I’m rocking a mean unemployment/hockey playoff beard right now… not once has someone come up to me, pointed, and said “Hey! Joaquin Phoenix! How’s the rap career going?” Point, ME!

Welcome and thank you for enrolling in the Terrorist Rehabilitation Program! Though you are not here of your own free will, we encourage you to enjoy your experience with us as we transform you into a complacent American. Before we begin, allow us to outline your stay with us and how progress is reached.
Months 1 – 3 (Introductory Phase)
Now we know you’re going to be a pissed off Muslim for a while, but we think that’s just adorable. So in the first one to three months your exposure to American culture will be heavy and you will be 100% restrained. First, we will shave your beard, cut your hair, and give you a shower. That’ll piss Allah off, won’t it?! Next, you will be sat in front of 5 televisions constantly streaming MTV and VH1 reality programs. If you hated America before, boy howdy, you’re going to hate America so much you’ll start to like it! You’ll see what we consider problems (how Jackie slept with Steve even though she’s Darrin’s baby’s mama) and compare it to problems in your country (not enough goats to fuck). At this point your hatred fuse will break and your personality will become malleable.

AHHHHH…. The money shot. It has become a staple of a booming industry and the way every professional or home-made porn should climax. But few of us take the time to appreciate, much less ponder, the history of the money shot.

Though the money shot itself didn’t come onto the scene until civilization was quite advanced, the seeds date back as early as 10,000 B.C. Credit can be given to one Neanderthal man who went by the name of Ugg Zugg. Mr. Zugg was an innovator ahead of his time being the first to pioneer the use of weapons in foreplay, while understanding an unconscious partner made for easier insertion and overall enjoyment in the sexual theater. Being of sound mind, Ugg pieced together that repeatedly climaxing in his partner led to her becoming pregnant. Weight gain, volatile mood swings, increasing unattractiveness, and eventual destruction of vagina were reason alone to not impregnate a woman ever again. Along with the aforementioned reasons, Ugg didn’t much care for the taste of the fetus and afterbirth, or the indigestion and violent diarrhea that followed. Not long after his first baby dinner, the pull out was born and performed for the first time. Ugg looked into the eyes of his concussed partner and exclaimed “Ugg Zugg go boom boom on tum tum!” Pulling out then became the foundation of sex education at caves around the world as being successful in preventing unnecessary and unwanted procreation. Even today it still stands solid that pulling out is 100% effective in preventing pregnancy (source: ME). So we have established that the only reason a penis is withdrawn from a vagina before climax is to prevent a woman from going number 4. Though excluded from bible entries, Jesus took part in pulling out as well.

It wasn’t until the French Revolution where the penis to face motion was introduced. This really isn’t a continuation of the “pull out = no pregnancy” rule, but rather the peasants were tired of French noblemen putting their penis’s on their faces in a showing of dominance and ownership. The book “A Tale of Two Abortions” explains this in great detail; however, I don’t suggest reading the book. Most who get a few chapters in either die from boredom or a self inflicted 45 caliber cranial wound. So when your girlfriend refuses to allow you to cum on her face, you can, as with most bad things, blame the French.

A combination of two things happened in the early 1900’s that began the introduction of the money shot into film. Annette Kellermann was the first female and person who exposed her nude body in motion picture. Wikipedia also says that the first porno was made in 1908, a solid 8 years before Annette exposed her perfect breast, but we all know Wikipedia lost any credibility a long time ago. In the same time period, the manliest of men, Charles White Whittlesey (who also really hated the French), returned home from WWI. After dealing with all the bullshit he had, the last thing he wanted was children! So while Charles was eating beef jerky one day and fucking one of his many partners, he came up with the great idea to pull out, but still come IN the woman. So in an acrobatic stunt, going from standard missionary position, Charles pulled out and stuck his hog in the bitch’s mouth and came.

Pornography itself predates polytheism, but the money shot and pornography didn’t collide until the end of World War 2. After enjoying a cup of tea, it has been told that Winston Churchill engaged in coitus with his hog of a wife. Following the scripture of Charles Whittlesey, Winston pulled out and went for the mouth, but, since both himself and his wife were of rotund proportions, timing was bad, and Winston shot the most powerful first string on his wife’s face. The facial and money shot were born.

For one of my first inscriptions on the Gigglestorm blog allow me to air some hatred towards blogs and bloggers. Please separate myself and the Gigglestorm staff from any stereotypes you have established for blogs or bloggers. This blog is only a launch pad for our Challenger Space Shuttle of humorous hatred and intolerance. So without further ado, here is my REAL first blog post ever and the ground breaking of my section of the up and coming Gigglestorm.

Don’t get me wrong, I am well aware that there are pretty important blogs that exists out there in the vast internet. Our service members in Iraq and Afghanistan that are sharing their experiences and well accredited writers and journalist posting stories and information quickly rather than delaying release by formal publishing make up a few of the types of people whose blogs are of value. With that credit being delivered, now it’s time to tear into the unpopular ass clowns that think what they think matters.

The blogs and, more importantly, bloggers that irritate most of us are comprised of people that lack basic (by “basic” I mean “Neanderthal”) communication skills. As people, we have advanced greatly, but it has become painfully apparent that our innovations in communication technology are actually negatively affecting our ability to communicate. Myspace, Facebook, text messaging, and even emails are changing our brains and impacting our communication patterns more so than any other means have before. Blogs however are the worst in my book. In the past I have never been caught reading any blog on a regular basis. Why? Because 99% of blogs are fucking retarded. Ever catch someone tell you “hey, I would love to talk about this more, but why don’t you check out my blog!?” or even “hey, you should read my blog!” It’s pretty much saying “hey! I am too socially inept to continue a conversation with you via the outdated means of speaking, so why not get online and look at the monotone things I type that no one gives a shit about?!” Not everyone is an author, so not everyone knows nor cares to understand that the emotion they type their retarded rants to the uncaring internet community is not picked up the same way it was put down. A joking rant can be taken as offensive. Something that was to be interpreted as stern and unpleasant can come off as hysterical and light hearted. The absolute worst is people using blogs as a means of being passive aggressive rather than benefitting anyone outside of themselves! I understand that the point of the blog I am currently a staff member of might be exactly what I just mentioned, but… get fucked, I don’t care.

I am lacking a full list of example blogs, but I have one in particular I would like for everyone to visit. I made the horrible decision to live in a bad area in my city with land lords that had no fucking clue about what being land lords involved. They are leftist, tree hugging, tofu eating, peace pushing, ignorant fuck heads that work in internet technologies. So the services they provide are contributing to an energy crisis, yet they foolishly follow their vegan diets resulting in something I can only describe as malnourished obesity in some form of offsetting their carbon footprint. The one in particular had trouble communicating naturally via speaking, hence this disgusting excuse for interaction with the outside world. I digress, please look at this blog page and post as much nasty shit as possible and use this as the staple of my point in this seemingly endless rant.

So the people that blog the most aren’t people that go out on the weekends and socialize, they’re the people that blog in between day-long sessions of world of Warcraft and stops at Trader Joe’s. These are the people that were beat up and shit on in high school and college and continued their stereotype of being losers into adulthood. Worst yet they are cluttering our internet with unvisited sites filled with daily events that no one gives a shit about. So my message to these kinds of bloggers: Kill yourself. If you don’t have the balls to do so, please understand no one cares about you or what you did today, where you moved to, your absurd take on instructing people how to do something or live their lives, what you plan to do with your life, why your life is bad, why your life is good, why you’re life is mediocre, what movie went to see and are now critiquing, why no one will ever understand you, why you’re unique, what you’re debating, what politics you follow, what color you shit is today, wondering why you’re peeing blood, or whatever other garbage you broadcast to an absent audience. Being of a greater intelligence level than thou, I understand that my statements will go on unheeded and you will continue to post your mindless nonsense in a fashion that begs for attention. Do not be confused though, no one gives a shit about your blog or you. Absorb that message and continue about your meaningless existence until you work up the courage to take my advice on suicide.

~ Jack .45 ~

Remember when pirates used to be cool? I know Maddox knows what I'm talking about. As a kid, I would enjoy hearing the stories of Black Beard and those other crazy peg-legged bastards while visiting the Outer Banks. These were some badass motherfuckers, ready to take your shit, sodomize your women, and make you walk the plank--what little boy with a hard on for violence wouldn't eat that shit up? For people in the United States, learning about pirates was just part of a really badass history lesson (or part of an increasingly shitty movie trilogy that even Johnny Depp couldn't save). Today, pirates have come back to the spotlight in full force, but they're real this time, and they're gearing to tear our fucking lights down. Well fuck that, you pirate scum, we're the USA and we're going to blast you right the fuck out of the water.

Oh, that's right, no we won't. It's 2009 and the civilized world is one giant vagina, spewing nothing but smegma and rag all over the place while attempting to sound like Johnny Tough Nuts on a coke bender. Due to some retarded law, our merchants are not legally allowed to carry the proper supplies (e.g. guns) necessary to fend off any oncoming pirates. This would be okay if the enemies were armed with nothing but pansyass swords and pissant cannon balls like the good old days, but these contemporary pirates are pissed off Somalians strapped with AK's and multiple banana clips. Oh, and RPGs. To make matters worse, our Navy barely gets involved due to "sensitive diplomatic blah blah blah who gives a shit" excuses. Yeah, a pirate gets his dome 'sploded from time to time, but not enough times to keep the corporate talking-head scare-mongering "news" personalities from mentioning that 4 other ships have been intercepted. What I'm saying is, we don't have to fix the problem, we just have to remedy it enough so people stop talking about it and we can move on with our lives...ya know, like with AIDS.


I know what's next--the liberal defense. I don't want to hear it. Sure, European and Asian nations dump all kinds of toxic waste off their coast, which then subsequently gets washed up onto their beaches, most likely making their once majestic sands look like that dump at the end of Men at Work. This still does not give them the right to fuck with our shipping crews, who already have to deal with being stuck in the middle of the ocean for weeks on end, most without the basic amenities that we take for granted (like internet porn and endless toilet paper).


I, like Maxwell Potterdam III, would tell them: "Get over it. You got a problem with it? Write to your local congressman or something (who I assume wears a lion mane on his head). This whole pirate thing? It's not going to stop the dumping. In fact, it's just something else for the people doing the dumping to laugh about while they decide whether to reward you with battery acid or asbestos (here's a hint: it's both). I know that a poor nation with it's back against the wall doesn't have many options, and that can cause you to do some incredibly retarded things, but you saw how that worked out for the Middle East, so what's makes you any different? At least they have oil under their religious fucktards. You're just Africa, and I'm pretty sure the world doesn't have a good track record with treating you fairly. So get over it."


Of course, this line of reasoning won't resonate, so our merchants must take action against impending pirate troubles. I see only one option for us: send American pirates to take their pirates hostage. We have to out-pirate them. How does the United States combat it's enemies? It shows them they can take something further no matter what. Native Americans had bows and arrows, so we mowed them down with guns. Japan had kamikaze pilots, so we spanked them with our NOOK-YOU-LER weapons. England had Margaret Thatcher, while we unleashed the intelligent and well-spoken Sarah Palin. Okay, okay, so we can't win 'em all.

Anyway, I say we go to a state like Kansas, round up our craziest gun-loving militant rednecks we can find, and send them out to the open waters armed to the teeth. Hell, we'll even build some authentic pirate ships to really show those fuckers that we aren't essing around. The flag can be Jesus ass-fucking a malnourished fly-covered Somalian child while flashing the devil horns and chugging a Yuengling. Our pirates can round up any ship they see departing from Somalia and unleash the worst parts of Deliverance on them. We'll take that Abu Ghraib shit to the high seas, seeing how many of those bastards we can stack in a pyramid on a lifeboat before sinking it in shark-infested waters. While we're drunk.

As a precursor to this entry I would like everyone to know that I do not EVER wish to have kids. Might I some day? Absolutely! Will I be a good role model and father to this child or children? You bet your fucking ass I will be! Along with the selfish, personal reasons that I don’t wish to bring a child into this world, there are many unselfish reasons to accompany them. I don’t want to have to explain why a plane has been flown into the Sears tower. I don’t want to have to explain to my child why his or her pet died. I don’t want to have to make small talk with other parents. I don’t want to have to watch my fucking language around the kid. Mostly I don’t want to contribute to the world’s overpopulation by bringing another waste spewing, resource consuming, arrogant, obnoxious American onto this planet. So you can thank me in the comments section for refraining from following social norms and biologically engrained desires to reproduce.

Before I dive into the heart of the matter with this post, has anyone ever read Brave New World? Great book! Of course I can’t recite any of the characters, nor a lot of what happened in the book, but the purpose of the book stuck with me. See, in it, natural birth is frowned upon. The world is made up of people who are created in test tubes and women keep contraceptive on their belt and eat the shit like it’s fucking bubble gum. Now it’s easy to look at contemporary examples of test tube babies with recent developments involving a woman who is best known as “Octo Cunt,” but those events evade the utopian society’s view of acceptable recreation. The better, more lucid point that this society tries to get across is that population is controlled simply by the output of people. Unlike every society, with exception of China and the “one child rule,” we have been out of control and reproducing as if the continuation of the human race is determined by us fucking. So until we all learn that reproduction at this day in age is no longer necessary in mass quantity, I have come up with a few changes in rules and daily life to help thin the human herd if you will. :-) Enjoy!
As I was breaking many traffic laws driving home today, avoiding major congested highways and going double the speed limit on back, residential roads, I realized population control is easy! First off, school zones. Ever drive through those in the morning or afternoon as school was starting or ending? If you have, you’ve noticed the flashing speed limit signs which temporarily lower the maximum speed allowed in that area by 10 to 20 miles less than normal. As the slogan of all tobacco companies, I say, “get them while they’re young.” Figure, these are just kids! They have no idea what real problems are yet. They have bed times, they can’t eat a whole container of ice cream, and they aren’t allowed to do a lot without parental or some form of adult supervision. So I say, let’s spare them the heartache and let down that becomes life. Let’s kill them in their youth before they get a chance to really wallow in the hatred and self pity that will eventually dissolve most of them from the inside out. Rather than lower the speed limit by 10 – 20 miles an hour, I say raise it! Hell, even go up 30 miles above the normally posted speed limit. Any motorist caught not abiding the new speed limit (those going less than 10 miles over during these time periods) will be fined heavily. Those fines will stimulate our local government and provide our law enforcement officials with adequate pay and benefits, not to mention improved working conditions. Along with the hike in speed limits, I am also recommending that all stop signs within a mile radius around schools be fitted so they are retractable so they can be pulled into the ground when the kids are let out. The benefits of such programs would solve a decent amount of problems in my book. Kids will have to keep their heads on a swivel and the increased activity level will help with the childhood obesity epidemic. For motorists, the commute to work or returning home will increase in excitement and entertainment. Best of all, Darwinism will work at its finest ending the lives of clumsy motorists and fat kids! Tossing them all back within the carbon cycle. Win fucking win baby!

There are times in everyone’s life when, as I like to put it, the hard drive that is your brain jumps from its normal rotation and hits the writing needle (life) harder than normal, scratching in deeply the details of certain events. One of these times for me was when I lost my virginity on a one night stand to a complete stranger.

The date was March 19th 2003. I was a sophomore in college, aged 19 years, attending class at a branch campus location of a reputable university. The town name, without its proper French pronunciation, “DO BOYS.” This particular weekend however did not involve my normal shenanigans at the frat style living quarters. I was in my home town and about to head out towards a branch campus of another reputable university.

Allow me to jump back and explain my situation up until this point. Being confirmed and of the catholic persuasion, the last of my morals were about to be forcefully ripped away in this alcohol fueled sexual encounter. Up until now I had been blown by four different young ladies in and outside of relationships. They thought it was cute I remained a virgin for so long and didn’t want to take it away from me, so instead they sucked my cock, which I had no quarrels with. I was always the nice guy who began driving towards Friendville thinking there were at least a few more exits to lead me to Relationship land. Needless to say, this put me at the intersection of disappointment and depressed all the time. Just before this fateful night of cashing in my V card, I had gone out on a day long date with a solid 8.5 blonde from a few of my classes. Everything went smooth until I started being myself and then it fell apart right at the end. Never heard from her outside of class again. It was that let down, the most recent on a long list of consecutive let downs that comprised the motivational forces to this reckless chucking of my cherry towards a hot freshman at a different school.

So the time is around 8 or 9pm. The five of us are all crammed in one vehicle, smoking medium quality marijuana from a used mountain dew can. Once we got high and determined our destination for this particular night, the 21 year old in the group scored us a case of shitty Pennsylvanian beer, which was then shoved in my back pack. We split up to take different cars (just figuring there’s no way 3 of us could get a DUI) and all met up again at the college located adjacent to my former high school. The one friend of ours, Butters, was already hoisted up at a dormitory of his friend. We met him there and pregaming began. About half of the beers were consumed and we were offered some shots. I had picked up on the odor of attraction coming from Butter’s friend. To say the least, this girl was about as pretty as a certain beach in France on June 6th 1944. After the time was right, the correct buzz was reached; we all picked up our things and headed towards the frat house that was our party destination.

I can remember walking in. It was completely dead, but dead in the sense that you could see the dark clouds on the horizon. Too far away to send the ocean swells higher than normal, but the incoming storm was eminent. A brightly colored disco ball spun on the ceiling, huge speakers and a DJ were in the corner, and the dance floor was empty except for passerbies. Our crew went upstairs to a more livelier scene. People were getting fucked up all around us. Beer pong, quarters, and simply “drink the beer” were all being played. We mingled, made small talk with friends of friends, smoked some cigarettes, and continued our mild drinking binge. After what only felt like a few minutes, I realized our beer supplies were going to be quickly demolished, so I befriended a house dweller and had him lead me towards someone else’s alcohol. It was downstairs. As he led me to the refrigerator, the empty dance floor was now packed and it was difficult navigating to the fridge and back to the comfort of friends upstairs. I returned to spread my bounty among a dispersed set of friends only to run into the ugly chick who asked me to return downstairs with her to dance. At that point of inebriation, which was slight, I decided “what the hell” and followed her down. We began a form of dancing I can only describe as some kind of half assed courtship routine, her advances were becoming more obvious and more obnoxious. I mean, I’m a fucking virgin for crying out loud, doesn’t mean I have leukemia and I need to fulfill my desperate desire to penetrate a woman before I part ways with the world. So after I literally had to stiff arm this cunt’s face, I returned upstairs and became an onlooker to a game of 20 cup beer pong.

The game became long, drawn out, and boring. Two sets of five cups on either side of the table, and at the time, it was becoming increasingly more difficult for people to hit them. When finally the game ended, a stranger turned to me and said “want to play?” “DO I ?!?!” Sorry, 19 years old, I can’t turn down a game of beer pong even if it would cost me a testicle. We began playing and all I can say is something happened, something wonderful, beautiful and mysterious all at the same time. My shot had landed on top of three conjoining cups. Being this had never happened to me before; I was distraught that it hadn’t landed in a cup. WELL my friends, it ends up that a shot like that is worth 3 cups!!! I was ecstatic, so was my partner, all was right with the world as our crowd of spectators grew like a group of golf enthusiast tracking down Arnold Palmer at a charity invitational. Once the excitement died down, so did our momentum and we lost the game in the end. As I had mentioned before, the games were becoming long and drawn out so the pair that defeated us actually decided to step off the table, leaving me and my partner with the decision to take on another set of foes. Well, it was at that point my acquainted stranger looks at me and says, “hey! Those two girls over there want to play!” I peer over his shoulder to see an okay looking blonde chick with a smoking hot brunette. “Huddle up!” I tell him. He leans in, “you go to them (dramatic pause), have one of those two come over here and you play with the other.” “Great idea!” he says. I void my attention from that area to speak with a friend, when my mental focus returned, to my delight the brunette had chosen to be my partner. I quickly introduce myself and then got right back to the business of playing beer pong. At first, the conversation was so light it could float in air, excitement and congratulatory exchanges only occurred when one of us made a cup. About 10 minutes later I had cracked this shy girl and found out she has one sister, she grew up 2 hours away, and she’s a psychology major in her first year of school. Not bad. The friendliness picked up as the game continued. I was vomiting bullshit at such a rate, if it were water, I could have extinguished the fires in the twin towers 5 minutes after each plane hit with enough left over to fix any African country’s drought. At the last possible/acceptable moment I had to ask her once more, “what’s your name again?” To which she replied “Misty.” I covered up my alcohol/marijuana forgetfulness with, “oh, okay, just making sure… it was a tossup between ‘Misty’ or ‘Missy’.” Win! More small talk was exchanged, I sipped her very potent beverage she offered me, I drank my beer and smoked cigarettes, then something bad happened… my friends and I ran out of beer! I decided my buzz was right where it needed to be, so the final beer I drank was the icing on my buzzed cake for that evening.

As I can best recall, she made the last cup, we won the game and she jumped up to give me a big hug. Then I asked her, “well, would you like to play another game?” To which she responded, “um... ya, sure!” At which point, I don’t know where the motivation came from, but I retracted my offer and said, “or how about we go downstairs and dance?” That idea perked her up like a cup of Foldgers to any fat, divorced, mid 40’s, corporate cubicle dweller. My excitement to her acceptance was quickly dimmed by one of my basic biological urges… I had to piss… BAD! I asked her where the bathroom was. The line was HUGE. Not only did she get me there, but she sat and patiently waited for me to return. Thought to myself, “she waited… things are going well!” As soon as we hit the dance floor I put my hand on her lower back, pulled her close, then whispered into her ear “you’re FUCKING sexy!” to which she whipped her hand around, rested it on my shoulder, and began to scratch/massage the back of my head. It was SO on at that point! We danced and danced. I spun her around a couple times, got real low with her, the time was awesome, the night was going perfectly. Soon, being I am of tall and large stature, I began to sweat and my legs began to burn. “Can… can we go outside… get some fresh air?” I asked. “Sure!” I figured the cool spring air would get me dry again, and after saying “I can do it, put your ass into it” multiple times along with the music, it was as good a time as any to clear the dance floor.

Upon exiting the frat house I run into about five or six people who graduated high school with me. All of whom I had maintained unpleasant dispositions with. Thought to myself, “ya! Fuck you all… I’m leaving a frat at your school with a hot chick.” We both sat down on a bench just outside of the doorway. When I sensed an approaching cunt I graduated with in my peripherals, I casually swung my arm around my lady to bring her closer and continue talking with her. She openly greeted the gesture by putting her hand on my leg (insert Dumb and Dumber quote: “she touched my leg!”). The night couldn’t have been going any better after all the let downs my attempt at a romantic life had suffered. Great until… BUTTERS. See… we call this kid butters because he greatly resembles the south park character. “OH MY FUCKING GOD! Jack’s gonna get laid!” he shouted. I remember mouthing to him “shut… the fuck… up!” then quickly turned to my new acquaintance and said “I hope you don’t think I’m like that… I’m actually a virgin.” She smiled, nodded, told me, “well, I myself have only been with two people,” then without breaking stride she continued our conversation from the point it was rudely interrupted.

After we were outside for about 10 or 15 I asked her, “where do you live?” She replied, “oh… I’m about two hours away… why?” I said, “no, no, where’s your dorm? Getting sick of shouting in your ear with all of these people around. I was thinking we could continue this back there.” She stood up, grabbed my hand, and we were on our way. Along the way we passed a set of cops. She was afraid, being underage and intoxicated, I calmly said “hello” to the officers and I was able to address one of them by name being I have hunted with him before. Next we ran into a pizza deliver guy who ended up being a friend of mine from my band days back in high school. Following the exchange of pleasantries with him, we finally arrived at her dorm. Large cut outs of penguins were strewn about the floor and the place was a mess… Smelled like hair and perfume. She pardoned herself and went to the bathroom as soon as we got in. The mild buzz of alcohol I had was keeping me pretty ignorant to the fact that something great was about to happen.

Once she returned she climbed up onto her top bunk, where I noticed a drunken misstep along the way, and invited me to join. Being a solid 240 at that time, I questioned the sturdiness, but eventually followed her up there. Once there, we were lying side by side… quiet. “Fucking oh no,” I thought, “had leaving the party ended our conversations? Was there nothing left to talk about?” Small talk was breaking down and things were heading south fast! I rolled on my side, put her hair back behind her ear and pulled out the best line I could… “you’re gorgeous!” (“did I just really fucking say that?”) “Wow,” she said, “no one… no one has ever said that to me before.” I asked, “what, like since you’re last boyfriend or something?” Her: “no… never…” BAM!!! She was on top of me and we were giving each other free intoxicated tonsil exams. Rolling back and forth, I could hear the bed creak under us as we violently repositioned in an intense exchange of drunken passion. My shirt was off… her shirt was off… we kept making out…. I reached around the back of her and located her bra clasp… thought “no, no… too fast.” Before that thought could finish processing I had pulled my hand away and it was replaced with her own. This girl was taking off her bra FOR ME!!! YES! A perfect set of high C cup titties were unleashed into my face. Somewhere, on the other side of the world, a flower was blossoming in the rising sun. I could taste the sparks, and hard liquor, on her tongue. We kept going and then… (phone rings)… BUTTERS! AGAIN! I hit the pause button on our make out session, excused myself, and answered the phone anyways. “What the FUCK do you want?” “Um.. dude? What are you doing?” I had to answer because I was how he had got to the college that night in the first place. “yo man, sorry about the transit sitch, but.. uh…” I glanced at Misty, “I think I’m spending the night.” I’m not sure how many people were listening, but as I was hanging up I could hear a rupture of cheers equivalent to an overtime goal scored at the World Cup Finals. We picked up right where we left off.

Before I knew it, I had her completely naked and I was going down on one of the tastiest and well groomed burgers I ever had the pleasure of being with. I mean, no smell what so ever! I plunged my middle finger in and went right to where Men’s Health had always told me the “G” spot was located. I’m sure people in the hallway of her dorm could hear the screams. I moved up and began making out with her again. She, not I, not only undid, but completely removed my belt from my pants and threw it to the floor. Unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, pulled out my throbbing monster of a cock, and began jerking on it like she was getting the last of the world’s milk out of a cow. “WO!” I said, “take it easy please!” We continued making out and seamlessly my pants ended up off and on the same floor as the rest of our clothing... and penguins. I stopped. Everything was happening so fucking fast. I was naked on top of a complete stranger! Thoughts of mine raced, and I finally told myself, “don’t be a pussy… fuck this pussy!” So I did what any responsible person would… “I don’t have a condom… are you on birth control?” Her: “no.” Me: “Okay… are you clean? SORRY! Sorry I have to ask like that, but, you know… you just don’t know with people these days.” Her: “it’s okay… yes I am clean…” SILENCE. Me: “Um… well… do you … want to???” Her: “YES… just… uh… pull out… I guess…” Me: “Pull out? Ya, I can do that… can you guide me in?”

…

YES!!! FUCKING YESSSSS!!! I’M NOT A VIRGIN ANY MORE!!! WOW! HOLY FUCK DOES THAT FEEL AWESOME!!! So there it went… I’m not a virgin any more… but now… now there were more important things to worry about. I remember looking at the clock right as we started. 2:02 am. We did missionary for a while, she moaned. I suggested the spooning position and me going in from behind. I mean, after all, I had watched Peter North do it once or twice, so I was an expert… right? Ya, well that didn’t work out to well and I think for both of us it sunk in. “wow… ya… I’m having sex with a stranger…” I’m not sure, nor concerned with how much that bugged her, but I had started something, and GOD DAMMIT I was going to finish it! We repositioned once more and she got on top. On and on and on it went. Like I was fucking Superman or something!!! I glanced at the clock… 2:48. WOW! Then… from whatever I was doing at the bottom with my hip thrusts and whatever she was working with on top… it came… I WAS GOING TO CUM. It came so damn fast! I tried pulling her off, but she kept going, I finally went up once more, pulled out, and shot a load that probably hit her ceiling. It landed on her back, it hit me, it was all over the fucking place man! I pushed her hair back exposing her sweaty forehead and gave my stranger one last kiss. We both climbed down from the bunk, she wiped off her pussy, I wiped off her back, and that was it. She crawled back up into the bunk exhausted and I… well I started putting my clothes back on. Don’t know why, but I left my phone number and I left the dorm. On my way out to have a cigarette and enjoy my accomplishment I noticed a condom machine… IRONY. Oh well… didn’t have change on me anyways.

To end the night I got in my car, stopped at a local shop for some Gatorade, called my buddy to tell him what I did, then returned to my parent’s house and went to bed. The fallout of this event did not yield an abortion, nor did it include any children (as I have said before, pulling out is 100% effective), and there were no sharing of sexually transmitted diseases (I had a Q Tip shoved in my dick to prove that nothing bad happened). What it did include was an awkward phone call where I was denied future correspondence, a trip to Planned Parenthood on her part, and what I had learned later was a rape accusation. I took solace in the fact that she DID remove MY belt and pretty much asked for the dick. Her roommate, who I did not know, ended up being the blonde at the other end of the beer pong table. She informed Misty that if she were to have pressed rape charges, she would have taken my side in defense. She wasn’t there, so I don’t know why she stood so sternly on my side of things, but who FUCKING cares? Plus, I’m pretty sure rapists don’t leave phone numbers. From that point onwards the word and action “rape” has taken on a subjective meaning for me. Along with that… remember the ugly girl? Well she had to deal with my sexual high jinks no less than 3 more times after that. None of it involving her… unless you include that time I was about to insert my member into her friend on her bed right as she walked in.

So there you have it. The unedited version of an event that will stay etched in that hard drive of mine until I begin a slow decline into dementia later in life. Sure the story is self indulgent, but if you didn’t like it… it’s because you’re jealous you cashed in your V Card to some high school sweetheart, sober and consensually in your parent’s basement. Since then I have had many funny sexual encounters, but none able to top the college text book way things went down that particular evening. I hope you all enjoyed me sharing one of the most intimate moments of my life with you… I know it was good for me!

~ Jack .45 ~

Guess what?!

Your mom blew / blows your dad.

That’s right kids. We all don’t like to think about the fact that your dad came in your mom in order for you to be here, but guess what… she blew him too. The same lips she kisses you with were once wrapped around his meat pipe in a pre, post, or even mid coital stance. Better yet, if you’re in your 30’s or younger there’s a solid chance your mom has blown your dad recently to spice up the sex life blind-sided by the intrusion of menopause. Chances are she swallows the load too!

As the human race advances, religion and monogamy have been set on the back burner. I’m sure anyone reading this has been with a few people sexually. So has your mom. She was blowing guys before they were raiding her jungle with their Aztec warriors. It has been told that smoking even a single cigarette can alter one’s DNA. Well what if you are swallowing a guy's DNA? Don’t you think that would change the coding a little bit? So you are here today, a combination of your mother’s and your father’s DNA… and a little bit of that guy after prom… and a little bit of that guy from the frat house… and a little bit from that guy who offered your mom a place to stay after her friends ditched her at the bar… and a little bit from your grandfather… I think you see where I’m going with this. You are made up of everything your father and your mother have ever consumed… and your mom has probably digested her fair share of cock juice before she took that final and fateful load in the stench trench that you were a part of.

We’re living in the year 2009 now people! Divorce rates are skyrocketing as fast as stocks are falling. That’s going to ramp up promiscuity, the mean age that std’s are contracted, and the amount of dicks your mom’s going to suck. So next time you go to give your mom a plutonic kiss, just remember who to blame when an unsightly cold sore plows its disgusting dome through your bottom lip. YOUR MOM! So if your mom’s still with the same man that she conceived you with, she’s sucking at least one guy’s dick. If your mom’s hit the divorce trail a few times, you can take any single digit number and multiply it by three to get a good idea of how many guys have climaxed in her mouth. Cheerio!

~ Jack .45 ~