I’m not sure how old my daughter is at this point – gotta be in her late teens, I’d guess – but she has already reached an advanced developmental stage of turning out a right bitch. Walking around with her pug nose in the air, eight pounds of make-up giving her that extra bit of whorehouse flavor, too good to even say hello to the old man when she passes me in the hallway. My asshole daughter Kelly is fast on her way to being the town bicycle, which everyone gets to take free rides on. The hell with her, that no good cu- oh, wait, Kelly’s her sister – Sandy’s the slutty one. Yeah, the hell with Sandy.
But Kelly’s no walk in the goddamn park either. That rotten, Ben Gay smelling troll takes after her sister with the attitude, but at least I don’t have to worry about her getting knocked up by some skin tag with an erection. No guy with half a brain or eyesight would touch that monster kid of mine. But even if you could somehow overlook her gross ass appearance, she also happens to be just about the meanest pig-tailed, pig-faced demon seed alive. Her brother Todd is lucky to still be breathing after all the beatings and torture Kelly laid on him over the years. More about that douche son of mine in a bit though. Me and the old lady really dropped the ball not drowning that fucking Kelly straight out of the womb. The world will suffer more and more everyday for our mistake. Continue reading
Excerpts from the various books of the forthcoming bestseller The Bible, Part II, perhaps with the subtitle Revenge of the Christ:
The Book of Exposition 2: 3-5
And the again risen Jesus decided the most pressing concern of His now that He’d crawled from the grave was the need to take a shower. An unholy funk clung to the Christ enough so as to water the eyes of passers by, whom Jesus misinterpreted as being ardent, overcome followers. He passed by them, laying on hands for a quick blessing, and made His way to the nearest public spicket, whilst those touched by the Lord vomited in his wake.
The Book of Angina 7:14-18
And the wayfaring Jesus thus reached the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, where He was greeted by the four headed monster Beelazarus of the seabound zombie nation of San Salvador. Jesus recognized the vile beast as having once been the man He’d resurrected from the dead many years earlier, and now found it ironic that He would have to send the creature back to the afterlife. And, as is His wont, Jesus wept. Continue reading
Famed author. Presidential candidate. Teen Wolf enthusiast. With all these titles under my belt, and all these planned-for accomplishments piling up like forgotten mail, what else could I possibly have room on my dance card for in the coming weeks, months, and years? What psychotically huge and controversial project could I sink my teeth into for anywhere from one to three hours a month for the remainder of my life? Well, it’s a doozy. A writing project, a writing challenge, and it’s a sequel to something I didn’t begin.
“What a hack!” you are undoubtedly muttering to the kid next to you at Starbucks, upon the reading of this. Well leave that kid alone. He doesn’t care for your hullabaloo anymore than I do, and that ain’t much, sister. It’s not like I’ve decided to tackle an unauthorized Harry Potter 8, or the fourth of The Three Musketeers, or Mobiest Dick, no no. What I have in mind is much grander, and steeped in that noblest of all pursuits – straight cash, homey. Continue reading
Probably the best thing about living in Chicago I’ve got to say is not having a car. In Scranton, there was no having a job or going out or being seen as a respectable member of society if I didn’t have a car. It was just a given, it was a necessity. But here, a car? What the hell would I do with a car?
Besides having the highest gas prices in the country (allegedly), there is also nowhere to park. Were I to drive to work, between garages and filling up I’d be blowing nearly the whole paycheck on the lousy car. The girlfriend drives to the suburbs every day for work and even though her car gets roughly a thousand miles to the gallon (I have no idea) she’s still filling up twice a week or more. So no car is awesome. Continue reading
Dear sir or madam,
So you’re my kid, huh? As I write this I am currently safe in the knowledge that I have never impregnated anyone that I’m aware of, and have no pressing interest in this activity anytime in the near future (impregnating, I mean, not the activity – er, well, you know what I mean, I hope). If you are reading this I assume that you do, in fact, exist, and therefore I must have knocked someone up and some court must have determined after a no doubt exhaustive legal battle that you are a product of my own drunken doing. So, hello.
I’m sure by this point that you are aware what a great guy I am, so I’m not about to remind you with a detailed breakdown and comprehensive history of my excellence. Let’s just say I’m awesome and leave it at that. The purpose of writing this letter to you, my supposed progeny, is to pass down some ideas direct from the horse’s mouth, as I may be old, broken-down, senile, and incontinent by the time you exist. On the other hand, if you’re going around referring to your old man as a horse, you’ll be feeling the back of my senile hand, punk! Continue reading