"What a horrible blog", you're probably saying to yourself. What kind of human would purposefully set about creating a blog so vitriolic that its sole purpose could only be the propogation of mean spiritedness? I would, that's who! With my palette of condescending snarks in hand, I will paint a masterpiece of hubris and derision. I'll do my best to offend the delicate and *rolls eyes* refined sensibilities of the average American dipshit reader without any compunction whatsoever. Why you ask? Because you're probably:
a. A mentally deficient hiptard so woefully out of touch with reality that you actually think you make those ridiculously oversized sunglasses and porn-star related hoodies look good. In reality, your appearance generally illicits howls of laughter from passers-by. You have absolutely no idea what's up with this "subprime meltdown thing" but that hasn't stopped you from querying if you can have it on Bulgar wheat bread. You're a totally shallow and self-absorbed dweeb without a true friend in the world but continue to labor under the misapprehension that people really like you. You're not half as smart as you think you are and have probably read just enough Bukowski to make a complete fucking fool of yourself. And no matter how politically correct and socially responsible your outward views, you're a raging hypocrite conspicuous consumer who wouldn't be the least bit concerned if the remnants of the Amazon were cut down tomorrow. And what characterization of your silly ass would be complete without the inclusion of tribal and/or fairy tattoos. Looking good, Tiger!!
b. A degenerate redneck whose dramatically reduced mental capacity ranks him/her somewhere between the likes of this future garbage collecter . .
and one of these fucking inbred yokels/Darwin Award candidates. "All I want for Christmas is a frontal lobe, a frontal lobe . . . . "
You yearn to be the next Dale Earnhardt and contemplated shooting your wife and kids and then yourself with an AR-15 when it was announced that "Walker: Texas Ranger" would be cancelled. You openly refer to blacks as "coloreds", Latinos as "cholos" and Asians as "slopes". You honestly believe that others are interested in your "harrowing" tales of heavy equipment operation. You certainly never "read" a book without illustrations that you could fully comprehend. You're quite prone to say things like, "I've got no problem with gays, but . . " You've often thought your teenage daughter looked "hot", and strangely enough, you can't seem to shake the feeling that something horrible happened between you and the babysitter as a child. You're the kind of person who thinks there's a special place in hell for abortion doctors, but come 8 A.M., you're the first in line at Planned Parenthood because your little princess thinks the father may be black.
c. You're a wannabe ghetto thug (as if that's really something to aspire to in the first place) who's about as "hard" as cotton candy. If you're genuinely hard, then congratulations on being an actual run-of-the-mill, murdering, drug-dealing piece of filth whose ass crack is on permanent display. You think functional illiteracy is "dope" and the fact that you couldn't pass a 6th grade equivalency test is further proof of just how hard you really are, yo! The world is generally passing you by but that doesn't matter because you and your homies are down for one another. That is until one of them busts a cap in your ass at a party taking place in the home of some 15-year-old mother of two. The shooting was justifiable according to some gangster rivalry; you're nothing but an East side bitch and he's all about the West side. You're a regular on the Maury Povich show where you are oft informed that "Marcus, you are the father - again". You're saving up your drug money for a full set of gold teeth and a diamond encrusted necklace that says "PiMp". If pressed, you wouldn't actually know how to spell "the" "that" or "with" and the 4-year-old son of the proprietor of the Korean Kwiki-Mart where you buy your malt liquor and Cool menthols corrects your grammar. A long stay at San Quentin is probably in your future.
d. You're a turgid, uptight douche bag with two advanced degrees and yet you're entirely devoid of any social skills whatsoever. You're usually the ugliest motherfucker in the room but that doesn't prevent you from looking down your bony nose at everyone in sight. You can design a gyroscope for surface to air missiles with your eyes closed but still don't know how to locate your wife's clitoris. Your female counterpart probably munched Dworkian-esque, Sarah Lawrence bush due to her serious "daddy issues" - not because she's actually a lesbian. You sure showed him! Your severely fucked up children are one more disinterested comment away from storming their high school with pipe bombs and a gauge to murder every jock who ever mocked their creepy black hair and facial piercings. Your spouse doesn't see you as a highly intelligent and accomplished professional but rather like the "Rich Monopoly Guy", aka, Rich Uncle Pennybags. Ironically, you probably more closely resemble him than you'd like to admit. You haven't accomplished a thing that daddy's money couldn't buy, and worse, you're not doing hard time in the state pen. for that "roofie incident" back in college because your father played golf with your presiding judge at a "whites only" country club every Saturday for 20 years.
Before you rush to judgement, I suggest you give it some time. I promise this is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I hope to offend each and every reader I touch with my special brand of biting sarcasm and poignant witticisms. When it's all said and done, I hope that my razor-sharp insightfulness culminates in you staring blankly at your Mac wondering why god made me so fabulously clever while cursing you with such a dull, rusty blade.
Hahaha! I love Turtle Boy.
Posted by: Catalina | 05/19/2008 at 05:13 PM