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.
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