Poison Sperm: The Comic - episode 18 - "dude, where's the remote?"
1 day late, but I have a really fucking good excuse. I have Leprosy. The doctor's give me at most, 1...maybe 2 hundred more years.
On the plus side, I am renovating the site to make the viewing of it's wonderful content that much more glorious. In the meantime, here's episode 18. Enjoy...
On the plus side, I am renovating the site to make the viewing of it's wonderful content that much more glorious. In the meantime, here's episode 18. Enjoy...
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Guns don't kill people, people kill people, and monkeys kill people too, sometimes, if they have guns.
I bit of a back and forth I had recently got my blood boiling for some good healthy debate about what some may call politics, but I call an aversion to death. I'm talking about gun control.
Yes, it's not in the standard realm of sex, pornography, and masturbation that I typically rant about, but I figured it was about time. Actually, a gun is pretty goddamn phallic in nature. Bullets are even more so. And for that matter, arrows, missiles, bombs, harpoons, swords, daggers, and old fashioned spears are all shaped like big dicks. This all goes to support my belief that violence is really just a way for men to shove their dicks in places they don't belong. If I can't fuck it, I'll kill it with a pointy dick...or an exploding dick.
There are two primary arguments for anti-gun control. So let's break it down and discuss each one.
1. "I need a gun for hunting."
First I need to admit, I do not understand the purpose of hunting. I do not understand what part of the reptilian brain says, "get out there and kill something." This is not killing for survival. This is not killing for necessity. Even for you down and dirty good 'ole boys that say you hunt for the meat, there's plenty of perfectly good meat down at Hy-Vee. Unless you live in the Australian Outback, there's no reason to not just go to Outback Steakhouse instead. It's much cleaner, and you don't have to pick any shrapnel out of your meal (maybe you will at Applebees).
So that said, I'll play Devil's advocate. Let's say you really do need to hunt for some ridiculous reason. Maybe you have a small penis and killing something fury in the woods makes you feel like Ron Jeremy. You claim that you need armor piercing bullets and semi-assault rifles in order to perform this task. Why? What deer wears a bullet proof vest?
If you're going to hunt, get a loin cloth, head out to the woods, sharpen some sticks and have at it. And when I say "woods" I don't mean "protected hunting grounds" where the animals are all fucking fenced in. If you're out deer hunting you shouldn't be able to back him into a corner.
And speaking of, what is this bull shit Quail hunting nonsense? They clip the birds feathers...THEY CLIP THEIR FEATHERS...and call that a sport? That's like hunting retarded opossums on the high way. There is no challenge, therefore there is no sport.
This brings us to the second defense:
2. I need guns for protection
Statistics speak for themselves. Countries with fewer gun regulations have higher gun related deaths. A gun in the home is twice as likely to hurt you then help you. You know who can have guns for protection? Drug dealers. Because they need them. Drug dealers deal with some crazy mother fuckers hopped up on meth and PCP with no inhibitions, a hair-line temper, and no sense of common sense at all. We should be arming the dealers in the name of humanity.
But maybe you don't think you need protection for others. Maybe you think you need protection from the United States itself, the government. In that case, I say we ship you down to South America with all your guns and let you fight the corrupt dictatorships there to your little hearts content. I may not agree with the government, or authority in general for that matter, but if I get to a point where I need to start shooting them...it's probably time for me to pick a new government. I hear Canada is nice this time of year. At least they have some decent weather right now. I could have written 12 pages on how much I hate the fucking summer in July. Even my goddamn balls are sweating.
But that's it. I masturbated 6 times before writing this and my hands are starting to cramp.
As always, love, peace, and phallic phasers for you all.
I remain,
- G
Yes, it's not in the standard realm of sex, pornography, and masturbation that I typically rant about, but I figured it was about time. Actually, a gun is pretty goddamn phallic in nature. Bullets are even more so. And for that matter, arrows, missiles, bombs, harpoons, swords, daggers, and old fashioned spears are all shaped like big dicks. This all goes to support my belief that violence is really just a way for men to shove their dicks in places they don't belong. If I can't fuck it, I'll kill it with a pointy dick...or an exploding dick.
There are two primary arguments for anti-gun control. So let's break it down and discuss each one.
1. "I need a gun for hunting."
First I need to admit, I do not understand the purpose of hunting. I do not understand what part of the reptilian brain says, "get out there and kill something." This is not killing for survival. This is not killing for necessity. Even for you down and dirty good 'ole boys that say you hunt for the meat, there's plenty of perfectly good meat down at Hy-Vee. Unless you live in the Australian Outback, there's no reason to not just go to Outback Steakhouse instead. It's much cleaner, and you don't have to pick any shrapnel out of your meal (maybe you will at Applebees).
So that said, I'll play Devil's advocate. Let's say you really do need to hunt for some ridiculous reason. Maybe you have a small penis and killing something fury in the woods makes you feel like Ron Jeremy. You claim that you need armor piercing bullets and semi-assault rifles in order to perform this task. Why? What deer wears a bullet proof vest?
If you're going to hunt, get a loin cloth, head out to the woods, sharpen some sticks and have at it. And when I say "woods" I don't mean "protected hunting grounds" where the animals are all fucking fenced in. If you're out deer hunting you shouldn't be able to back him into a corner.
And speaking of, what is this bull shit Quail hunting nonsense? They clip the birds feathers...THEY CLIP THEIR FEATHERS...and call that a sport? That's like hunting retarded opossums on the high way. There is no challenge, therefore there is no sport.
This brings us to the second defense:
2. I need guns for protection
Statistics speak for themselves. Countries with fewer gun regulations have higher gun related deaths. A gun in the home is twice as likely to hurt you then help you. You know who can have guns for protection? Drug dealers. Because they need them. Drug dealers deal with some crazy mother fuckers hopped up on meth and PCP with no inhibitions, a hair-line temper, and no sense of common sense at all. We should be arming the dealers in the name of humanity.
But maybe you don't think you need protection for others. Maybe you think you need protection from the United States itself, the government. In that case, I say we ship you down to South America with all your guns and let you fight the corrupt dictatorships there to your little hearts content. I may not agree with the government, or authority in general for that matter, but if I get to a point where I need to start shooting them...it's probably time for me to pick a new government. I hear Canada is nice this time of year. At least they have some decent weather right now. I could have written 12 pages on how much I hate the fucking summer in July. Even my goddamn balls are sweating.
But that's it. I masturbated 6 times before writing this and my hands are starting to cramp.
As always, love, peace, and phallic phasers for you all.
I remain,
- G
Poison Sperm: The Comic - episode 17 - brooding
A day late and a dollar short, the continuation of the POISONsperm saga, episode 17.
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an apology
I give you my word that episode 17 will come out tomorrow, but im too damn tired to do it right now. So here's some funny shit from damnyouautocorrect.com and some random funny shit from the web to amuse you instead.
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What is up with her fingernail? did she just finish burying a body?
don't you love it when you get a fresh shipment of these?
Her sister is Magica Montana Juarez
every face expression is priceless
that wall painting.. it speaks to me.
the horse on the left is also for pleasure
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What is up with her fingernail? did she just finish burying a body?
don't you love it when you get a fresh shipment of these?
Her sister is Magica Montana Juarez
every face expression is priceless
that wall painting.. it speaks to me.
the horse on the left is also for pleasure
This is your captain speaking...
As I mentioned, I was in fact going to the beach. I know that probably confused many of you, as you assume sunlight would in fact cause me to burst into flames. Even assholes need vacations, and so I visited South Florida.
I could talk about the douchebaggery that runs rampant on Ft Lauderdale beach during the 4th of July. I could talk about the strange and unsettling new fasion of men wearing their shorts and swim suits far FAR below the appropriate point. I could talk about sun burns and drunken frat boys, but oh no. Despite the hatred I may have of all these things, nothing comes close to my anger, my rage, my homicidal and justifiable fury for... air travel.
So tonight, I will rant. I will rant because if I don't I may come that much closer to indulging in the psychotic fantasies that bounce around in this sick skull of mine. But where to start? The glorified security attendants on power trips trying to overcompensate for the fact that their position is somewhere between stewardess and the guy making hot dogs in the terminal? Or should I talk about the fat republican pricks in suits that think the airplane is their personal office, and have the fucking nerve to tell me my ipod is in the way of their laptop, newspaper, cell phone, and trendy grande mocha fucking latte? No, no...if there's one prick imparticular that twists my nuts more than any other it's the mother fucking pilot.
First, let's remember that he is a pilot. He's not a captain. He's not in the airforce or police department. He's a fucking pilot and he should be glad to have that title.
And why is it that all of these pilots seem to have a serious speech impediment? "Ahhhh.....we're going to be taking off shortly and...ahhhhhh....then we're going to fly around a bit and...ahhhhhhhhhhhhh..then probably land. Hopefully on a runway." Because it's those corn field and elementary school landings you really have to watch out for. Is he getting a fucking BJ from one of those flight attendents? Is that why I can never get one to bring me a goddamn vodka?
For one thing...is his speech really so different for every flight that he can't have this shit somewhat memorized? "Thank you for flying ________. Today we'll be flying from ______ to ______ and we may have some turbulance that makes you start praying to gods you've never believed in just so that you won't die amidst the inbred mildly retarded sons of bitches you're sitting next to." Same shit. Every flight. No need to steer from the standard. Is it really that hard? Do you really need to make like a Junior High class president that mixed up his cue cards? That fact that you are unable to put nouns and verbs together into sentences does not fill me with confidence as to your ability to fly a commercial airliner.
But that's okay. I need not worry. Even if this linguistics genius isn't able to keep the plane aloft, I'll be fine. How do I know that? Because I paid close attention to the stewardess giving the safety instructions before takeoff. I know where the exit rows are. I know that my seat cusion can be used as a floatation device. I also know that if the cabin should become depressurized a jock-strap will come down from the ceiling and I'll be able to breath. But what if the bag doesn't inflate? That's okay, because air is still flowing even if the bag doesn't inflate.
So since I'm completely relaxed to a nearly zen-like state of calmness and clarity, I can lay back and enjoy the trip. As long as by "laying back" I am content to go from 90 degrees to 94 degrees. Why do the seats even pretend they recline? If you bought a lazy boy recliner, and it reclined by 4 degrees, you would shoot someone in the face. It's bullshit, and it goes to bullshit levels.
Some of you are probably thinking "Aww, c'mon... planes aren't so bad..." And for you that may be true. But you are not me, and I am not the person these planes are built for.
Let me explain... I'll make this a really clear picture:
You know how sometimes you get on the plane a little early, and you're watching everyone else file through the aisle after you? We all think the same thing at this point, "Hey! Maybe it's not a full flight! Maybe nobody will sit next to me, and I can use that extra empty seat like my own personal desk and buffet table!" I know, I think it too. But there's also the realistic side of your brain that says, "SOME FUCKER IS GOING TO SIT HERE! I just hope it's not an ugly person, or a fat person, or a fat ugly person, or an old person, or someone that looks like they might talk alot, or someone that might snore really fucking loud..."
So you watch the people filing down the aisle, and you start picking out who you hope sits there, and who you REALLY hope DOESN'T sit there.
"Okay, skinny little blond girl. That would be great. She's got some clevage showing and might be intoxicated enough to get me into that special airplane club. Worst case she passes out and I can stare drunkenly down her shirt. Oh shit, not that guy... his hair is matted in clumps and he's wearing his underwear on the outside of his pants..." As the attractive girl passes and the smelly man sits elsewhere, you start weighing your options.
"That guy's practically a midget. I hope he sits here! He could probably just curl up under the seat!" Be wary of the elderly women. They are small so physically they work well for air travel, but when you're trying to sleep, read, or mentally masturbate about the blonde, the old woman will be showing you pictures of her cat and telling you about her last trip to Hoboken. 3 hours of that is worse than the underwear guy.
Then you see me, and you think, "no...no...please...no..." I start to slow down, and you see me reading the seat numbers. I'm closing in on you. "FUCK!"
Why? Because I'm a big tall loud fucker that looks like he could be incredibly flatulant. The only thing worse than hearing about Fluffy's hairball for the duration of the trip is having to sniff beer farts. Although in my experience, old women are incredibly more gassy than me. Although you could probably knock off her glasses and steal some nice glacoma meds out of her purse, so there's a silver lining to everything. That's me, the everlasting optimist.
So after 2 flights, 9 mini-beverages, 4 cramped legs, and 1 less lighter, I am home. And godbless this place too.
As always, love, peace, and train rides for you all.
I remain,
- G
POISONsperm: the comic - the 4th of july (special!)
In addition to episode 16, here's a special short for the fourth of July. Happy fireworks day everybody!
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Poison Sperm: The Comic - episode 16 - rude awakenings
And now...the long awaited epilogue to the Tiki-World story arch...posted early because tomorrow I'm at the beach, bitches!
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Dear Mr. Ruben...
I found this letter sitting on my computer. I wrote it about a year ago in reponse to a column I read that asked for feedback. Specifically it asked, "What I Think" about Obama's administration so far, and the future of Americ. Well I can't turn something like that down. This is a little more political than I typically fire off, but I figured...what the hell? I would love to hear some feedback on this myself.
Dear Mr. Ruben,
What do I think... that's quite the loaded question. I suppose it all comes down to what I see vs. what I'd like to see. What I'd really like to see is fairly straight forward. The big things: equality, safety, freedom, the things that typically come to mind when one thinks of America in the abstract. I'd like to see a nation of people that are intelligent, educated and analytical. I'd like to see a nation of people that care.
We broadcast to the world in 2008 that we were that nation. We said loud and passionately, "We want a new direction!" "We want change!" "We want to move forward instead of back!" But then we said, "We want it overnight, and we don't really want to work to hard to get it!"
So we put an intelligent, capable, progressive leader into the office, and we kicked our heels up onto the coffee table and said, "Knock yourself out, Mr. President."
When Mr. President didn't deliver in 18 months, we reacted like a group of spoiled children. We said to the other parent, "Daddy Democrat isn't being nice!" and we elected a group of right-wing extremists that seem to live with the preconception that equality means, “My ignorance is equal to your intelligence!"
Now, we may differ on how much the wealthy should be taxed, or whether the federal government should have control over local schools, that's fine. I can appreciate discussing those issues with an educated, aware person of differing opinion. No problem. Let's do it. But when you come to me and say, "Get government out of small business!" and "We want less government!" while at the same time holding signs that say, "Abortion is murder!" and "No Gay marriage!" then we have a dilemma. Saying government should get out of small business, but get into the wombs of mothers and the beds of gay couples is more than slightly hypocritical. Really, what you are saying is, "I want the government to leave me alone, but become deeply involved in the lives of people I disagree with."
So, what I think... that is the purpose of this little rant, isn't it? I think we have a long way to go. I think that as advanced and civilized as we see ourselves, we are still consumed with greed, and ignorance, and prejudice, and all those other petty motivations that we'd like to think ourselves above. We are waist-deep in bull excrement, and we're celebrating the fact that we aren't neck deep.
I think we had a wake up call in 2008. The people in this country want things to be "better" but we aren't really sure what that means or how to do it. We are ready for a change. We are ready for something new. We are ready to move forward and meet the potential that is hiding deep within the subconscious minds of the dormant American Dream.
We are willing to stand united, but we need to stay motivated. We need that voice that speaks what we're all thinking. In 2008 that voice was Obama, and our support dwindled because we felt he lost focus.
Imagine, the President of the United States being a little busy. Ludicrous. But the voice is still there. It may have lost the vigor it had in 2008, but that proved that we can hear it, and when one person says it out loud we say, "Hey, I've been thinking that too!"
With our voices linked in harmony, we have the potential to rise like a wave again, pushing forward with the single message that we can all hold on to, "There is a better way, and we are ready to move forward!" We are ready to move up. We are ready to move out of the old ways, circling the drain in a downward spiral of self-depravity and lackluster apathy. We are ready to move on.
Sincerely,
- G
Dear Mr. Ruben,
What do I think... that's quite the loaded question. I suppose it all comes down to what I see vs. what I'd like to see. What I'd really like to see is fairly straight forward. The big things: equality, safety, freedom, the things that typically come to mind when one thinks of America in the abstract. I'd like to see a nation of people that are intelligent, educated and analytical. I'd like to see a nation of people that care.
We broadcast to the world in 2008 that we were that nation. We said loud and passionately, "We want a new direction!" "We want change!" "We want to move forward instead of back!" But then we said, "We want it overnight, and we don't really want to work to hard to get it!"
So we put an intelligent, capable, progressive leader into the office, and we kicked our heels up onto the coffee table and said, "Knock yourself out, Mr. President."
When Mr. President didn't deliver in 18 months, we reacted like a group of spoiled children. We said to the other parent, "Daddy Democrat isn't being nice!" and we elected a group of right-wing extremists that seem to live with the preconception that equality means, “My ignorance is equal to your intelligence!"
Now, we may differ on how much the wealthy should be taxed, or whether the federal government should have control over local schools, that's fine. I can appreciate discussing those issues with an educated, aware person of differing opinion. No problem. Let's do it. But when you come to me and say, "Get government out of small business!" and "We want less government!" while at the same time holding signs that say, "Abortion is murder!" and "No Gay marriage!" then we have a dilemma. Saying government should get out of small business, but get into the wombs of mothers and the beds of gay couples is more than slightly hypocritical. Really, what you are saying is, "I want the government to leave me alone, but become deeply involved in the lives of people I disagree with."
So, what I think... that is the purpose of this little rant, isn't it? I think we have a long way to go. I think that as advanced and civilized as we see ourselves, we are still consumed with greed, and ignorance, and prejudice, and all those other petty motivations that we'd like to think ourselves above. We are waist-deep in bull excrement, and we're celebrating the fact that we aren't neck deep.
I think we had a wake up call in 2008. The people in this country want things to be "better" but we aren't really sure what that means or how to do it. We are ready for a change. We are ready for something new. We are ready to move forward and meet the potential that is hiding deep within the subconscious minds of the dormant American Dream.
We are willing to stand united, but we need to stay motivated. We need that voice that speaks what we're all thinking. In 2008 that voice was Obama, and our support dwindled because we felt he lost focus.
Imagine, the President of the United States being a little busy. Ludicrous. But the voice is still there. It may have lost the vigor it had in 2008, but that proved that we can hear it, and when one person says it out loud we say, "Hey, I've been thinking that too!"
With our voices linked in harmony, we have the potential to rise like a wave again, pushing forward with the single message that we can all hold on to, "There is a better way, and we are ready to move forward!" We are ready to move up. We are ready to move out of the old ways, circling the drain in a downward spiral of self-depravity and lackluster apathy. We are ready to move on.
Sincerely,
- G
POISONsperm: the comic - episode 15 - the death of poisonsperm
Looks like the gang is in a jam... I wonder if they'll make it...
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POISONsperm: the show?
Step right up and take a gander at the latest, greatest sensation ever to grace your screen! That's right, it's the fire of satire, the fit of whit, the rockingest shockingest vulgar talkingest, most mockingest experience of your life!
POISONsperm has gone the way of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. We've gone to movies. So make some popcorn, pour yourself a drink, and enjoy...
(if it's taking a while to load, watch it on youtube instead. It goes much faster)
"How Wiffle balls are made"
As I clicked through the "news" on yahoo.com this evening, I almost thought I wouldn't be able to keep with my shtick of making fun of it. Whether or not I found it relevant, it seemed to be stacked with actual news stories.
The first story that caught my attention was regarding a $100,000 razor. Yeah. As if I would spend 100 grand to kill my sideburns. To quote that article, "Its blades are made of sapphire and its handle contains metal from crashed meteorites." Okay, fuck the sideburns, I want it. They sold me in one sentence.
Some of the other articles included:
"Clooney's ex heats up Web"
A puff piece to be sure, but he's a celebrity and the media are whores. I get it.
"First lady shines in Africa"
I doubt there's much in the way of politics in this article, but it is news.
"Outrage over $5 tap water fee"
Remember when water was free? Remember when you could just drink it from the faucet or from the hose refreshing yourself on a warm summer day? Still...I spose this is somewhat a legitimate article.
"Top 10 dirtiest foods"
I was about to pick this one, and then I realized they weren't talking about cucumbers, hot dogs, and other phallic shaped treats.
Then I saw it. It called out to me. It said, "G! Hey, G! I'm here! I'm here just for you! I'm here to fuel your anger and rage at society and the world! Embrace me!" And I did. Tonight's rant is sponsored by...
"How Wiffle balls are made"
That's right my friends. As the 2012 election grows ever nearer, Soldiers across the world die each day in never-ending war, and a new Twilight movie looms in production...thank the good Lord above that we are kept informed by those news sources that we put so much stock in. Thankg God All-fucking-Mighty that we are finally able to know how the fuck Wiffle balls are made!
To think, there are children in third-world countries that can't afford text books in school, and they may never know how the great sport of Wiffle-ball builds it's primary weapon!
Really? Really, America? Is this worth our time?
I want you to think hard and really imagine this. Take the time to build a mental image of how this works. Somewhere out there is a person. This person has a desk. On this desk is a picture of this person's family, probably some sort of cute little inspirational desk toy, a coffee cup that says "I hate Mondays," and an assortment of pens, pencils, and sticky notes.
So this individual, we'll call him Jerry, Jerry comes into work on Tuesday and there's an e-mail waiting for him. It's marked "Urgent" and it's from his boss. Well Jerry knows that time is of the essence, so he quickly opens the e-mail.
"Jerry, we need you to scrap that piece you're writing on the off-shore drilling of baby pandas and get on top of this BREAKING NEWS! How the fuck are Wiffle balls made!?! The American people want to know! Get this story on my desk by 5:30 or you're in the bread lines tomorrow!!!"
Enough with the build up. Let's see what this steaming pile of excrement and cum has to offer in the way of entertainment value. I'm betting it's incredible.
On a side note, I want to make something clear. I don't read these articles until I start writing these rants. I choose the article solely from the title and splash sentence, because that's what they use to lure you, and that's where the real bullshit artist makes their mark. So, let's read this together, shall we?
(I am enclosing a link to the article below so that you will know I'm not exaggerating the true depths that humanity will plummet to for the sake of a by-line.)
http://finance.yahoo.com/career-work/article/112975/making-a-wiffle-ball-wsj
First things first, the actual title of this article once you get to it is, "Making a Wiffle Ball." Well that's not really as dramatic as the splash title, all thought it does pull the reader in. This is no longer a documentary about the great American (or Mexican, Indian, or Chinese) Wiffle ball-maker. No, siree. We're going to bring you into the story and make you part of the action! Strap on your fucking seat-belt, Dorothy! It's about to get WILD!!!
Fuck! The author's name is Joshua. I was pretty fuckin close though, wasn't I? I mean Jerry...Joshua...right, so... Joshua...where have I heard that name before? Oh, that's right! joshua is a Hebrew name meaning "Jehovah is salvation!" Oh lawdy! My friends, it is no coincidence that this man's name is biblical in origin, because what we have right here is the fucking Holy Book of Wiffle ball manufacturing.
Skipping down a bit...and..what? provided by the mother-fucking cum nugget shit stain bitch fuck fart-pissing butt bubble the goddamn WALLSTREET MOTHER FUCKING JOURNAL!?! I...I...there are no words. My anger and loathing has reached a plateau, and I have now entered a state of Zen-like tranquility. Ah, fuck, it's over. Now I hate the world again.
So we start with a tour of the company. The Wiffle ball company. What's it called? Wiffle Ball Inc. Of course it is. How could it be called anything else?
The tour, with all of it's intricate details, background, site-seeing, and...wiffling...takes 20 minutes. 20 minutes? my last bowel movement took twice that long! (in WiffleWiffle ball factory!"
Even more impressive is that the entire tour is summed up with two sentences. "The top floor is used for packing and storage. The ground floor is offices and the machine that spits these little fuckers out." Actually we could make that a compound sentence and cut the tour in half.
More amazing still is that the staff consists of a whopping 15 employees. And we wonder why there's an unemployment problem in this country. 15 employees that makes thousands of balls a day. For that matter after the 5 minutes of explanation as to what a Wiffle ball is, there's still time left over to formally introduce yourself to each of the individual workers.
Of course you can't write a suspenseful article like this without showing just how useful and incredible the Wiffle Ball really is. So impressive that "Wiffle Ball has had orders from couples who wanted their names printed on bats so they could give them out as party favors--at their wedding." I'm going to disregard the fact that the article suddenly gives up on trying to make Wiffle balls entertaining, and instead turns its attention to Wiffle bats.
In all honesty, though, this had to be one hell of a wedding. Wiffle bats for everybody! Picture a large wedding party. Lots of drunk desperate men and horny self-esteem lacking women...all with plastic bats. The only thing more entertaining would be an order of Wiffle bats for a Divorce hearing. Now that would be a Kodak moment.
The closing of this article may be the most fitting that even I could ever conceive. Almost as if he knew how embarrassed the author must have been to take on such a ridiculous piece of bullshit, the article ends with a quote from the owner and heir to the Wiffle fortune, Mr. David J. Mullany, "Let's not overthink it. It's Wiffle Ball." More poetic prose have never before been uttered.
And with that fine conclusion, I thank you for dropping by and letting me vent the psychotic fucking hatreds that make the moon howl at me. Stop by next week for another installment of the POISONsperm Chronicles. Same Poison time...same sperm channel!
As always, love, peace, and erotic Wiffling to you all.
I remain,
- G
Poison Sperm: The Comic - episode 14 - the water's fine
And with 2 minutes left...it is still posted on Sunday
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"10 unexpected traits guys love"
I've been so obsessed with the visual aspects of this site that I damn near forgot to continue the less illustrative qualities. So from here on out I'll do blogs on Wednesdays and the comic on Sundays. That is of course unless there is such an outcry for a daily comic that I can't contain myself and I am forced to quit my day job and do this bullshit 7 days a week. That would just be...horrible...
So, down to business. These blogs had always been pretty random. They have ranged from greviances of politics and religion to personal anecdotes about my daily life. Neither lends itself to much of a running theme. Then, today, I had an epiphany. Lighting hit my brain.
I was logging into yahoo, home of my e-mail and other things that allow me to find a few moments of distraction throughout the day, and I read an article titled "10 Unexpected Traits Guys Love." Suddenly, all at once I realized that I need to write blogs about insipid bullshit faux-news articles that line this masterful place of art and intellect known as the internet. So here we go.
I'll start with the aforementioned article because I think you may have an idea where I'm going to go with it. I'll list out the traits, 1-10, as they appear in the article.
1. When you bear it all
Of course it seems pretty obvious that men like naked women, but this seems to be referring to situations in which women don't wear makeup. Well of course we prefer that. You slather on the paint like some cross between a whore house and a carnival, and you think we like that? Who the fuck wants to fuck a clown? Okay so there's probably a fetish for clown-sex out there somewhere, but it's not exatly a mainstream school of attraction.
I think I should clarify. It's not that men are more attracted to women that don't wear makeup. We don't want to see every zit, pimple, boil, scar, scab, pock, gash, spot and birth defect on your face. We just want you to wear makeup that makes it look like you aren't wearing makeup, and your skin really is flawless. Do you understand?
It's not that difficult of a concept. We appareciate the lie so long as we don't know it exists. And to the writer of this fucking article, understand the concept BEFORE you start slinging your ridiculous nonsense.
2. Your belly
I'm not really sure how much I need to go into this one. It goes into detail about how men like a belly that is a little round, or "soft and feminine" and that all the ab excersizes aren't necessary.
Some of you ladies that are reading this are already thinking "Double deserts tonight!" but again, the writer misses the point.
Men don't want a fat gut on women, we just don't want you to have more defined abs than we do. We want you to see weak and soft but still attractive, so that we, by contrast, appear stronger and harder. If you have ripped abs and we have a beer gut we suddenly feel emasculated. It's like a woman making more money than us or being taller.
Hey, women have their issues and we get ours. You can be self-conscious that you're sister's tits are bigger, or that co-worker has less stretch-marks, and we get to fret that you have more muscle than we do. It's just the way things work. Choose your battles.
3. When you do that thing you do
Well this is just a fucking cop out. Of course men are attracted to the little quirks that make someone unique like "singing off-pitch in the shower." I mean jesus fucking christ, if you're in a relationship with someone and their eccentrisities annoy you, it's probably not the greatest relationship you could pick. I can't even talk about this one for more than a paragraph. Moving on...
4. When you toss the dryer
This right here proves to me the article was written by a woman. How do I know this? because men have no idea what you do to your hair. We just know sometimes it looks a little sexier than normal. End of story. We have no details, nor do we want them.
5. Your eyelashes
Aeon Flux. I'm not going to say anything else about this. Every guy that grew up in the 90s and watched MTV has an eyelash fetish.
6. Your legs
What part of "unexpected" did you not expect? That's right. Who the fuck knew that men liked women's legs? I bet I can already guess number 7! Is it, "breasts?" No, it must be "pussy."
7. Your style
If you're significant male partner is really that attracted to your style, you should probably get the strap-on ready.
8. Your scent
This one really twists my nuts. Do you know why men like the way a woman smells? Because their male friends smell like beer-farts and body odor. that's why.
There is no gender mystery here. There is no "wide awakening" Women don't suddently "get" men because they know we like that they smell like cocoa butter or lavender instead of hangover piss.
I do want to vent a little about something related to this though. That scent is a fucking ploy. It's bait. Once a relationship evolves you're right down there to soda burps and burrito farts just like the boys. And quite frankly those of you that DON'T start burping and farting once you have a man commited bother me even more than those that don't. Why? Because people that don't burp and fart have the same expression that members of congress have. Constipated.
9. When you ask for what you want
You know what? I take back what I said. Maybe this one specific example WAS written by a guy.
Think about it. What if every woman actually told you what she wanted, clear and concise, honest and abrupt. "Honey, I would like you to take out the garbage and then I will blow you." Done. "Baby, if you hangout with my friend's tonight you can fuck me in the ass." Let's go. I don't even need to finish watching the Colbert Report for that one. DVR that bitch and let's move.
On second though, asking for what you want is only half of it. Telling us what we get if we do what you want completes the picture.
and last but not least....
10. Your job
sure. As long as you don't make more money than we do.
And that's it. That's the new formula. I bitch about random news articles that are complete insipid, pointless, and otherwise a waste of space. Hey, at least this way you are entertained and I get to bitch about the fact that our economy is in the shitter, the Right-Wing fundamentalists are beating us over the head with their republican bullshit nonsense on a daily basis, our education system can't beat third-world countries, and Michelle Bachmann hasn't outed herself as a tranny yet.
Don't we all feel like better people?
As always, love, peace, and republican trannies for you all.
I remain,
- G
Poison Sperm: The Comic - episode 13 - life decisions
As promised and on schedule, episode 13.
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Time to put a schedule to this mutha...
So for numerous reasons, primary of which is my inability to keep things coming out at a reasonable regularity, I'm going to make a regular schedule from this point out in order to keep things flowing. I promise to do my very best to stick to it. So here we go...
New Comics on Sundays (They may be posted late on Saturdays, but I figured I would give myself the extra time since I may be too drunk to complete it on Saturday)
New Blogs on Wednesday (I should be pretty hateful of mankind by midway through the week. The perfect time for rants)
Special Posts on the 9th of every month (why the 9th? I have no idea. It seemed like a good day. This one is subject to change. Special Posts will be things like extra long issues, videos, animation (in progress) and other things)
If you promise to come back on Sundays and Wednesday, I promise to make this shit entertaining...if only to me.
New Comics on Sundays (They may be posted late on Saturdays, but I figured I would give myself the extra time since I may be too drunk to complete it on Saturday)
New Blogs on Wednesday (I should be pretty hateful of mankind by midway through the week. The perfect time for rants)
Special Posts on the 9th of every month (why the 9th? I have no idea. It seemed like a good day. This one is subject to change. Special Posts will be things like extra long issues, videos, animation (in progress) and other things)
If you promise to come back on Sundays and Wednesday, I promise to make this shit entertaining...if only to me.
Poison Sperm: The Comic - episode 12 - the rape panthers
Hey, I'm getting better at turning these out on a weekly basis... I apologize ahead of time for the direction this storyline is going...but I had to do it. I blame the demon inside me.
(click to enlarge)
(click to enlarge)
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