Can I Laugh At This?

Am I allowed to find this at all funny? I feel bad laughing at some of this first video; there are some especially painful parts. Since the second one is performed by African-Americans (and who knows what the ancestry of the first guys is), I guess I can ease my white guilt. Or am I just reinforcing racism? Oh well: OBAMANIQUA.

What Is Wrong With Me?

While watching the recent episode of Gossip Girl and tearing it apart with a friend, I had a great idea. Someone should write an episode inspired by Battle Royale, in which the characters are forced to kill each other. I'm too lazy to write a long piece involving everyone, but here is a short one featuring Serena and Vanessa. I should probably edit this and flesh it out some, but I'm lazy and tired. I guess I won't reveal any other ideas for a series in case I get motivated to write more. Please to enjoy:


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Serena’s grip on the tree trunk tightened when she felt the breeze sway its boughs. She had surprised herself by scaling the giant pine so quickly. Her talons proved useful renting the bark to scale to a point where her prey couldn’t spy her insectile form.

The wind brought a faint jangle of what could only be chunky Bohemian jewelry and the scent of patchouli. Squinting, Serena whipped her head toward the noise. She sharply exhaled the musky odor while watching Vanessa slowly make her way along the path below. Vanessa was dressed in earthy camouflage in order to blend in with the—wait, no; it was just her billowy peasant blouse and matching gypsy skirt that fit in seamlessly with the environment. Her ratty, teased hair matched the drab earth perfectly, but Serena’s senses were too keen to be fooled.

Vanessa felt inspired by the nature surrounding her and stopped, pulling out her small writing pad she kept on her person for just such occasions. She felt the spirit of Henry David Thoreau coursing through her as she jotted down the first line of what would be her masterpiece: “When I wrote the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived alone, in the woods. . .” Yes, she thought, I’ll call it Walden, by Vanessa Abrams.

Serena saw her chance to strike, but couldn’t resist toying with her victim before the kill. She silently removed her underwear with an internal thank you that the Plan B had worked and she wasn’t pregnant with Nate Archibald, Tripp Archibald or Carter Baizen’s child. Otherwise she wouldn’t be menstruating, which is the only time she ever wore panties; and she would be denied her fun. She let the silky couture undergarment flutter to the ground at Vanessa’s bare, Hobbit-like feet with a smug feeling of triumph that it would be the most expensive article of clothing to come in close contact with the gutter churl.

Vanessa halted her glorious writing process and bent down to get a better look at what had dropped before her. She turned the smooth material over in her many-ringed fingers with a confused look on her wizened, beyond-her-years face. Serena loosened her hold on the tree and let herself drop directly above Vanessa as she spread her legs in midair. The gypsy touched the dark stain on the underwear. Her eyes widened with realization.

She would recognize those blood clots anywhere. Vanessa heard the telltale whooshing of air rushing through a cavernous orifice and looked up too late. Serena’s gaping vagina swallowed Vanessa whole and was already beginning the digestion process. Inner teeth went to work gnashing brittle, osteoporotic bones (Vanessa was vegan and lacked a vital source of calcium from milk), and acidic fluids melted away at the scant meat available. In a matter of hours there would be nothing left but tacky jewelry.

Serena squinted and drew her mouth into a creepy smile with a rumble of her gut. She was still hungry, but that would have to wait. She had to prepare for a formal gala where she suspected all her family and friends might end up by happenstance. She decided that her next meal would be her brother Eric; no one cared about him anyway. Not that Rufus or their mother Lily would think to inquire about him, but if they did, she would just tell everyone that he went to live in Vietnam. Or died of super AIDS.

My Sisters' Cries

I recognize that United States of Tara is not an amazing program, but I still get some chuckles out of it. I'm living for this music video created for the show and its campiness.

Oh Sheesh, Ya'll; 'Twas A Dream

I had a dream last night that I had a very good elderly friend who was wealthy. In my dream he had the physical appearance of John Waters. He was dying, and he told me that his last wish was to become. . . intimate with me. I agreed seeing as he was dying and all. In the middle of it, he let me know that he was putting me in his will. Cha-ching!

Keep Your Bosom To Yourself

This bitch the other night was just walking around with her titty out breastfeeding. I don't like that. It's one thing to hide that shit under a blanket, but fuck you and your feminism, we don't need to see your swollen teat. Go ahead and feed your little twat vomit in public, but cover it up

Of Course

My friend Brady always manages to find the nastiest stuff on the Internet there is. He searched for "moogle" images. They are these cute little creatures in the Final Fantasy franchise. So of course he happened across this picture:

Brady: wtf. how is this in the google image search for moogles?
me: only you
me: just leave it to you to find that shit
Brady: lol
Brady: so
Brady: I'm confused what is going on in that picture
me: i don't really want to enlarge it
Brady: lol
Brady: DAMN
Brady: who is getting boned thinking about moogles?
me: you
Brady: there are WAAAAAAY to many moogle penises on google images
me: ooooooh
Brady: : and there is one spreading its asscheeks
me: he has his little antenna thing in toad's ass
me: lol
Brady: : OOOOOOHHHHHHH
me: you sick fuck
me: like an anal bead
Brady: : HA
me: a singular anal bead

Yikes

I've been sitting on this one for a while. It's just that gross. I won't go into detail on how I came to experience the following situation, but it was totally kosher. Trust me. It was not at all my doing, and it couldn't be avoided. On to the nose-rape.

I experienced the most foul scent known to man-kind. It smelled like human shit, mold, garbage, rotting flesh, and manure all at once. "What was it" you ask? It was the stench of a tampon stewing inside a woman who had forgotten it was there for almost one month. First of all, that's dangerous and can lead to toxic shock syndrome and death. Secondly, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU NOT NOTICE THE SMELL? I guess people really can get used to anything. It literally stung my eyes and made me gag. It smelled of brimstone and fish. It was like her vagina was the Hellmouth, only the demons entered it instead of escaping.

Smize Fail

Brady: is that you?
me: yes, that's me in the tranny picture. in my final boss form
Brady: It doesn't look like you
Brady: It doesn't look bad. You photograph differently. Tyra would like it. You have different looks

Um, What?

I saw this little bastard chilling all dead on the sidewalk in front of a chiropractic clinic by where I work. At first I thought it was a scorpion. I was a little freaked out, but it was obviously dead, so I looked a little closer. It was clearly not a scorpion, but a LOBSTER. A baby motherfucking lobster. What the fuck? I'm dying to know how a tiny, three-inch lobster wound up dead on the sidewalk in front of a chiropractor's business. Can you even buy them that small? Maybe at a pet store? Do pet stores sell lobsters? There's a story there, and I have half a mind to call them up and ask about it. So many questions.

Trannyphone