Archive for the ‘Enraged Baboons’ Category

Environmentalists: Unstable Freaks.

Wednesday, June 25th, 2008

Close your eyes and let your imagination take you away to a pristine wonderland of fire flies and protest marches. Where all people are treated kindly, and greeted with a friendly Elven melody and picnic by the lake. The primary goals of this mystical society are to worship squirrels and consume seaweed, and everyone walks around in robes, chanting like an injured whale. If you decided that all this magical land talk is flagrantly shit, then you might be wondering what the deal is with these goddamn environmentalists. They’re so fucking stupid. The first thing that comes to mind about environmentalists is they are all statistically proven dickwads, and the second is their rank bodily odor.

Most hippies will tell you it’s evil to eat animals. This is because they are missing a chromosome. Lions eat other animals all the time, and I don’t see any stank environment hoes going up to lions and saying, “excuse me, um lion? could you like, stop eating animals? k thanx”. And it’s not like humans eat the rarest animals. Restaurants don’t serve any goddamn “ornate eagle ray” burgers, or “Siberian tiger” milkshakes. I don’t see “cows” or “sheep” on the endangered species list, and although hen’s teeth are rare, I’m pretty sure that’s because hens don’t fucking have teeth–not because chickens are extinct. So the next time some vegetarian complains to me about the meat I’m eating, I will spit my half chewed panda burger at her goddamn eye.

Pandas, Tigers, Ornate Eagle Rays: nobody even eats this stuff.

Most hippies originally gain their psychotic tree loving urges at second rate universities, where they enrol in, and fail, arts degrees. The general kick ass nature of modern universities ensures that loser freshmen will be automagically excluded from all forms of social activity. This turns their first year of study into a resounding disappointment. So the next year, as a form of social self defence, these mentally malformed miscreants tend to join left wing organisations, like tree loving societies and communist crews. Communist crews usually don’t have the same stigma of tree sex that hippie groups typically exude, but they deserve a mention because their membership is also comprised of people who you used to beat up in highschool.

Over the years there have been thousands of tree fucking societies, but the only plan they ever come up with is to get arrested on camera while yelling about Ghandi. It is the same plan every goddamn time. I often wonder what goes down in these planning rooms. I think the main guy would say something like: “Hey, remember how we protested about 74 times, accomplished nothing, and got the shit beaten out of us by the cops? Well we could solve global warming by doing that again!” Expert officials were quick to warn these protesting idiots that nobody gave a fuck about their goddamn ramblings, however hippies have been slow to heed this advice. Some inside sources say this is because hippies are fucking lobotomized hamsters.

Strip Mines are a perfectly logical part of preserving our Earth, as is seal clubbing.

Environmentalists were cool in the ’60s, when they used drugs and women. But now they’re a bunch of pansies that annoy me. The most annoying hippy subset is the political hippy. The average hippy politician has what he feels is a solid platform of policies, which basically consist of chanting “trees make air” repeatedly, while masturbating and listening to Enya. Environmentalism would be cool if more drug dealers and rock stars supported it, but that would require hippy politics to involve things like chopping down trees with platinum chainsaws while snorting cocaine and listening to Iron Maiden. And I don’t think that gels with the average hippy’s political mindset, which, by all accounts, revolves around a hallucination of four gay leprechauns square-dancing in a barn.

Environmentalists also hate zoos, and all zoo-like establishments. What the fuck is wrong with a zoo-like establishment? Haven’t you ever seen a lion sitting around in a tiny cage all day? Those guys just love that shit! In the wild, lions live in cages anyway, so I don’t know what the hell these tree fucking insect collectors are going on about. Strung out hippies rave on about how keeping pets is mean. But I have some news for these lice infested motherfuckers: I don’t think many cats complain about living in an air conditioned house, as opposed to cozy residences in a sewer with the delicious gourmet meal of a diseased rat corpse. Next these hippies will propose a ban of technology and a return to life on the land, then society can finally dismiss everything they ever say, because they will have become Amish.

See how happy this caged lion is? Also note how radiant this whale carcass looks.

Hippies are also opposed to harpooning whales. Do we really want to sacrifice the lucrative global blubber industry just so a few million pieces of rubber can send retarded sonar vibrations around the ocean? The proper answer is no. Any fool can see that it’s politically correct to rid the ocean of all whales. This will finally allow a sacred alliance of giant squid to rule the seven seas. Also, if it turns out that we actually needed whales for something, like a giant wall of aquatic sand bags, then it’s not like we won’t be able to grow one in a laboratory by next June. As soon as Christopher Reeve makes it okay for humans to build biological monstrosities, then scientists can make all the whales you want. You can even take home a cloned gerbil, on the house–you beast loving son of a bitch.

Perhaps the most damning thing about enviro-scum is that they have some mysterious opposition to the basic human right of mining nuclear material. How the hell are we supposed to give the world it’s critical supply of explosions if we’re not allowed to pursue God’s pristine aim of stripping the Earth to its barren core? If we aren’t allowed to mine uranium or plutonium, then what the fuck are we going to mine? Pandas? I don’t think so buddy. It has now been conclusively proven by a worldological expert that hippies are boring losers. In fact, if you look up page 743 of the Concise Yo Wassup Dictionary, you’ll find a picture of me cutting a fucking tree in half with a sword.

Gambling: Domain of the mouse-minded.

Wednesday, June 25th, 2008

Kids need to learn more about life at a younger age. That’s why I want them to serve as croupiers in casinos. Gambling can teach a kid wonderful things about life, such as the fact that your entire destiny is cruelly based on some random chance. Ethiopian kids will be able to put their lives in a much better perspective if they realise that their chances of being born in a rich part of the world were like those in a game of craps. And they rolled a pair of snake eyes. No need to feel bad about it boys, just drown your sorrows in the alcohol that, as native Ethiopians, you cannot even afford.

But we’re not here to discuss poverty stricken Africans. We’re here to learn about gambling. The best thing about gambling is that it involves rewards that come without effort, and the second best is that you can speed up this process by cheating. Usually you shouldn’t cheat at a casino, because they have lots of excellent anti-cheat measures, which you have no doubt seen in the scientific documentary “Casino”. The best places to cheat are at illegal gambling dens, where everyone carries a six-shooter and wears spurs. It may seem risky to cheat at these places, however, luckily they are usually populated by the dregs of society, who are too busy soaking themselves in bottom-shelf bourbon to pay any attention to your cheating ways.

World History of Gambling

If you have ever been to a casino though, you know what I mean when I talk about desperate freaks. The places are filled with what look like used car salesman, betting the house on one final shot at a chance to own a third share in a prize greyhound syndicate. Always with the syndicates. Gambling people are obsessed with that type of shit. They keep detailed logs of their exploits, noting precise figures about hands dealt, hands lost, and of course profit. We had to come to profit eventually, and it’s the funniest part. These brain-dead hyenas go to the trouble of keeping logs for years on end, yet at no point during that period do they find the time to note that they have earnt precisely minus a hundred thousand dollars in the last three years. They just keep on going, hoping things will get better; like a beaten wife, three years into an abusive relationship.

So what you have is a bunch of fucking delusional freaks running around the casino, clutching next week’s pay check, which they got on credit by hocking their TV set, and they’re all trying to believe that this night will be any different from the other. It’s pretty fun to watch these sad creatures, and every time I see somebody lose it all, I wonder why there aren’t more Columbine-like scenarios in Casinos. After some consideration, I have scientifically concluded that the reason is because Casinos were officially invented by organised crime. Not even a psycho fucks with organised crime.

Corporate Crime Mob War Lords

That’s a great part of casino culture: even if you have no gangster friends of your own, you can at least have the privilege of hanging out in a gangster-owned establishment. And, if you are lucky, you will be able to take heaps of gangster money [and towels, soap, bed linen, pillows, television sets, bedside dressers, etc.] home with you. This method of (il)legitimately ripping off gangsters has officially been named the “haha, you can’t do anything about it” method of doing business, and has proven popular with people who drive decked-out white Cadillacs down the Vegas strip while under the influence of ether, lsd, and mescaline.

Another fun thing to do at casinos is make up all types of weird shit in order to confuse people who actually take it seriously. Instead of saying things like “snake eyes” to acknowledge a pair of 1’s, I like to shout something like “triple white-rhino”, or “moose-hoof twelve”. I think this fits in with my overall career goal of finally becoming a bingo announcer. Instead of saying things like “legs eleven,” I will stick to more helpful and socially responsible commentary, such as “Hahahahaha. You are all old. So the competition is over, and I have won.” Hopefully the old people would then return to their wallet making duties as I made off with the loot.

[ PLEASE NOTE: After an urgent scientific enquiry, I have decided to classify gambling as “shit”, because although gambling can be fun at times, the best part of it is to just watch the addicted people lose their houses. In a depressing, yet astoundingly funny way, it makes me realise how fucking pathetic 16.5% of society really is. PS. Mobsters rule. ]

Blogging: It’s for Lard Arses.

Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008

One of the hippest new trends amongst complete fucking tools is to keep a blog with all your suicidal thoughts in it. Blogs are bullshit diaries where some pussy cries about how lame his day was, and how much he hates his life… meanwhile, we’re supposed to read this load of turd every day and provide thoughtful responses. Please. Give me a fucking break. If I ever catch a blogger on the street I’ll give him a Columbian necktie. The sheer amount of people out there who think others are interested in their daily routine is mind boggling.

Now you can show the whole world why no one listens to you.

If you’re a superhero, mafia kingpin, or porn star, I want to read your blog. If not, can you please get a new fucking hobby? I’m sick of all these depressed losers talking shit about how they hate acne and homework. “My teacher sucks,” “My favorite band aren’t playing until November,” “My girlfriend dumped me,” guess what winners?! Nobody fucking cares about your house-brown pedestrian lives; you pigs make me sick - find a new trough to wallow in.

It’s not like teenagers have anything proper to be depressed about. The most important event in a teenager’s life is the MTV music awards. To illustrate my point, here is a simulated blog entry I prepared earlier:

Life is stopid              [Apr 22nd, 2008|07:06 pm]
[ mood |  aggravated ]
[ music | Nirvana ]

Life is so dumb and stopid.

Today my teacher tried to make me do work he is so
stopid who does he think he is doesnt he know girls
just wanna have fun

But no I cant have fun because life is stopid and i
hate everything like this morning i tried to eat my
favorite breakfast which is nutfeast but can u
believe this there wasnt even any nutfeast what is
wrong with my stopid mom??? doesnt she realiz how
important nutfeast is to my broken heart why is life
so dum and hard i just want to have fun like cindi
lauper but now i will haf to kill myself.


link                                      comments [0]

There should be a new law that forces people to have an interesting career if they want to publish a blog. I don’t want to hear about Good Charlotte fans who forgot to do their homework, I want to hear about a kick ass Romanian lion tamer who hunts down Russian criminals for fun on the weekends. I want to read the blogs of Bolivian drug barons, European playboys, and Jewish bankers who rule the world. Instead, all I get is some dumb animal crying about her broken necklace. Fuck the world.

Monkey see Monkey do, go FUCK yourself.

Most amusingly, these blogging freaks think they’re being unique. They all believe that typing a few sentences of garbage each day into a generic template makes them an original website owner. Every single one of these sad monstrosities chooses to ignore the 1,000,000+ other blogs that are languishing in obscurity out there on the web, in the lame belief that their subnormal thoughts will somehow convince the world to drop everything, get to a computer, and focus on their pissy little diary. Christ, what a bunch of morons.

If you observe these depressed teenagers you’ll notice some similarities. They all think they’re highly talented and intelligent. Another predominate trait is the belief that they are different from others and deserve special treatment. But looking closer, we often find their cryptic claims to intelligence are at best dubious. When asked to prove how smart he is, the depressed teenager will usually retract in fear: in his mind, simply declaring himself smart and original was enough to prove he was a genius - he had never considered the possibility of having to demonstrate his abilities.

amen to this.For a bunch of smart people, these depressed freaks often turn out to be surprisingly dumb. They claim to be highly creative and unique, but if they are, then why do they all act the same? They all write sorrowful blogs, they all used to be goths, and they are all total lamers. The only unique thing about these fools is their fingerprints - although these may have been sliced off during their goth phase.

And in a nutshell, that’s the problem with almost every depressed teenager. They’re insecure, stupid little wimps who hide from their shortcomings by pretending to be something they aren’t. They aren’t tortured and they aren’t talented; they’re definitely not unique. They’re just a bunch of average chumps trying to get some cheap attention. They’re chasing the trend, wherever it may lead them. Eternal Fan Boys.

telemarketers: To be considered foxes, and therefore hunted.

Thursday, April 17th, 2008

Overall, the telephone has proven to be a pretty useful invention, but it’s become clear that some categories of people should just be fucking banned from using it. These people have proven time and again that they are annoying losers, who need to be shot in the heart. It’s pretty obvious that I’m talking about telemarketers. Mostly because this page is named ‘telemarketers’, and there are pictures of telemarketers. But even more than that, it should be obvious because you’ve all been annoyed by telemarketers in the past, unless you live in the Bangweulu swampland of Zambia, in which case you’re probably viewing this webpage using an abacus hooked up to a morse code machine.

But back to the topic at hand. These telemarketers aren’t just annoying, they’re the goddamn definition of stupid. The idea of commerce works because people go to a shop when they want to buy something, not when the shop wants them to buy something. If shops were like, built on the top of giant trucks, and one day your door bell rang and starbucks was outside asking you to pay $6 for a coffee, I’m sure you’d tell them to get the hell off your property. The concept isn’t a hard one to grasp: if I want to buy your shit I will look you up in the phonebook and give you a call, champion.


The moral of the story here is to not take any shit from these motherfuckers. They are not selling anything you want; they’re reading their information out from a goddamn sheet. And when they make a sale they hang up the phone and laugh at you. Yes, that’s why they always sound so fucking gay when they speak to you, it’s because they’re not even speaking to you, they are reading to you. These telemarketing companies employ 16 year old drug addicted high school dropouts to man the phones and read from a sheet. These little bitches can be annoying, but luckily they are easily defeated in battle, as they have not been taught much in the ways of the phone warrior.

Experienced telemarkewhores are a whole different ballgame. These bitches have been studying the art of annoyance for many years, and are capable of making you feel guilty for hanging up at any moment in the conversation that isn’t one of their own choosing. It can be very difficult to defeat these medusas, unless you remember one vital rule: all telemarketers are spineless scum-creatures who sold their soul to the devil long before you ever met them. So the next time you start feeling guilty about hanging up on a telemarketer, you should just get her address, go to her house, and cut her fucking head off.

I hope they get brain tumors and die.

People who work in call centers are also fucked in the head. They treat everyone like assholes, just because they have to deal with a few retards every day. Well fuckwits, if you didn’t want to deal with the odd retard here and there, then you shouldn’t work in a goddamn call center. It’s a well known fact that call center operators have to deal with a fairly high percentage of idiotic calls, but that isn’t the fault of the average person. So these smarmy gits should learn to lighten up when they serve me. I hate these fucking public servants who think they can treat everyone (by everyone, I mean: people who are superior to them) like shit, just because they made the supremely idiotic career decision of actually working in such a retarded job.

This surly and bitter attitude is present in all dreg of society occupations, most notably the highschool canteen lady, administrative educational staff of all kinds, and nuns. Hey, you guys wrecked your own lives, that doesn’t give you the right to try and fan molecules of your own turd existence into my daily affairs by acting like complete anus biters. All public servants should be officially relegated to a lower social class. That way I could ceremoniously slap them on the face using a glove with a brick in it if they ever showed the slightest sign of disrespect toward me.

Mr. Miyagi: He will kick your ass.

Wednesday, April 16th, 2008

Today we investigate the life of government strongman Mr. Miyagi. Mr. Miyagi is known to have killed at least 94 bad guys in his life and also has won a medal for being an alcoholic. Other achievements of Mr. Miyagi include inventing karate and Japan.

Mr. Miyagi will chop off your face.Mr. Miyagi can solve all problems. Even problems which involve nuclear attacks and the mafia are nothing for Mr. Miyagi. Mr. Miyagi can do anything, including fly. Other things Mr. Miyagi can do include drink 18 gallons of alcohol and break car windows. It is also rumored that Mr. Miyagi invented rice and pelicans. Some observers are quick to note that Mr. Miyagi is small, and they wonder if he is very tough in battle, but the durable Mr. Miyagi has a protective coating of Japaneseness which is able to withstand any attack.

If Mr. Miyagi had to fight against a monster he would win. Even if the monster had super powers, Mr. Miyagi would still kill it. The fight would start out in an arena with Mr. Miyagi and the monster circling each other. The monster would have a spear and Mr. Miyagi would have a weighted net. There would be a large audience wagering quatloos on the newcomer. What I am trying to say is the beginning of the fight would for some reason be exactly like an episode of Star Trek.

Mr Miagi KO enemyHowever, this paltry arena could hold neither a monster or Mr. Miyagi for long. After a while the monster would do a running football tackle against Mr. Miyagi, forcing the elderly Asian man to skyrocket into the air in a gigantic spinning lariat attack that would propel both Mr. Miyagi and the monster through the walls of the arena and out into space. At this point it is prudent to note that both monsters and Mr. Miyagi can survive in space without a spacesuit.

Mr. Miyagi would then chop the monster’s stupid face off with his fists until it was dead and then swim around triumphantly in its blood. This would be a reminder to all the monsters out there not to pick a fight with a karate master. Then Mr. Miyagi would fly back to the arena. Daniel san would appear and congratulate Mr. Miyagi. Mr Miyagi would pull out a giant pair of chopsticks and catch Daniel san like a fly, then he would flip him out into space. At this point it is prudent to note that Daniel san cannot survive in space without a spacesuit.

Mr Miyagi teaching how to kick ass.Experts have predicted that if Mr. Miyagi opened a world-wide school of awesomeness he would have at least 78 million students within the first three seconds of enrolment. Subjects at the International Mr. Miyagi School of Awesomeness will include how to beat people up and how to become more Asian. Intensive Asianology classes will be held for students who are unfamiliar with the overall Mr. Miyagi culture. To graduate from this presitigious college you will need to kill at least seven bad guys with your bare hands and also possibly a knife or gun.

Upon graduation from the Mr. Miyagi School of Awesomeness you will officially rock and there will be professional recognition in the form of a badge. Gifted students will also be punched in the face. What the hell do you expect from us here, a scholarship? We’re a school of awesomeness, not a charity. The Institute of Mr. Miyagi Rules will pick certain graduates to conduct top-secret international assignments involving death and the King of Asia - all graduates who refuse to accept a mission will be shot in the head.

Mr Miyagi pimpin\' it upLet’s review why Mr. Miyagi is awesome: he is strong, asian, and he invented pelicans. Some scholars have disputed the claim that Mr. Miyagi invented pelicans but these people were all crazy and are now dead. It is important to note that neither Mr. Miyagi or I were involved in the deaths of these scholars. Of course law requires me to state that Mr. Miyagi’s DNA was found at the crime scene, but this irrelevent “fact” has nothing to do with everything Mr. Miyagi says being correct.

Let me put it to you this way gangsters. If you mess with the Miyagi crew some dude is just gonna walk up and stab you in the head. Then you’ll be lying in the gutter with your face stabbed off and the last thing you’ll think of before you die is that you shouldn’t have messed with the Miyagi crew. Then some guy will stamp his cigarette out on your chest and say “seeya, wouldn’t wanna be ya,” then he will say “Miyagi-Side: you and I know it’s the best side.”