Thursday, September 17, 2020

Everyone's a prisoner, everyone's a cop

 I recently deactivated Facebook and Instagram. Trust me, I'm not ignorant of the fact that I am posting on a Google-owned platform and sharing this on Twitter. They are both companies with the same issues that ultimately got me to delete Facebook and Instagram but Facebook was the world that I allowed to drive deep hooks into my brain and frankly, fuck it up. 

These platforms stopped being fun a long time ago but I could never untangle myself. I moved from California to Texas in 2010 and I told myself that Facebook was the primary means in which I keep in touch with friends and family and if I left, I would lose contact. It was bullshit. The amount of contact I had with my friends and family outside of Facebook was sufficient enough. I'd post things on Facebook and I'd mindlessly like things and never really actually communicate on that platform. It was more voyeuristic than anything. I could peak into windows that people left open on purpose so their networks could watch them perform. It was all performance and farce.

I know a few things about cults and one of the main ways people feel trapped inside cults is that their entire social networks are in the same cult. You tell yourself that you can't leave because you lose business relationships, family relationships, and so on. Facebook is designed like a cult to keep you in and once you're in, your relationships aren't stronger because of it. You're forced to reinforce a dogma with your network to keep it comfortable for yourself -- just like a cult. The moments you do engage in debate, you're doing it for your friends that already agree with you. You're dunking on somebody for your clique to laugh and snicker at. I'm not saying there aren't idiots out there worthy of ridicule, I'm just saying we've built a ritual as a society to have very polarized discourse. We're trained to see everyone as an idiot or malicious. It is intoxicating to be self-righteous. It is intoxicating to be right. It is intoxicating to be loved by the right people and hated by the right people. It keeps us on and keeps us continually performing. 

Everybody is a prisoner and everybody is a cop on social media. It's a form of the panopticon except for the fact that there is no guard. The prisoners are the guards. The prisoners monitor behavior and reward or punish constantly. They do it for free, too. 

You can't create honestly in this environment. Your brain is constantly worried about how things will land and whether or not your opinion could be misinterpreted to the point that you either never state an opinion or you regurgitate word-for-word the acceptable script. We're sharing memes that are easy to agree with and easy to disagree with. We have gotten rid of all nuance because nuance is fucking boring. Nuance can't be made exciting. Nuance requires explanation and, even more, it requires someone willing to accept that there is nuance. 

These small issues add up over time. They take a toll on mental health. Life has been stressful for everyone. Hostility feels good sometimes, man. But it doesn't end anymore. Everything is being framed and re-framed constantly. I've got close friends who I see as going off the deep end and we don't even talk anymore. They probably see me as going off the deep end. I've got family that believes some weird shit and it's because all of their time is spent reading dumb ass stuff on Facebook. I know these people. I know they aren't hateful but now that we all have layers of internet protection, we're comfortable straight-up lying about people and being cruel.

There are bad actors out there. There are dangerous groups. Facebook makes money off of these groups. White supremacist backed memes and facebook groups don't get into your uncle's feeds on accident. Facebook is allowing these groups to purchase ads to get them closer and closer to white supremacy. Some people say, "Well, we should be there to counter those things." You're not changing anything on Facebook. You don't have the money required to fight groups with advertising budgets that are trying to divide us. You will get drowned out because they are being fed by an algorithm that keeps them scrolling. Facebook does not care because you are worth 3 cents to sell to millions of willing buyers. 

It's happening in America but this kind of manipulating users to go down political rabbit holes has real and deadly consequences in the real world. See Myanmar and Ethiopia. Facebook is a cartoon evil. There is little to no effort to curb selling your attention to bad actors. They'll sell to anyone. 

We're all being fed our own reality-tunnels. Everything we do is being mined to manipulate us into giving it more attention. A little while back, I clicked on some Ben Shapiro thing. It was mindless. By accident. I don't even follow the guy on any social media stuff but now across platforms, I'm being recommended Ben Shapiro links left and right. Can you imagine actually getting stuck in that rabbit hole and having Ben Shapiro goggles on for the rest of your life? That's what's fucking happening and it's just the beginning. 

We have our groups online. We have our actual friends who we have relationships with outside of the internet. These relationships are usually strong and full of context allowing us to be less punitive when a mistake is made. We give our friends the benefit of the doubt. But we don't do so for online acquaintances. We only see the performance side of their lives and we very easily build actual people into strawmen because they've built themselves into strawmen. It's probably not that simple but the internet demands us to pick a side and we usually do. I did. I pointed and laughed at idiots. I enjoyed when other people did, too. But it's fucked up and it was breaking my brain so I deleted it. 

That's all. 

Wednesday, September 2, 2020

American Diet Coke

First things first, if you drink American Diet Coke you are probably a fucking Trumper who rides around a golf cart ordering supersized everything while your legs turn purple from sitting on your nuts all day. Tweedle dee, dum dums. I had Diet Coke from Portugal and I can say emphatically that none of them over there voted for Trump. Unless they are Americans living abroad in which case, they can go back to their own country and, as they say in the South, throw hands with their Savior.
Why is American Diet Coke inferior to literally the rest of the world's Diet Coke? Good question, Punchy. As soon as I stop punching you, I'll let you know.

Face cleaned up yet? Great. Here's one more punch for that old nose, Smokey. Stop smoking. It's bad for your face mask.

European Diet Coke is made with MINERALS derived from NATURAL SOURCES. The CARBONATION is squeezed out of REFUGEES in PRISONS just happy to be dying in ITALY.
Look, Americans. We might have invented Diet Coke but Europeans perfected it. There's something about their water that just has more flavor. Maybe it's the hundreds-years-old pipes it's all coming through. Maybe it's the fact that they have separate faucets for cold and hot water. Maybe it's browned by distilled bidet water and loaded with glucosomate sorbato fructose only after it's in a can and pre-shaken. I'm shook just thinking about it.

Everybody who knows anything about the history of soda (pop, in some regions. Coke in others) knows that it's just beer for Mormons and Diet Coke is just Mormon Beer for Jehovah's Witnesses. Get off my doorstep before I draw Satan's dick on it, am I right? Don't want you going to Hell for my Dark Lord worship. Can't save me boys, I'm traipsing back and forth on transatlantic flights to score me some Portuguese Diet Coke. Jesus ain't my co-pilot, he's just some guy on this flight.

You have zero excuses now. If you're not drinking Portuguese Diet Coke, which I just discovered, you're a total piece of shit and you are the reason why America is dumber than a bag of Trump. Pussies!

buy my books here or here

Wednesday, August 26, 2020

Thoughts on space travel

I remember reading an article about deep space travel and human crews losing interest in contacting Earth after just one generation. The language would change to fit their everyday observations. If they were traveling through the emptiness of space, words like mountain would disappear and they'd have to make up new words to describe things they saw that they didn't learn about.

If there was a way to communicate with Earth, it would be used by the first generation of space travelers. They would have the mission to explore and colonize or whatever else they set out to do. But as they had kids and moved on in their giant space colony ships, interest in maintaining the mission for some faraway civilization they will never see again would wane. I'm sure this would spawn some kind of weird religious thing. There would be factions that wanted to maintain contact and factions that would not want to communicate. There would be factions that didn't care one way or another.

But as time passes, all of that would become more obscure. The original mission would be a Genesis story; familiar enough to remember but unimportant enough to dismiss upon hearing. The floating colony, generations removed from launching out of Earth's pull, would be completely apart from Earth. Earth would forget them, too.

It reminds me of the different philosophies of Gene Wolfe's The Book of the New Sun series. The "rebel" faction remembers space travel and escaping Earth while it is utterly unimportant to the vast majority of the world. It reminds me of today. We look at history as a series of big moments and while we live through the big moments we can't even recognize as such. The right wing can dismiss the BLM protests because history paints the civil rights movement as massive. It's fixed in time. It's in the past. It's in the history books. We can't see the enormity of our moment right now because we are in it. Soon, it will be fixed in time too.

The times we are living in are important and massive and it is important to think about where we stand. We no longer have the luxury of knowing exactly how we'd act in great moments in the past. You can say you would stand against tyranny, you can say you would fight racism and oppression if only you had lived through that moment. You can say you would support Martin Luther King, JR and the protesters marching peacefully. It's easy to imagine yourself on the right side of everything. Be what you imagine yourself as in the past now. Be on the right side of the present.

Thursday, August 13, 2020

Things I learned about babies


This is some #dadlife #advice. Here are some things I learned about babies in my one year of experience.

1. Babies shouldn't crawl. Crawling sets them up for a lifetime of knee and back damage. They don't even know what they're doing to themselves. If they're not ready to walk, they're not ready to move. You see your baby crawling? Grab it by the ankle and say, "NO!"

2. I'm going to be stuck on this crawling thing for awhile. If a baby is crawling around, they are obviously not at eye level so they are a tripping hazard to you and your guests. Who wants to spill their beer or break their face just because a baby is crawling around trying to learn about the world? Learn about the world on your own time, baby. Daddy's trying to get tanked.

3. Again, crawling. You should be in your high chair at all times so I can look at you with my peripheral vision if I deign to do so. Don't want your food now? I'm no waiter. And if you think I am one, I expect a tip. Do you have a job? Can't afford to tip, can't afford to eat out. Your food will be up there all day with you until you decide nutrition is something you want to be serious about. You're not moving until you can mow the lawn!

4. Babies make a lot of poop. Nobody told me this.

5. Sometimes babies try to get your attention because they want to smile or something. You ever wonder why Russia is so dominant all over the globe? It's because they bathe their children in vodka and leave them in the backyard. They don't smile. That's how you raise a kid, Punchy.

6. A strict cruelty-free diet should be given to children. This is how they learn about cruelty.

Being a dad is such a joy. You can send dad memes to all your dad friends until your kid starts screaming and you have to remind him who's boss. "Daddy's scrolling through his phone endlessly here, kid. Why don't you go play with the wall?"


Thursday, July 30, 2020

What is the point?

One of my earliest childhood memories is of my parents driving my brother and I home from the mall. I was 5 or younger because my youngest brother hadn't been born yet. Like every kid in the world, my brother and I were huge Michael Jackson fans. I don't know that my folks were as huge of fans as we were. Anyways.

We went to Hot Dog on a Stick, walked around the toy store (probably KB Toys), Walden Books, and Sam Goody. I remember seeing the poster for Michael Jackson's Bad album on the wall. My brother and I talked about how cool it looked. We rarely went to the mall and we much more rarely ever left with anything besides dinner in our bellies and tired eyes from window shopping.

We piled into the van and headed home. Just before we got home, a Michael Jackson song came on the radio. My brother and I were ecstatic. "You better get out of the car and turn it on the radio in the house before it's over," my dad said. We ran out. Turned it to the station. Commercial. "Dad! Mom! What station?" Then they answered with the station. It wasn't on.

My brain was white noise. I was confused. I was sad because I was going to miss the song. Out of the purse comes the cassette for Bad. They gave us a little surprise. It was great. We must have worn out the tape on it we listened to it so much.

It's a great memory. It gives me a feeling of warmth to recall it. But now that I'm actually sitting down trying to recall the details, I'm realizing there are a few things wrong with the story. It's hard to believe Sam Goody would have a poster of Bad still on the wall after four years. Surely, they'd take it off the wall. Especially when Dangerous was either just released or right around the corner. That must have been the poster my brother and I gawked at. Now that I think about it, we had probably pulled the Bad CD out of the stack and talked about how cool the graffiti was and the leather jacket and all that.

I remember very clearly flipping through CDs. In those days, CDs were packed in these really long cardboard boxes with the jewel cases at the very top. I think this was just an interim solution to converting vinyl shelving to CD shelves. Cassettes were still very much a thing in the early 90s so it's not baffling that my folks would get a cassette. They couldn't do their car-radio trick if they got a CD. We had a CD player at home.

It's not really important - the details. Details are good for vibrancy but the feeling and the "story" is still there. The past is always changing, no matter how hard we try to cling to the idea that it is affixed to a timeline far away. Perspectives change, your current self fucks with the details to make it relevant to you in your current moment. The past only serves the present and the present is always doomed to be past.

It was ten years and a month ago I moved to Texas. I told my friend, Jack, I was just going on a short trip to absorb a part of America I only knew via Hollywood stereotype. Texas was just horseshit and tumbleweeds in my mind.

There's no point to this post. It's just the process of untangling whatever is going on in my brain.

Buy Nina's and my chapbook: UH OH STORYTIME! at

Tuesday, July 21, 2020


Welcome to the most meaningless place on the internet: a low-selling author's sporadically-updated blog! Even worse! Bad captions for dumb cartoons! But, hey. We're all on lockdown and it's lasted way longer than I thought it would so why the hell don't you order the Uh Oh Storytime! chapbook! Buy it at

If you're anti-mask and you want the economy to open up: You, my friend, do not have a functioning brain. Just put on a mask. Putting on a mask allows for places to be open. I work at a place that is open! Masks suck! But I wear one anyways. Why? Because it is considerate and seems to actually slow the spread of the virus unlike bitching about masks on facebook. I also have asthma and I love onions on everything! I still wear a mask. It's okay. Even if you think it's a performative ritual in religious celebratory worship of the State (it's not), we can get through this. Just put the mask on and, tell you what, you can frown the entire time you wear it. Or you could just skip the coffee and haircut. 

Speaking of facebook: we left! Do you want a peaceful brain? Do you want to not hate everyone every day? Get off facebook. I don't want to preach but it's been a few weeks and I have never felt better. Instagram and Twitter are the nicotine patches that keep me connected but both platforms are better for me for different reasons. Instagram is more fun. It's visual. You're not getting beaten over the head with every dumb thing your masturbating-in-the-basement great uncle has to say on Instagram. You just see before and after ejac-pics. That's better. I am way less connected to family and close friends on Twitter so the stakes are much lower there. Somebody has a dumb opinion? Who cares. Keep going. 

The lack of socializing hit me pretty hard in the first few months but I am happy to report that I have named all my toes. 


This pussy-on-ball play is making me wet.

So... my penis goes where?

Oh, my hat's loud? Look at those fucking shoes!


Sunday, April 12, 2020

Uh Oh Storytime LIVE on Tuesday

Uh Oh Storytime LIVE on Tuesday.

We will say bad things together to make ourselves laugh and then when we all log off we can cry.

Monday, April 6, 2020



Closers left this place a fuckin' mess.

Somehow I doubt a human's legs would fit comfortably under this table.

Oh, him? He eats dumb bitches.

Sunday, April 5, 2020

Yo. Fuck this, right?

Yo. Fuck this, right?

I've never been so existentially numb in my life. We're watching everything collapse around us together. We all know it. We're making memes and jokes and trying to keep it together.

Right now a lot of us are playing videogames and doing video chats and shit but it feels like we're all telling each other this effort won't last. We'll soon retreat into our own cocoons of dingleberries and bodily fluids until the sun comes out and miraculously spanks the shit out of this coronavirus.

Let me be the first to tell you, I've seen the greatest minds of my generation (foreheads, we'll call them) talk about 5G and what have you and how 5G brain-controlled a random thread of code to fuck humanity in the ears. These foreheads know something you don't and you should listen to them because they have secret information and don't you want secret information? Don't you want to look as far down as the length of your forehead slope at somebody? Isn't that what this is all about?

Some foreheads don't believe in conspiracy theories. Some foreheads go out in public to shame others out in public. "LOOK AT ALL THESE IDIOTS?!" one forehead will say as he takes a selfie-video with himself always at the center with a shit-eating grin on.

I can hear my neighbors next door work on their cars. Their cars are always broken down. One of them is a nurse. One of them has tiny ankles. My other neighbor looks older and fatter than I am and is taking up skateboarding. My dog smells like hot ass. Another neighbor is taking pictures of HOA violations. Time doesn't stop. Weeds will grow. Jupiter spins.

We should apologize to Hideo Kojima. We made fun of his ideas of the apocalypse. Delivery boys would be what kept us together. We'd run on an economy of likes. I'm going to livestream myself crying naked in the bathroom with a tattoo of my Venmo QR code on my ass.

We will get through this. We are probably not collapsing as bad as it seems. I wear a bandana around my face and my glasses fog up. I take my glasses off and squint at everything. My eyesight is getting worse. I put away the groceries when I get home. I take off my clothes. I run to the shower.

My daughter grabs my glasses instinctively. If she breaks them, I'm fucked for at least a month. I don't really care though. She'll do what she wants to do. It's okay. I am happy.

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: COVID-19 edition

Ha! Ha! Cough! Cough! Haugh! Cahaugh! Cough! Ha!

It's just allergies, I swear. I'm allergic to eating live possum.

Listen, folks. It isn't eating bats that caused the virus. It's stacking wild animals on top of each other and letting them fuck. God caused this. Blame God. He's the real invisible enemy. Let's kill God! Yay!

Great. The whatever-the-fuck-that-thing-is band is playing the elevator today.

Listen, kid. I can do a trim. I can do a shave. I can do a live de-feathering. But I can't do them all at once. 

Did you have an erection lasting four or more hours? Did you call your doctor? Whom but yourself is to blame, sir?

I believe it prudent to say that the New Yorker contacted me and offered me a job at their not-funny department. I told them I would cooperate. They emailed me back with simply: "coƶperate." I haven't heard from them since. Too bad, too. Because I had a bunch of zingers lined up about going to a therapist, and organic free range whatever the fuck. Impeachment, what have you. 


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Monday, March 30, 2020

New Year Resolutions Check In #WhereYouAt2020 !?

#WhereYouAt2020 !?! How is living large and in charge of your life! Don't look at me like that, y'all, I know you've been keeping tabs on everyone else's resolutions but what about your damn self!?

Let's see what's up with me!

1. I said I was going to be more social, go out to clubs, dance, cough on people, sing, and just be my best self everywhere I go for everyone who sees me. Where am I now? I'm at home writing a stupid blog post fifteen people will read but will have 85 hits because I keep refreshing it thinking it will get funnier.

2. I said I was going to shake everyone's hand, man or lady, rather than instinctively turning away from the men and sobbing uncontrollably for the women. Where are we this? #2020checkin ! Handshakes are illegal and the state of California will shoot you in the head.

3. I was all about not eating microwaveable foods this year. I did pretty good, too! #yayme but then March hit and I just don't even know! I had a bunch of Kid Cuisine in my fridge because I was studying the evolution of microwaveable foods' box design for a forty-five minute YouTube video I've been planning for years. Guess what? My microwave broke and all I have are scented candles to eat my chicken nuggets over.

4. Claustrophobia was so 2019. I wasn't about to take off all my clothes in the middle of a grocery store because somebody looked at me and I could mentally feel their breath. Now, I spend all my time making trash bag clothes-armor and beat the shit out of anyone trying to take the last thing of trash bags in the grocery store. #GetOutoftheWayYouStupidBitch2020

5. Mexico City. Paris. Venice. Stalingrad. Wuhan. Seoul. Karachi. I was going to work EXTRA all year long, pulling doubles and being real sweet to all the customers that came into the bar so I could spend the last half of the year traveling. What am I doing now? Picking my nose and debating whether I should eat what I find or just stick it under my big toenail. #surfsup

6. This was the year I was REALLY going to start touching my face without any guilt or self-consciousness. It used to be people would be concerned that my pants were unzipped on the bus while I touched my face and my John Dangler became a Stephen Upright but now they don't even care about indecent exposure. They scream, horrified, as I go around sticking my fingers as close to their eyeballs or mouths as possible.

The year is a quarter over! Let's defeat the invisible enemy so I can go outside and scream at my neighbors for housing mole people that burrow underneath my foundation and fuck all night.

Buy a book. 

Thursday, March 19, 2020

Free PDF downloads for lockdown


What a dark timeline we are in. 2020 was supposed to be a good one.

Anyways. I work at a bar and we're figuring it out as a takeout-essentials kind of deal but our wages and business has gone significantly down. Consider donating to the Radio staff relief fund. The fact that California is on near-total-lockdown tells me that it is coming nationwide.

We're in dark times, indeed.

I know it's a bit of a joke this time for individuals to ask for "donations" but if you're so inclined, throwing a buck or two tip into my paypal would go a little ways to making my income less sideways. Maybe one of the Imagine celebrity singers will see this. Click here to throw a buck or so my way. 

It ain't much but here are some free downloads to get you through thirty minutes of the lockdown. Cat Food and Toilet Stories from Outer Space. Cat Food has Flesh House in it and that one is always a popular one. *NOTE: RIGHT CLICK AND SAVE AS AND DISTRIBUTE TO WHOEVER YOU WANT. I HAVE LIMITED BANDWIDTH TO SPARE WITH DOWNLOADS FROM THE SOURCE*

If you like that little taste, you can purchase my books here on Amazon. But buy Invasion of the Weirdos here.

Or you can throw a buck or two in the Paypal. Or donate to the Radio staff.

Thursday, February 13, 2020

Super Fast Food Death Match of the Century

All of you Ronald McDonald hating fascists are just regurgitating fifty years of Burger King propaganda.

There never was pink slime. Their meat was never gray. Their Filet-o-Fish sandwich was never made up of flash frozen yeast infection.

That was all put into the FAKE NEWS to make you sound smart as you chomped on your Wendy's burgers.

Let me take a few steps back.

SQUARE BURGERS? SQUARE FUCKING BURGERS?! That's a logistical achievement, not a culinary one. The Clown said, "I'll take the haypenny hit on having my burgers look circular like God intended. I'm not about to fit and extra half pound per box just to save a few cents on gas or whatever the fuck Dumb Ass Dave is cooking up at his little burger chain."

Burger King: what are you thinking? Have you ever been to a Burger King you haven't been stabbed at? I've been stabbed fifteen times just walking through the parking lot. It's a miracle I'm here today. They were stabbing me with paper crowns. "They" were my nephews and nieces who were so pissed at me for taking them to Burger King that they tried to kill me with their crown. There's a metaphor there. "Why couldn't we go to FUCKING JACK IN THE BOX, Uncle Andrew? At least there, I have to eat before I throw it all up!" Good point, imaginary niece. Good point.

Speaking of Jack in the Box; does it even know what it wants to be? Their tacos look like the contents of a treasure box in a women's restroom but they taste pretty good (so exactly like the treasure box in a women's restroom). Their egg rolls could fool any Panda Express slogging punk ass. They have seasoned fries. They also have burgers which makes Jack in the Box the Taco Bell of burger joints.

Taco Bell has seven ingredients that they just recombine over and over again and make a dumb name for. What is it? It's a taco wrapped in a burrito. It's a Buraco. What is it? It's a fully formed burrito stuck into a taco shell slathered in refried beans with a gordita shell plopped onto it. It's Gordurritaco. That's all Taco Bell is. The best thing about Taco Bell is when they ask if you want hot sauce and you say yes, they either dump every packet they've ever made in your bag or give you like two for fifteen tacos. Bernie Sanders isn't president yet, y'all and I've been told both these scenarios are likely under Bernie Sanders.

If you don't live in Texas, you don't care but every Texan I've ever heard pronounce Whataburger pronounced it WATERBURGER. It's so ingrained into our collective that I went to a food truck recently with a WATERBURGER on the menu and I had to ask, "Is there meat in that burger?" The guy looked at me like I was crazy but while every other menu item listed their ingredients fully, the Waterburger listed everything but the meat. "Yeah, it's called WATERBURGER because there are water chestnuts in it." Look, I don't call my burger an onion burger just because I put onions on it. I don't call it a lettuce burger just because I put lettuce on it. It's either a burger or it's not, buck-o. It was pretty good.

So how about those elections, eh? Wild stuff. 

Sunday, February 2, 2020

Authentic Relating With Your Dog

As I've grown, I've learned to throw away the remaining vestiges of plasticity and inauthenticity in my life. Thanks to the advice of my life coach/sexual healer, I've learned the power of authentic relating with humans and pets. Today I'm going to demonstrate how to relate authentically with your dog.

When your dog barks and chews on things it shouldn't, you need to get down to their level, stare them in the eye, and say, "I will not be bullied by you." Your dog should understand that you are hurt but it still should respect your personhood and your value in its life. If it still continues to bark, you need to get down on your knees and say, "Can't you see what you're doing to me? You are hurting me and I refuse to be hurt. I refuse to be bullied, kicked around, or shut up. You will not defeat me."

Sometimes you buy toys or food for your dog that they aren't interested in. If you find a half-eaten carrot lying around the house you need to grab it and stomp around the house until you find your dog. You need to grab it by its ears and say, "I paid for you to eat and you just make a mess all over my house that I invited you into. This contract... this relationship... nuh-uh... I'm not vibing with it anymore. I'm not feeling it. You will eat what I give you."

Your dog will sometimes yelp in its crate while you try to sleep so that you can go to work to buy it toys and food. Whenever your dog disturbs your slumber, you need to get out of your bed quietly, and you need to whisper into your dogs crate things like, "Do you understand what I do for you? I'm just trying to be real with you, I'm just trying to be honest. I'd like for you to know that I am honest with you and if I'm being honest, I gotta say, I need to go to work so that I can pay for food so that you can live. Now, I can simply call in sick and say my dog kept me up all night but then I'd likely be fired and we'd be no better than the homeless people under the bridge that feed their dogs their used toilet paper and toe cheese. Maybe I'll just donate you to one of those guys. Shut the fuck up. Goodnight. I love you."

Sometimes your dog will be incontinent or, worse, diarrhetic. You need to tell your dog, "If you continue to act as if you were a child, I will have to throw you into the street and leave you to fend for yourself like I would a child. I didn't buy a child, though, I bought a dog and I really feel like those fucking kids I passed up to buy you... well, they would have been the better investment because I've never heard of a kid who shit his pants, ate it, then promptly threw it up causing me the believe you had a bowel obstruction and wasting eighty dollars on tests only to find out that you're a goddamn shit eater. OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Once your dog understands that you are relating authentically with it, you will have a much healthier and real relationship with your dog. You will be happier and it will be happier. Trust me.

Super Bowl

Listen up, toeball fans. This is a time for Americans to rally around each other and decide between Bud Lite or Mango White Claw. I don't like the sound of Mango so I reach for a Bud though I prefer to drink a $10 cask-aged craft version of a light beer. I don't even like gruntball but I'm here for the fucking chips and dip so go get me a plate, honey. 

Listen up, guy with glasses talking about the socioeconomic metaphors present in sports: shut the fuck up. Nobody is listening to you because we're all here chomping on Beef Lil Smokies and looking for the hidden bathroom the homeowner obviously doesn't want you to know about. He wants to masturbate while pooping in peace. 

Listen up, homeowner. I found your little bathroom and your dirty little secret. You're a fucking nerd who takes off all his clothes when he poops because you "get too sweaty" and "nobody likes the smell of poop sweat." Listen up, cowboy. I do. I love the smell of poop sweat and whenever I get a whiff of it, it makes me want to poop. What? Is this a bidet? The hose kind? You certainly don't cheap out and I can understand why you didn't want anyone here using your secret bathroom. I like to stick the hose just far enough up so I get the same sensation of getting water up my nose but in my butt. It's how I calibrate spatial distance in my head. It's the only way I'm sure I'm creating mudslides. Don't worry. I gave the hose a spit shine. I only farted in there and updated my Facebook so don't worry too much. 

Listen up, Twitter jokesters: stop with the Superb Owl stuff. It's not funny. It never was funny. An owl killed my entire family in the jungle and I really appreciate it if you take that into consideration before making light of any fucking owl by calling it superb. 

All right, go out there and slap some butts. Drink some beer. Eat some Doritos and get some Coke Energy Drink: the one for your nose. All praises be to bitcoin. 

Go buy Dark Moon Digest 38. I've got a story called Swollen Dry Sockets in there and DMD is consistently the best horror in the business. Buy direct or subscribe to DMD here or buy it off Amazon. 

Buy my latest book Invasion of the Weirdos. Direct from Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing or buy it off Amazon here. 

Friday, January 24, 2020

The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest EXPLOSIVE OLIVE EDITION

I've got a story in the new Dark Moon Digest. It's about dentists! Everyone loves teeth horror! Go buy it. 

Blah blah blah, here we go.

Sir! Sir! I can see your dick!

Let them in, Marty. The heater's on. We can have carrots for dinner.

Shouldn't have given that fucking rat brain pills.