Thursday, September 07, 2006

totally bad day, to the max


don't think im getting soft, i still enjoy destroying man and beast alike. but i hurt.
ever since my wife was slain by the swift blade of the metaphorical dipstick of the oil companies, i have chose not to turn my attention to another woman. oh how my loins have ached for a companion, someone to laugh with, someone who enjoys a good cuddle, someone to watch sheister porn with then reenact our favorite titles such as "El Kaka Loco Taco Stand", "Ernest goes to wipe", and my all time fav "Soft Serve Parlay" staring the eloquent Kristi Alley as Star Brown the soft serve ice cream wench. the thought of her beautiful face covered in my rejected food still makes my heart and bowels flutter of times past.
I tried to allow a new lolita into my life. a new temptress to swoop me off ring worm infected feet (wrestling mats in the dojo really oughta be cleaned. I say i have ringworm to sensai, he tells me to use that worm to catch a fish like some buddhist a-hole. i tell him instead to catch a fist, then i try to punch him in the nuts. at this point he rejects my cheetah lunge with his bow staff, ruptures MY nut with a bow staff paddle jab, and i end up with both one less testie AND ring worm. its not fair). Woman are here for one reason, to procreate. When god and jesus sat down to decide how us humans multiply, you know they thought, "well, i don't want to carry that little fucker around, let's create a less intelligent, fetus transportation system... we will call it Woman." And then, out of a man's tail bone or something, we created this credit card maxing, opinionated bullhorn of an animal that wants nothing more than our undevided attention and for us to change into wormy little vaginations that enjoy nothing more than hearing about who gave them a bad look at work and how many times the person in front of themat the supermarket check out lane let their child do something innappropriate.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love sex, so in essence i love women. I have no choice. Do i wish they didn't have a brain? yes, for i cannot have sex with their brain. Mouth? well, i do like the mouth... but vocal cords? do they really need vocal chords? with the proliferation of internet technology, instead of calling the home shopping networks, women can send in orders over the internet. This technology really renders a female's voice box useless.
So, i have a date tonight. Her name is Brenda McRuffles. She has humongus breasts and is a really great person (huge ol bags of 2%, the kind that make a cow look like a lunch room sized individual carton of milk... she is so stupid i hate her for it, but mmmmmmm mmmmm!!! boobs that would have to be set on both sides of the aisle on a jumbo jet for fear of weight distribution problems! she would totally book a ticket for virgin air, then get rejected at the gate for being on the no fly list!! she's a whore, majorly, but me want boobs!). I could see myself settling down with these set of udders, for one, she's really really good with kids (she has 7 little angels, and apparently is not racist at all), and understands that i am a 14th degree blackbelt that gets what i want and gives people bad hair days with my nunchuckery if food isn't prepared at the stroke of 7 (that includes the woman being out of my sight, in her designated spot of reclusion, usually the laundry room. She will stay there and wait for me to finish my food whilst folding my chonies, then when i am ready to allow her to do dishes and mop the kitchen, i will pull her work whistle chord, let her punch in, and leave to watch whatever steven segal movie is on the dish...)
my dream woman doesnt exist, i know this. i have lofty expectations. i have been considering hiring maids, ones that will sleep with me. that would be my ideal relationship, but with all the feminist nihilists that cannot accept God's intended use of them, i don't know if that is even a realistic expectation anymore. the time has come, to say fairs fair. how do we dance while the world keeps turning? i may never know....

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