being bored and alone just made my day.

08.14.2009

Co-Worker: "This is some good ass cheese! Try one!"
Me: "I've never tried it, but ass cheese doesn't sound too good to begin with."

.............

I'm not sure whether to report the guy, but my co-worker keeps coming in to work sneezing and coughing, complaining about a fever and shit, then says he has to stop by the mall and a bunch of other places. If he doesn't keep his fever and sickness at home, I'm going to start thinking he's some kind of terrorist.

.............

07.17.2009

Flyer of the Day

Broadcasting live from a Queens studio,
we're taking over the airwaves of the interwebs!

Shoutouts to:
the Artists formerly known as Second Coming
the 35th St. Fam
Shaq and the Buddhist Monk Squad
Baby Girl
and Bug Biters Worldwide

Birthday shoutouts to:
Rain
Angelica
AJ
Darcy
July Babies Worldwide

07.01.2009

I want to play this...


I think I have developed penis elbow from being unemployed.

06.25.2009

Today, at work, after months of complaining, the boss lady got us a new water cooler for us to gossip around. While everyone was busy talking about everyone else, I drank the shit out of that water. Now, I feel sick and water-drunk. I think I might need to get my stomach pumped.

On anotha' note, here be some gospel gangsta' rap fo' yo' ass!

06.17.2009

I have recently gained interest in a newly created game called, Luncheons & Sandwiches.

I am currently a Level 1 Vegetarian Noob.
One more week and twenty-three more green beans might move me up a level.

Let's just hope my roll of the dice is twice as nice as my pizza slice and eggs with rice.

I have noticed that my poo has been smellier, which can only mean one thing:
The lack of meat in my diet has super-humanly enhanced my olfactory senses.

Whether I will be using this newly gained ability for the power of good or evil is still a mystery.

Stay tuned to find out what happens next.

In the mean time...
Watch this.



It's the letter A!

06.03.2009

This is the winning ticket because it's got the bomb diggity numbers.

05.30.2009

It's the last saturday of the month.

And you know what that means......

TOMORROW'S SUNDAY!

05.29.2009

Dear Diary,

I hate you stupid fuck dick shit dog ass eater. Didn't get a call from any of the fifty jobs of which I have applied within the past three weeks, so big fuck you dog fuck eat lick her in the anus touching balls! Thank you.

Signed,
Prickly Moses

05.20.2009

I am currently offering my services as a Full-time Boobie Identifier.

Guaranteed to let you know whether a particular thingamawhodad is a boobie or not.

Sources might say that my hands are inexperienced, but I ensure you all that my hands have seen much boobie touching via the internet, and everyone knows that the internet transforms amateurs into pros if you absorb enough information.

Employers can contact me through pricklymoses.blogspot.com.

I need a job whether it's hand or blow because I'm tired of watching strippers dance at shows. It's all the same. A cocktease and a nude show. Either way, I'm going home with blue balls.

05.14.2009

Even though I wasn't in school, the school semester is finally over, which means it's time for me to make a summer resolution. Having said that, my summer goals are to find another second job and learn myself how to engage in the latest, modern dance moves to appeal to the community of hipness and such.

For starters, I am giving myself lessons on how to Roger Rabbit with the best of them. Watch out, Best Dance Crew TV Show, because I'm going to tear that linoleum up.

I have got to get me one of these...



These too...

05.11.2009

This shit just brightened my day...

...especially at the 1:17 mark.



Alonzo Bodden cracks me up.

05.09.2009

Beer #2
Green Lakes Ale

This beer has just made it as number 2 beer on the list. What it is that I'm listing has yet to be determined, but that's the kind of shit that happens when pretending to be drunk. After careful analysis of this beer, I have come to the conclusion that the taste of pocket lint far surpasses that of this beer. However, it does strongly compliment the taste of Eskimo burgers with extra mustard, but my one question is, "Where in the hell do you find Eskimo burgers?"

If YOU have any information as to its whereabouts, let another know.


*Editor's Note*
Holy snotballs...
Green Lakes Ale is real?! I really thought I just made it up.



On that note, this beer might be good and it might be bad. All I know is that you are all entitled to your wrong opinion.

05.08.09

Somehow, I dated my last post as April Fool's Day. Of course the stupid 4 key has to be right next to the even stupider 5 key. This keyboard is very lucky that it's the only one I have, otherwise, I'd totally wipe my ass with it.

On another note...

I've discovered that googling "Prickly Moses" and clicking on the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button will produce none other than a website about beer. Because of this, I will be adding updates and reviews complaining about the beers that I am not drinking and how they're getting me drunk.

Beer #1.
Madhouse Stallion

I'm not sure if this beer is the bomb, or if it even exists, but if it did, I'd probably be throwing up all over my chest wondering why my haireolas aren't hairy. One cup of this beer felt like soft clouds of air pillows stuffing my tummy until flatulation. This beer deserves three stars out of eight, just barely making the list of top ten beers that don't exist, but if they did exist, I'd definitely be getting drunk after one and a half pints. If ever you should encounter this beer, please contact me so that I can take this off of the list I just made up. Thank you.

And now for a commercial break brought to you by T-Wisdom...

04.01.09

Due to a lack of new things to complain about, Customer Service Complaints has officially been renamed to Prickly Moses. Please note that complaints will still be filed by the author.

While we wait for the transition of things, gather your children and partake in these lovely commercial breaks...


I need a translator for this one...


this is what the world will look like in 6 years...


Michaelangelo must be the Tommy Toker of the group...


and this sir, is the funny remix...


and last but not least, my most favoritest commercial as a kid...

04.28.09

I have finally reached the end of the internet. It took me a little less than 20 years, but I have finally found it. I can finally go about my life and find that girlfriend I've always read about people having on the adult websites. If it wasn't for the internet, I'd have never learned how to talk to a woman. Who would've thought that all you needed was a sausage pizza delivered to her doorstep? If it wasn't for the internet, I never would've known how to survive a zombie attack.

Because of the internet, I haven't gotten any action. I must not be utilizing my resources correctly.

Looks like I missed the whole middle of the internet. Oh well. Back to exploring.

This game should keep you busy, as it has kept me busy for a good part of my day.

Enjoy.

Peace, Love, and Boredom.

Happy Birthday Rome!

After a short conversation with her talking about something I was paying very little attention to...

Her: Blah, blah, blah, etc.
Me: I'm actually heading this way. Do you need a ride?
Her: Well, I don't want you to go out of your way.
Me: It's all good. I can take you. You can ride in my Mercedes.
Her: Oooh. Well, I guess, if you really don't mind.
Me: Aaaight.

We walk to the parking lot and stand next to my Kia Spectra.

Her: (Looking around.) Where's your car?
Me: This is it.
Her: You said you had a Mercedes.
Me: Mercedes is the name of my car.
Her: Hahaha. Stupid.

She jumped in anyway and didn't give me any action, but at least I got a girl to sit in the passenger seat of my car. I wish I had a picture...

Bicycle Day '09

According to the wikipedia.org, today is Bicycle Day.

In honor of today, I will be driving the car around aimlessly until I get bored enough to go home.

On another note...
I just got paid, and somehow, I have already exhausted 90% of it, with nothing to show for it. FML?

03.02.09

01.15.09

I just stuffed my face with thirteen free slices of pizza and a quarter of a whole ice cream cake from work.

As lucky as I pink to gorgonzola stereos, I heart I'd best rather typewriter the peppers.

01.11.09

Do you wanna catch a cold with me?

11.12.08

I'm going to grow my toenails horrendously long, and after two weeks of wearing the same pair of unwashed socks, I'm going to pay someone to pedicure them for me. I will take pictures for your viewing pleasure.

11.05.2008

I may be dumb.

There was all this talk everywhere I went, yesterday, about voting this and voting that. I thought to myself, "I've never seen so many people excited about voting for the All-Star game, especially this early in the basketball season." Then, I found out there's some new guy elected as the president. Don't know what all the fuss is about, but I'm really glad that this person has been elected because I overheard the water cooler talk at work and apparently, tequila really does make her clothes fall off.

Jamal Pirruth for President 2012.
I'm Jamal Pirruth and I approve this message.

10.22.2008

Rock the vote!

I don't plan to vote, but if ever I do, it will be when the presidential candidates settle their differences and determine who is the better selection through a dance off. I doubt that will ever happen, especially since the television keeps telling me that the economy is heading towards a depression, and usually depressed people prefer to drown their sorrows through heavy drug and alcohol abuse.

Another suggestion I heard today was that drugs should be legalized because taxing drugs could help to fuel the economical growth of the jungle world or some shit. I stopped paying attention because the idea seemed completely dumb to me. If the government made it a public thing that they were taking over the drug production and distribution industry, drug dealers all over America would have to find a job, thus making it that much more difficult for me to find a job.

Ehh. Enough about politics because I don't know shit about it.

On a more exciting note, I bought a twelve pack of condoms today, intending to one day put it to use, but knowing that realistically, they will sit hidden in my drawer well past the expiration date. As embarrassing as it was, it sure as hell felt good knowing that the cashier was thinking I was about to get laid twelve times in the very near future. I did, however, give away two condoms to two co-workers who are notorious for partaking in inappropriate behavior in the bathroom, which I no longer visit because of them. But after giving away those two, it felt real good to know that those co-workers were thinking I was going to get laid ten times in the near future.

On a more pissed off note, my consistently late manager complained to me about how I was late for work today. Normally, I'm on time and on point with it to the very minute, but today, I decided to take my time, making me 13 minutes late. After ignoring my manager's stupid lecture about time management, I checked his timecard and noticed that for the past two weeks, he's been more than 17 minutes late for each day he had to work. Ain't that some bullsnot?! If I don't get my raise, and I know I'm due for one within the next week, there's going to be a lot of stuffed up things bound to happen.

Back to the beginning, I should be elected president. I'll make sure that all U.S. citizens have full access to a can opener. I'll make sure that gas prices get higher, so that citizens will have a good reason to request a raise from their employers. And I'll promise to never press the red button, no matter how tempting it may be.

I'm Jamal Pirruth and I approve this message.

A day off of work plus boredom equals thoughtless thoughts and shit.

10.12.2008

asoidgvasij

Tomorrow begins the 27th yearlong celebration of a great man's birth. So, everybody raise your cups, bring out the ice cream cakes with strippers, gather with friends at a strip club, buy new stripper shoes, do cartwheels in parking lots of strip clubs, be lazy and sit around at home naked, or whatever you choose to do, just celebrate like it is your day...with strippers.

On another note, my manager at work was being a douchebag to me. Talking all this smack about how my desultory mind causes me to be contumatious. He's just mad because I only do work to propitiate myself because I openly contemn the fact his managerial skills aren't up to par.

On another another note, I have been trying to find really big words with the intent of openly insulting my manager, but not get in trouble for it. I told him today that he looked bescumbered, at which point, he looked at me like I was an idiot. I wish I could see his face when he found out the definition.

Tomorrow, I shall inform him that he's such a great manager, he probably has hirmiscus.

09.28.2008

09.24.2008

Happy Birrethdayt!!!

(according to the Wikinepdiad's collection of possible truths)...to Sir Arthur Guinness.

In celvebaration of this well known knight, I have taken the opportunitiy to bring in a six pack of Guinness beer, and drink it at work. Lucky for Sir Arthur and I, the boss decided to take the day off just so I could take a break from this disease they call sobriety. Well, that's not the real reason she took off, but I like to think it is.

While at work, I managed to accomplish a little more than nothing. Aside from re-alphabetizing the alphabet, in order from my favorite letters to my least favorite, and checking up on world news in Micronesia, I was able to find the time to collect denials for phone numbers from females that seemed to laugh at everything I said, proving the saying, "If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything," false, especially since they all refused to hop on one leg and high-pitchedly bark like a dog.

This makes my batting average 0 for 8 today. Damn bitches.

I'm still at work, and I'm beginning to realize how much I hate being drunk, especially since I'm pretty really drunk. It's all good though, because when I'm not drunk, I'll probably still be drunk off of root beer.

On another note, my parents kicked me out for a day. I'm not too sure why, but something tells me they built a laboratory in their bedroom to build more babies, so hopefully, I'll have a younger brother who can bring home the legally aged bitches for me. Someone mentioned the idea to me that maybe my parents were trying to have sex, but I don't think they would do that, because that shit would just be gross. Either way, I need to kick that perseon's ass for even trying to put that idea in my head.

Now, I'm about to leave work, and I need to figure out what to do with my time. Maybe I'll just go bowling, and hope it magically turns into a strip club.

Somebody save me...

09.12.08

California Admission Day '08

"Epic fail!!"

Some young girl at work called me an "epic fail." She continued to laugh in my face and spit at my feet because of the news around my job. Apparently, some dumb ass kid, who happens to be really close buddies with the big boss, was upgraded to be an authority figure above me. Somehow, a child, who has recently discovered what it's like to legally consume alcohol, not to mention that he also has only maintained a GED, while having no type of college education or experience, has excelled further than my non-ass-kissing ass. I'm pretty sure I am capable of handling his job with much more efficiency, but because he happens to be good buddies with the big boss, and because he doesn't know how to use a condom, he gets the upgrade in job and pay and shit. Some bullshit that is. Needless to say, I told that name-calling girl to shut her mouth before I stuff it with something small and hard, and she did, but a small, hard part of me really wished that she didn't.

I'm about to start processing babies, so I can have an excuse to move up on the corporate ladder and begin to slave drive under-valued employees like myself. To make matters worse, I paid for this kid's drinks a few months back, and this prick didn't even bother to give me the money he had promised when he "forgot to bring cash with him." I seriously want to pee on his child.

I guess that's life. And in celebration of life, I'm going to play with my ding-a-ling, and watch my wastes of life dry themselves up on the wall of shame that stands in front of me.

On a brighter note, a female accepted my offer to dinner and a movie. Unfortunately, she changed her mind when she saw how surprised I was that she accepted my kind gesture, but I guess that's life. And in celebration, I will be touching myself, daydreaming of what should have been, while listening to some Celine Dion.

It should be an interesting evening.

I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here?

09.01.08

http://www.naptime.com

08.27.08

Gadzooks!

Have you ever wondered where the term "Gadzooks!" originated? Well, I haven't, which is why I'm going to explain it's origins.

Actually, I'm not.

But according to the internet, the term is "an exclamation: a euphemistic shortening of God's hooks (the nails on the cross)." And we all know, the internet doesn't lie because if the internet did lie, it would be called a newspaper.

I forget what website I quoted that from, and accuse me of plagiarizing all you want, but I haven't plagued anybody, so if you must make an accusation, accuse me of leaving behind trails of gas in commonly frequented areas of my workplace.

Somehow, I ran into this video.



What the hell were his parents thinking when they named him Child?!

Darn hippies!

National Heroes' Day '08

I'm baaaaack!!!

After a long, seemingly endless flight from Beijing, I have returned to my home base, and sad to say, I have no medals to show for it, even though I competed in nearly every event possible. I'm not too sure what I was thinking when I decided to compete in any of the water events, especially when I know for a sure fact that I lack the ability to swim or even tread water. However, I am proud to say that after my diving event, I did pee in the little jacuzzi bath that all the participants jump in after jumping out of the pool.

The only event I didn't take part in was any and all equestrian events because we all know that horses are Superman's kryptonite, and although I'm no Superman, I'd sure hate to see what happens if I mounted some big-donged beast and lashed it with my cat-o-nine tails.

I was planning to put a bid for a future Summer Olympics to be held at my house, but I'm pretty sure my parents would get really pissed off, leading to an expansion of their hatred from my group of friends to the rest of the world, and there can definitely be no good stemming from that.

The Olympic Sorta True Fact of the Day:

The five rings on the Olympic Emblem originated from the first and only Olympic event available in the first Olympic Games. That event was 'The Ring Toss.' Each country selected one individual to toss all five rings onto a ring-catching pole. Considering that back in the day, only a couple of countries were known to have existed, there were very few contenders. But of course, the inventor of the game, according to US patents, Roy L Keim, representing the city of Wichita, in the country of Kansas, reigned victorious, as he knew the only cheat code for the game, which still retains the value of confidential information. The cheat code still remains one of the most sought after secrets known to man.

Who'da thunk it?

Hip, hip, hooray for Andres Bonifacio!!!

08.08.08

Who's bad?!

Some young buck at work tried giving me direct orders today. When he returned from lunch, he found out I didn't do as I was told, so this goober twat decides to snitch on me. (What a fuckin' bitch!) Consequently, I was written up and warned that if I was disobedient again, they'd either fire me or start cracking them slave whips on my dirty ass. What I'm wondering is how the hell am I getting written up. It's like I'm in high school all over again, only in high school, I never really got written up, so I guess maybe it's not like high school all over again at all. Either way, this mother hugger kept giving me hard looks all day, threatening to kick my ass through his whispers just low enough as to prevent me from hearing, though I'm not too sure what the whole point of making threats are if they can't be heard. I'm sure he's just dealing with issues of an abusive father and a neglected childhood filled with drug-related behavior and rebelliousness of being a spoiled, rich kid, so I'll give him leeway for his inappropriate behavior, but if it happens again, I might not be so lenient.

On the brighter side, I finally picked out that hard piece of snot that's been tickling the top of my nose for the past three days, and damn it feels good. It's like my head is ten pounds lighter. The only sad part is that I am no longer laughing with every inhalation of breath when the booger bomb would tickle my nasal cavity. For this relief, I would like to thank the pinky nail I neglected to clip away for a straight two months. If I had clipped that nail along with the rest of them last week, I may still be stuck with this boulder snot in my nose. If only my old school booger wall wasn't irreplacable, I might've kept the golden nugget for safe keeping. I'm just happy that I didn't breathe in that booger because if it found my way into my mouth, it would've been really gross.

So apparently, the Olympics started today, and I never got my phone call from the committee to inform me that I would be contending in the Power Walking event. I am officially pissed out over this. Oh, well. Anger is the least of my worries. Especially, since there are conditions far worse from my own currently occurring in this world and shit, like the fact that the homeless population is dropping, which can only mean that I could be moving down in economic status from somewhat poor to almost very poor. Then again, I'm not one to hate on the success of others, so "good stuff" to the homeless people back on their feet, unless of course the drop of population of homeless people means that they're dying, then...you know..."not good stuff" and shit. Forget it. You know what I mean.

Q: Why didn't Jamal Pirruth earn money as a comedian?
A: Because his jokes made no sense weren't funny!!!

Hawai'i Flag Day '08

Because I'm an idiot.

I called out sick for my new job today, and it's only my 4th day on the job. I guess you can call it playing hockey, but it did allow for me to finally get in all that sleep I've been missing out on. Close to 24 hours of sleep, minus a couple of peepee breaks in between, made for excellent resting time to dream.

In one of my dreams, I was walking down an alley until I was a good viewing distance of the money truck across the street. The firecrackers thrown in their direction began to pop, causing the guards to draw weapons as they looked around to see where the shots were coming from. I run across to the truck, watching the officers fall on a puddle of their own blood, grab a bag, and run. When I turned around, my eyes met with those of an injured officer across the street. Looking at the barrel pointed in my direction, I begin doing juke moves, in hopes that my timing will save me from the bullet headed in my direction. A dark figure appears from behind the officer, and with one quick spark, he was facing the ground. As I run down the street, I bump shoulders with another child who looked exactly like me. We both fall, but he gets up faster, either trying to get away from someone or somewhere, or trying to run towards the danger I had just left. At some point, I woke up with a boner, which soon unbonerized itself after having brief thoughts of squirrels trying to pick at boogers growing on trees.

My monthly horrorscope for the month of August says, "Beware of the dangers that lurk ahead. As lovely and enticing particular offers may sound, there is a hidden agenda that may possibly lead to some bad shit. Money will start to bless you with its presence, but be careful because as the old saying goes, 'The more money you come across, the more strippers you see.' Be thoughtful and all will be well."

I don't know what all that shit means, but I'm really looking forward to seeing these strippers.

Put your flags up!

07.21.08

I had a dream...

...that I was walking in a dark cave. I kept feeling something small hitting me from all angles. It felt like small pebbles being thrown in my direction. There was barely any light, so I was unable to see where this bombardment was coming from. For some reason, I got a huge boner. Actually, I'm not especially talented, so it wasn't huge at all, but it was a boner nonetheless. After walking around aimlessly in circles, with my hands up to feel my way around, my fingertips came into contact with a string. The moment I pulled that string, a light from an unknown origin shined down, only to reveal that I was surrounded by women in bikinis each holding their own jar of sweet gherkins, throwing them at me, one by one. And in a flash, my cell phone/alarm clock told me I was going to be three minutes late for work. And three minutes late I was.

After extensive research at the local library to discover the true meaning of it all, I have discovered that I am in dire need of a power tools. If I were to have a power tools with me, I could visit the local beach and ask women in bikinis to operate each piece of heavy machinery, while I take pictures to share with the world on the eighth wonder of the world that they call the internet.

Until then, this will have to do.



From the dream me version back to the dreamy virgin.

Quatorze Juillet '08

Kids these days...

A close relative of mine calls me up to hang out. He was talking all this jive about getting drunk and partying and shit. As soon as I arrive to hang out, this fool asks me to take him to the grocery store so he could do his food shopping. So, I drive two-and-a-half blocks down and drop his lazy ass off. After waiting close to 30 minutes, he finally gets back with his two paper bags filled with milk, cereal, cigarettes, and whatever the hell else he needs to survive. We get back to this fool's house, and he asks me to do him a favor. "Can you babysit Bruce while I go run down to the liquor store real quick?" Bruce is my six year old nephew, and since I hadn't seen the young gun in quite a while, I accepted his offer.

This little kid was one of the most whiniest kids I've met in a long time. Five years ago, he didn't even cry this much. Little thug complained about being bored and wanted to play Wii, but I'm not much of a Wii'er. Declining his offer, he complained about being bored again and decided that I can choose the game. It's been a while since I picked the game to play, and it was a shame that this kid didn't have any Ninja Turtle s or G.I.Joe's. He didn't have any Transformers. Little man didn't even have any Legos. All he had and all he wanted to play was the Nintendo Wii. I would've been down, especially since the controller looks almost the same, only a little slimmer, but this fool didn't have Mike Tyson's Punch-Out, Arkanoid, Dr. Mario, Super Off-Road, or Anticipation. I tried to school him on what the hot shit is, but he just started to call me wack. Saying shit like, "Man, that shit is played out!" and "That was so last year, old man!" A few disses later and he was staring into the corner, while I flipped through the channels of his new TV.

He want to play Wii
but then he tried to play me
We did not play Wii

Day 190 of '08

Does it ever make sense?

I finally got off of my ass and stopped by an employment agency. Somehow, my typing speed of 86 words per minute with 99 percent accuracy matched with my extreme depth of forklift operation experience was not enough to land me that job as a male model. As weird as it sounds, my fast typing fingers and ability to maneuver heavy machinery in tight places qualifies me for a job as a washing machine and dryer loader for 7 bucks an hour. Unfortunately, it's not loading those machines into a truck, but loading linens into those machines. It's like all those years of bullshitting has gone to waste. Knowing that I can do much better than load dirty sheets and shit into a washing machine, I left the agency, leaving a piece of specially picked snot onto the 5th floor button of the elevator. That'll teach them to waste my time with stupid paper work and computer tests when all they can offer me is a low-wage job.

That was just the start of my day. I also applied for a position as a piano teacher, knowing damn well that I haven't the slightest idea how to play it. They told me I was way too experienced to be working with them, and that I should look else where for a more suitable position. I guess it didn't help that I told them I've played for symphonic orchestrators and shit.

For the better, I spent a few hours with a homeless guy at the park, playing the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game in honor of his 50th birthday. Needless to say, I whooped his ass in the game, mainly because he had not watched television in close to 20 years and he really had no idea who Kevin Bacon was. I couldn't believe he never even heard of the Jimmy Dolan Shake and Bake. It makes me wonder how the hell he survived because it's a known fact that everyone gets re-energized by their television, at least before the invention of Red Bull. I still can't imagine life without the O.C. and Jeopardy. I did learn a few things from Mr. Homeless, though, like the berries on the south side of the park are completely safe to eat, and fresh maple leaves make for good toilet paper when you run out of fast food napkins. Those little survival tips are some of the little things that get me through the day. The most important tip I was able to pick up from the man was to never drink from the water fountains, no matter how thirsty you may be, because they are often improperly used as bidets when no one's looking. As a kind gesture of my appreciation, I gave him a little monetary donation, which will probably end up in either a drug dealer's hand, a liquor store cash register, or in a giant pot from a game of dice. I may never see the guy again, but I hope he made the right choice and spent it on a Kevin Bacon movie.

Dumb Joke of the Day:

Q: How do you spell a goat with three legs?
A: You throw it into a tree!!!

Sometimes, when people call me stupid, I pretend they're speaking that country slang and I say to them, "I'm stupid fresh, yo!"

07.02.08

Makes you think...

Have you ever wondered how the Earth suddenly changed from flat to round? Well, after conducting extensive research at the local aquarium, I am now able to provide a full, descriptive explanation as to how things got the way they are today.

Elderly scholars whom had already grown old and dementedly senile decided to have an opposite day, which led to the Earth changing from flat to round. At the end of the day, they said, "Let's never again have an opposite day!" And since it was opposite day, every day became opposite day. Eventually, dinosaurs died off after building the pyramids and carving Easter Island rock heads and shit, and everyone just adopted the Earth being round as fact.

It is to my belief that the Earth is flat because how else could I stand in one spot and not lose my balance. Have you ever tried to stand on a round object while eating a bagel? Well, I have. And the bagel fell cream cheese down.

And that is how fish learned to fly.

Have you ever seen a fly fish? Well, I have. It gave me a boner.

National HIV Testing Day '08

Dear Palmolive,

I found a bottle of your dishwashing soap the other day. Though it wasn't expired, it definitely gave me plenty of watery poo. I've discovered that mixing it with hot chocolate or cappuccinos does not give it the type of extra foam I was looking for. I do hope that you take this letter seriously, and take my advice that you further experiment and research methods to make your soap less aggravating to the bladder. I'm not too sure if it was the cappuccino or the hot chocolate, but I'm sure the soap played a big factor in the gigantous variety of my poo in one sitting. From pebbles of poo to liquid poo to solid gourds of poo filled with air. As much as I have enjoyed your product, I was disappointed to discover that I was unable to make fart bubbles. The only advantage I have found to your product is probably the knowing fact that my brown starfish feels squeaky clean. Keep up the good work and if possible, try to make gooder work. Thank you.

Signed,
Jamal Pirruth

Madagascar Independence Day '08

Dear Chef Boyardee,

I recently ate one of your microwavable lasagnas three months past its expiration date. I found it in a dumpster, where, I'm guessing, it was thrown into when a squirrel without disposable thumbs realized the impossibility of cracking open the tin can. The noodles and the orange sauce resembling spaghetti sauce miraculously tasted like how it looked on the label's picture. Aside from the green stain on my teeth, everything seemed to work out fine. I did not have any problems with urinating out of my asshole, nor did I feel sick or fatigued from food poisoning, so I would almost consider myself a happy camper. (All I need is an RV.) I only write you this letter to ask that you share some food secrets with Mrs. Fields, so that other "past expiration date" eaters don't suffer from the horrible experiences I've had with her' goodies. I'm sure Mrs. Fields would let you try some of her cookie in exchange for your noodle, if you know what I mean? Please continue to make expired food better, and I will continue in the rally for the support against Raggo and Pregu sauce and shit. Keep it real and stay cool because mama ain't raise no joke.

Your pal,
Jamal Pirruth

Surfing Day '08

Surf's up!

Dear Mrs. Fields,

I am very disappointed in your individual cookie product. I found one of your expired, yet unopened chocolate chip cookies in the dumpster, and found it to be very delicious. It was a soft batch cookie, and I most definitely prefer those over crunchy ones because crunchy ones aren't usually soft. After eating your cookie, no more than 8 minutes later, I was running to the bathroom with the shits. Even after I was finished, wiped, and cleaned, I dropped more liquid poo before I even pulled my pants up. I will never eat one of your expired cookies again. I hope you will conduct research to fix this problem because until I hear of such research, consider me an anti-Mrs. Field's expired cookie eater. Thank you for your time and have a nice day.

Signed,
Jamal Pirruth

Dude!

Juneteenth '08

Freedom!

I've finally applied for my unemployment benefits, and I hope they pay me big money (I'm talking Wheel of Fortune big money) because I work really hard at not working. If it wasn't for hard working non-workers, like myself, the world would be too busy to see life fly by. How else do you think people invent things like rubber bands and light bulbs and shit? By not working. Some people like to call me lazy, but I am very far from it. The difference between being lazy and not working is that not all non-workers are lazy and lazy people don't work. It's as simple as that. In other words, the banana that falls from the tree falls at the same speed as when it's thrown down by angry chimpanzees who can't open a coconut.

It's only been two days, but I've been sitting on this same chair for what should have been 44 hours straight. If it wasn't for my meddling bladder, I just might have gotten away with it. I'm not too sure what the origin of the smell is, but I think something is rotten in the state of my living quarters. It's almost like there is a big secret that is meant to be kept away from me. I'm going to get to the bottom of this, and when I do, I'm going to foil all plans which involve stuff that doesn't involve me.

As for my math lab idea, I've decided not to proceed with plans. Thinking that the majority of 4-year-olds are fools, I tried to peddle one of my equations to them. It went a little something like this:

"Hello. Come hither, child!"
I can't talk to strangers.
"Worry not, for I am no stranger. Now, tell me. How many space bucks do you carry?"
Why are you talking like that? All weird-like?
"Silence, traitor! Do not interrogate your elders!"
Go away!
"I shall, but not until you purchase the answer to the equation, 1+1."
I already know. The answer is 2!
"That is only but one of the answers, demon spawn. I hold another answer which stands much simpler. Even the quick-witted do not possess such mathematical acuity."
There is no other answer, dirty, old man! Now, get out of my face, before I call my brother. He's 12 and he can kick your ass all the way to Rodizio, and that's all the way in the Europe, somewhere! Go sell that, weirdo!
"You are a fool, little one. I shall begone, but know this: I have the best math in town."

As I disappeared, I laughed at the child for not knowing how to add. Perhaps when he grows more hairs on his toes, he will begin to truly understand the power of math and its components and shit.

1 + 1 = 10. This lesson is free of charge.

06.17.08

Fucking work!

How the hell did I work two days of wood carving and end up injuring myself? With a huge gash on my index finger, I can't even go to work to work anymore. The stupid boss told me to take a break and let my finger heal, which means that the stupid boss probably doesn't want to buy me a pity lunch, or take me out on a pity lunch break to the strip club. This is some bullshit. Not to mention, my freaking typing speed has been decreased from 70 wpm to 51 wpm due to my disability. It's all that stupid termite's fault.

I was carving my wood to erect a small statue of myself when a fucking termite jumped out of nowhere scaring the heeby-jeebies out of me, causing my hand to slip, resulting in a pool of blood, which looked pretty damn cool until I realized that a chunk of flesh was dangling off of my finger. To make things worse, working only two days meant I was ineligible for insurance, which means I had to just use alcohol pads, adhesive bandages, and duct tape to ensure a full and steady healing. Thank goodness for duct tape because if I didn't have that roll at hand, my finger might have been broken for good. Sadly, my life isn't over yet.

Since I was sent home early, and probably for good, I applied to a couple jobs, which include a sewing factory and a veterinarian place, but being that I eat meat, the former may be the only likelihood. I'm just hoping I can work at this sewing factory for a couple days so I can learn how to stitch my finger back together.

Using one of the great Eight Wonders of the World, creative thinking, I have taken the initiative to independently study the art of mathematics again. My goal for the next few months is to learn and do extremely well at math, eventually perfecting it to become a master of the art. Besides, according to the news shows on the televisions, math is the new drug of choice for all generations, young and old, and since drug companies seem to suck massive amounts of dollars from the pockets of the rich and poor, I can build my own math lab, and sell math to whoever may be in need of it. In a few years, I'll have built a great client base, enabling me to exponentially push all forms of math out onto the street. From basic math to linear algebra. From geometry to infinity and beyond. Everyone and their mom will be addicted to my quotient producing equations and shit. Divide and conquer!

And they all thought I was a stupid. Prepare to watch me make money, please.

Square roots, imaginary numbers, and tangents! Oh my!

06.13.08

Lucky me...

Since 13 happens to be my lucky number, I decided to not show for work in fear that I would lose my job and/or possibly worse, like getting attacked by crack-driven squirrels. Since I stayed indoors the whole day, I did not get attacked by squirrels, but I did receive a phone call from my job telling me that I was fired for not showing up on my 3rd day of work. (Screw that company and their IT guys!) I did, however, get a call from another job I applied to last week, telling me that they'd like me to start come Monday. I'm a little nervous to start the position being that I applied with a fake resume claiming that I am an expert and master at wood carving. It wasn't completely a lie, since I did spend 5 1/2 months sharpening pencils with a pear knife out of pure boredom until the company went bankrupt. Oh, well. Hopefully, they won't expect too much out of me. I am very thankful for Wikipedia for enabling me to prepare for my job by providing the proper terminologies, so when I show up to work, I'll only look like a complete asshole and not sound like one, though I've been known to make crazy fart noises out of my mouth every now and then.

Wish me luck as I venture into the new world of wood carvetry, and may you one day see my fantastical wooden sculptures of pieces of wood and shit.

Get lucky!

Kamehameha Day '08

Aloha!

I picked up some new slang from the OG's in IT. (By the way, I started a new office job, so my super hero career searching will have to be put on hold because not all of us can be a Superman. Besides, I have yet to purchase glasses to disguise my true identity.) After being warned that the office bathroom is a forbidden palace for the cubicloids, (that's my term for the cubicle desk workers, such as myself) I tried my best today to never visit it. Unfortunately, my lack of bladder control forced me to enter through these forbidden doors that my cubicle neighbors spoke badly of. Upon entering, I found it to be one of the most craziest places ever because inside were the OG's of IT kicking back on fold up chairs, puffing on J's with their laptops ironically on their lap. (Somehow, the IT guys run the third floor and the bathroom happens to be one of their three conference rooms that they use throughout the day.) I say ironically because I normally see people using laptops set atop tables or naked women. They checked me out and after taking a hit or two, they decided I was one of the few who could be down with IT OGs 3rd Floor Division. They began talking about some kind of malfunction with components in the new program, but eventually strayed off into a conversation about "blogs." I had no idea what the hell they were talking about, but apparently, Noof, one of their homies, had "dropped one of the most awesome blogs ever." Now, just from context clues, I assumed that a blog was a shit. Or the shorter term for a butt log. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, I excused myself by saying, "Excuse me, but I must drop a blog myself. I shall return." I went and did my duty, making sure I triple-plyed the toilet seat along with wiping ten times to ensure that streaks would not be left on my inside-out underwear. When I got out of the stall, they started asking where my blog was and if I had used my phone to drop it. I thought they wanted to know if I took pictures of my shit. Walking them over to the stall, I showed them my blog, and they began laughing profusely. After realizing that I had no idea what the definition of a blog was, they joined together to beat me up, calling me a noob in the process. One bloody nose and a bruised arm later, I return to my desk only to discover that a blog isn't a piece of excrement, and a noob isn't another term for a penis. From this experience, I now fully understand why everyone avoids using the 3rd floor office bathroom.

Though I have put my superhero career on hold, I will still be practicing my martial art to ensure that my pimp hand is way strong.

If I didn't have to wait a year to take my paid vacation days, I'd be out in Hawaii, getting drunk with hula dancers, eating roasted pig with pineapples, and trying to get lei'd every 5 minutes.

Aloha!

06.10.08

Holy Ham Sandwiches!!!

I ordered karate chops for lunch today, but the waitress had no idea what the hell I was talking about. Apparently, she must not have gotten the memo I sent out stating that pork will now be referred to as karate since racist cops tend to take offense to any word synonymous with oinker. She told me to visit next door because, coincidentally, there happened to be some type of dojo for kids with some guy named Tiger. (It sounds like a strip club to me.) She must not have recognized me as being a master, so I showed her my SHITCOCK, where she, soon after, asked me to leave. Finding that not many have been making attempts to adapt my techniques, I have chosen to abandon my style, only to create a new and even stronger technique called The PHISH. Originating from ancient scriptures found to be typed in an outdated, incomprehensible language, this martial art's literal translation is "The Pimp Hand Is Strong Hand." With this newly discovered artform, bitches that steal my cash will feel my wrath. Though I am still in the process of translating these ancient papyrus writings that was originally wrapped and tied around a brick possibly falling from an alien planet, I have found one of the important, ingenious adages of which many of The PHISH live by. It goes, "Hoe money for me. No money for you. Yo' money is my money. The fuck you gonna do?" This goes to show that whoever had written these ancient scriptures must've knew what the hell he was doing with his intelligence because no normal person in their right mind would be able to contrive such masterpieceful shit.

Sort of on the same topic, but not, I held two different conversations with womens today, and after a few laughs and an exchange of an embarrassing story, both declined my offer for hot and sweaty sex coffee and further motions for love and companionship? (Stupid whores!) Perhaps I wasn't being persistent enough, but they missed out on the good time they could've had, hanging with an alone, but not so lonely guy like myself. I, then, spent the rest of my day callousing my hands. That's how I learned that driving is a lot more fun when the destination is unknown.

And I found this video, while trying to conduct further research on the whereabouts and origins of this newly developed style of The Phish I just made up a couple minutes ago. Enjoy.



Time wasted well is well wasted time. Whatever that means.

06.08.08

It's about fuckin' time!

I have finally moved one step forward in my dream to becoming a super hero, discovering the two of the many super powers I possess. While outside, in the early mornings of sunrise, I was frolicking on someone's front yard, practicing my Super Hero Intense Tai Chi Of Crazy Karate. It's a new martial art form I'm currently in the process of inventing of which I have shortened the name to SHITCOCK. While strengthening my chi with my kata, a mosquito latches itself onto my sweaty bicep, at which point, I began to flex until the mosquito was bulging my blood. After flexing my muscle to capacity, the mosquito exploded, leaving just it's straw of a mouth sticking out of my arm. I'm guessing the mosquito must've called for reinforcements when it had realized the doom I had put on its soul because a bee came tumbling around, possibly drunk, aiming for my jugular. Luckily, my sloth-like reflexes did not prevent me from being stung. I say luckily because had I not got stung, I would not have discovered my newly found power. As the bee plunged it's little ass-penis in my super powered skin, it jumped off and fell to the ground in convulsions. Though it hurt like hell, I noticed that it's ass-penis was still stuck to me. As I laughed at the dying bee, I realized that I was blessed with mutant powers. For a second, I almost felt like the Incredible Hulk, only not so green and mean. I felt so much more powerful knowing that I had the power to dismember any being to come into contact with my skin, along with the power to inject them with my blood until the point of gluttonous explosion.

Soon, I may have to put my power to the test against my arch-enemies, some of which include the Junk Mail Senders, the One-Up Mushroom, and the Low Paying Employers. Justice will be served, and you can count on that. But for the moment, I will continue to master my SHITCOCK which will eventually lead to my ceremony for being donned a national hero, holding the key to the city and the love of the hearts of good-hearted citizens of my imaginary world I call Earth.

"You can do what you want to do in living color." -Heavy D

D-Day '08

Goodness gracious!

I was on some website talking about how numbers and math can explain any kind of phenomenon, whether natural or man-made. First, it went on about the Great Pyramids and numbers aligning with the stars and galaxical shit. Then, there was some kind of numerical evidence that proves there's a secret society which controls the shelf-life of Twinkies. After reading, I mean, researching for endless hours at the library, I noticed today's date, and things began to make sense. Today's date, being the 6th day of the 6th month in the 8th year after 2000, can equate to the events of today. Since 6+6+8=20 and 20 equals a score, it can only mean that 6+6+8=score, which proves the whole theory of numbers equaling out to letters, explaining the very existence of today. I'd delve deeper into the subject, but the vast knowledge I may or may not possess will make one's brain hurt from information overloading. That, or the information might decrease one's intellectual capacity. Either way, my point is proven.

For years on end, I've been trying to figure out the correct way to fold my hands. Does my right thumb sit atop the mountain of man-fingers attached to my hand, or does my left thumb hold the title of king of the folded fists? This is the type of stuff that smart people should be trying to figure out. These silly doctors shouldn't be concentrating on cloning people, unless it's women with gazongaboobs holding my ice, cold beer for me while I pee. And these scientists need not work out the origins of mankind and existence, unless it involves naked women wearing beer-drenched, white t-shirts. Instead, they should be investing their funds, researching ways for me to finally get laid for the first time. And if their researching works, they should research again so that my getting laid doesn't stop. So, the question stands. Which is the best way to fold my hands?

After extensive research of important events of this D-Day, I would like to wish Ikea, Sweden, and their stunningly gorgeous, Swedish women a Happy National Day.

Sometimes, the lack of sense I make makes me feel a lot more smarter.

06.04.08

Global Warming

I've noticed, lately, that there are too many people out there who don't brush their teeth and don't keep their breath stinking fresh; me being one of them. Sometimes, people don't have access to good toothpaste, or breath mints, or sometimes, there's just people who talk too damn much. That type of shit is fucking up our solar system and shit. It's pretty obvious that the more talking that comes from people with bad breath, the more global warming temperatures go up and shit. This is why I propose that everyone in the universal, stratospherical world shut the fuck up. The less bad breath that enters my air, the less problems we'll face concerning global warming. That's why I'll usually restricticize my views and opinions to the internet. That and because too many people have complimented me on my stank breath, which can't be a good thing, no matter how nice the compliment sounds. When the worldly population is silent, at the end of the day, Earth might just thank you for helping to save its environment with chocolate milk and a ginormous 12 foot long PB&J sub or hero or hoagie, or whatever the hell you want to call it.

Speaking of science: These astrologers over at NASA keep trying to think outside of the box. They're always looking out in space and beyond, trying to find new stars, black holes, and flying nebulae and shit. They stay sending morse code messages to pieces of rocks, which they believe to be some type of alien life form and shit. Not to sound too egotistical, but if there are any living species existing outside of this planet, it's because we flew them out there in a rocket ship. How the hell else could they have got out there?! I got a news flash for NASA. I've just discovered a brand new star existing in our solar panel and shit. That star is me, and I'm over here, bitches. Open your telescopic eyes and watch the birth of a star that will live past the days of telling time of scientifical theorizationizing and shit. And know this: If some bitch's black hole is going to try to consume me, you best believe that I'm going to wear protection. Believe that!

On the more intellectual and sophisticated tip, 2 + 2 = 4. Sip your spiked tea and put your pinkies in the air if you feel me.

These messages were brought to you by an idiotical genius.

06.03.08

Hardy har har har!!!

I came to the realization that briefs are the shit to wear. Especially when wearing shorts with white sneakers. My short story goes like this.

Thinking that boxers are better for breathing balls, I decided to rock a pair with my khaki shorts and white sneakers. A big mistake by me. After enjoying my 5 eggs with rice and sausage patties for breakfast, I went on my daily walk through the streets, highways, and parks to collect any dropped change. After stopping by a Quik-E-Mart for a bottle of V8 juice, I immediately felt my stomach brewing like a pot full of brew and shit. Feeling a flop of flatulence rounding about, I let one loose, with an accidental, little squart to finish it. Me and my boxer-wearing ass felt that shit hit my leg and watched as it landed on my brand new pair of Champion sneakers. That shit fucking sucked. I wouldn't have minded so much if I had jeans on because I'm sure the squart would have just stuck to the inside of my jeans. Instead, I had to walk around all morning with a pair of shit-stained shoes. That shit pissed me hard. I'm going to yell at Hanes if I ever see him, for not warning me that shit could fall out my underwear. To make shit even worse, after pissing on a tree today, when I put my junk back in my pants, i dropped a drop of urine that landed all up on my thigh. That shit was grosser than a grossball made of boogers and snot and shit. They say that if you shake more than once, you're playing with yourself. Well, from now on, I'm going to play with myself after pissing because that sure as hell feels a whole lot better than getting droplets of piss on my leg. That single experience today has learned me that suffocating nuts is way better than shit on the top of your shoe.

Boxers or briefs?
Depends.
You're right. Diapers are way better.

05.30.08

Jumpin' jellybeans!

Lately, I've been having the sudden urge to fix things. Maybe it's a inferiority complex and shit, but because of this urge, I've been breaking a bunch of shit just so I can make an attempt to fix it. The list of items I have broken for fixing includes a stapler, a computer mouse, a cardboard box, a mechanical pencil, a rotary telephone, and a 4th place bowling trophy, all of which I found in various dumpsters in dark alleys while searching for prostitutes. I didn't manage to get laid, nor was I able to find duct tape, so all of those items needing fixing will have to wait until a later date.



In a drunken attempt to impersonate this video, I spent hours throwing quarters at a jukebox, failing with every attempt. Needless to say, Michael Jackson is probably the bomb at the Quarters game, being that he got it into a jukebox slot in one shot. 10 whiskey shots and 3 beers later, I was drooling at the bar, complaining in slurred speech about how I did not want to pick up the 15 dollars worth of quarters scattered around the stupid jukebox that wouldn't let me complete my dream of being a smooth criminal. I guess I'll just have to stick with video games for the mean time. Tough boogies for me.

If it ain't broke, fix it anyway.

05.29.08

Holy commercial breaks!!!



This is the bomb movie.

05.22.08

Ballin'!!!

During my daily treasure hunt for change on the highways, I hit the jackpot and found two dollar coins and a half-dollar. Just call me the modern day "National Treasure." I feel like I got three 7's on the slot machine in the indian reservation casino. I'm going to stay optimistical and believe that things can only be moving on the up. In due time, I should be finding diamonds and salt water pearls covered in pure golden nuggets with 2-dollar bills attached. By then, I should be able to afford a Snickers bar.

The funniest shit happened today. I was talking to this guy, and all he kept complaining about was not having a girlfriend and not having a job. Now I'm no gay, but this guy was definitely looking spectacularly stud-like, with a twinkle in his eye that would make anyone melt. Aside from the piece of snot hanging close to the rim of his nose, he was definitely sexy material. It got me thinking. How did this awesomely good looking guy end up on the streets in a similar situation like my own?! He definitely looked like top model material. After talking with him for close to an hour, I got bored of him and walked away from my reflection. I just hope our lives will cross path once again. In case I wasn't too clear, the funny shit was the booger he had hanging from his nose. I don't know why, but that stuff makes me chuckle within.

I also saw a couple transvestites walking around. Maybe they were just cross dressers, or really manly looking women. Either way, I figured out a way to make money. I'm going to invent high heels for men, each one equipped with footballs, beer, guns, and boobies. This way, men can wear high heels and not feel so womanly. It's going to be the shit. I might have to include a car tool set or some shit like that. Patent office, here I approach.

If a man gets operations to become a woman. Would sex with that person still be gay sex?

05.20.08

Damn, I'm dumb.

Somehow, I made my way to the City of Big Apples. I hopped on a few different trains, making sure I was northward bound, and found the city name to be a bit of a fallacy. I spent a few hours climbing up and down trees, but was unable to find any apples. I did, however, find a few empty soda cans in a couple trees I climbed, which leads me to believe that birds and squirrels do enjoy soft drinks, more specifically Sprite and Diet Pepsi.

The people here are really weird, though. Feeling like I could really eat a pie, I stopped in some pizzeria after taking the train. I thought the hostess inside was really hitting on me because as soon as I entered, she said, "Welcome. Take off your clothes. Make yourself at home." Now, I usually don't take off my clothes at home unless I was going to hop in the shower. And I'd probably take off my clothes if I was to ever get laid, but the moment I pulled off my dungarees, people began to freak out like they never seen a guy walking around with a t-shirt, tighty whiteys, and tube socks on before. I still couldn't figure out why they kicked me out of the place when the fuckin' hostess asked me to undress for her. That stupid bitch. Next time, I'm just going to undress myself without their invitation. In retaliation, I urinated all over the johnny pump in front of the shop, marking their territory as my own.

Walking down a few blocks, I ask a bum where a good place is to get food, only because the walker-bys rudely ignored my call for their attention. Completely disregarding my question, he mentions some hero store with 2-foot heroes for sale. It was my calling. A great superhero always needs a sidekick, and a midget superhero would be the perfect addition to my super team. Following the homeless man's directions, disappointment fell over me when the midget super-hero turned out to be sub shop. The bum had foiled my plans for superhero recruitment. I should have known that superhero sidekicks aren't likely to be sold in stores.

I think I need to get out of this city right away before Spider-man realizes I'm trying to take his job as crime fighter deluxe. I sure as hell don't want him to start spinning tangling webs to trap me in, because even though I'm just that fly, I don't plan to be someone else's dinner. I look to good for that.

How did some bitch offer me a job "under the table" and my junk did not even get touched?!

05.16.08

Holy cookies from hell!

I was walking down some highway, picking up any loose change I could find, when a building happened to cross my path. The building was for a psychic who also gave massages. It was like a psychic massage parlor. I'm usually skeptical when it comes to psychics, but the one I spoke with, in there, totally blew my mind. First, she read my palm, but proved to be incorrect. Perhaps that phone number I scrawled wasn't legible. Or maybe she just didn't know how to read numbers. Either way, she complained that there was too much interference coming from my hand energy, which I'm guessing was her way of saying that I play with myself too much. I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe her just yet so I asked her to tell me something about myself. The first and only thing she told me was, "Today is not your birthday!" And by golly, she was right. It was freakin' amazing. She has to be practicing some kind of devilism or whatever the hell that shit is called. How could she possibly know that today wasn't my birthday?! I didn't have ID to prove her correct, but deep down inside, I knew she knew my future life story. Convinced that she had psychic abilities, I gave her $20 for a back massage to see if she was as multi-talented as the sign in the front of the building had suggested. Lo and behold, she had some strong hands. It was a shame though that there was no happy ending, so I did leave the place a sad man.

I guess things can't always go my way, but at least I almost collected 89¢ on my walk down the busy highway. I was 33¢ short. Oh well. My day of victory shall approach, and on that day, I'll be more victorious than a victor who victorizes shit.

"Someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But, until that day, accept this justice as a gift..." -Don Corleone

05.14.08

Brilliant!

After much thinking about how to direct my future in becoming a superhero and after not watching Iron Man, I realized that not having super powers will make my dreams difficult to achieve. Wanting to be like Tony Stark, I decided to make myself the lesser version of him, and since Atomic number 13 is my favorite element, I've decided to make myself Al¹³ Man!!! After wasting close to 80 dollars on rolls of aluminum wrap, I have made the ultimate suit for myself, wrapping myself in layers and layers of aluminum foil. It was a great idea until some teenage skateboarders started making jokes telling me that the comic convention was in NY and that I forgot my silver surfboard in Dorkusville, where ever that is. I'll forgive those hoodlums for now, but if I ever catch them skateboarding in a No Skateboarding zone, I just may have to take the law into my hands and write them a Superhero Summons and send them home to their mommy. Then, we'll see who's really from Dorkusville.

Getting side-tracked, I hired my first employee today. After much thinking about how much I despise washing dishes that I may never use, I picked up some random customer and got her to do my job for five dollars. I feel almost power-drunk by the little bit of control I had for about 5 minutes. She did my job, which allowed me to take a 20-minute break of which I spent making foul gestures to the security cameras around the building. It just may have been one of the best breaks I ever had. If only I could see the faces of the rent-a-cop watching those videos when he/she sees me slapping my bare butt and grabbing my crotch while doing Michael Jackson spins and shit. It's fucking great.

On a more lovelier note, I have found an awesome place to sleep for the next few days. Apparently, some people moved out of this arson-struck home. They must've known I was coming because they left a bed their for me to rest on and it was just right. I'm guessing that the people that lived there were sort of not right in the head because the majority of the house was painted black, even the bed on which I slept on. And they must've painted it recently because a lot of the paint was rubbing off on my brand old clothes. Oh well. What can you do? I'll just have to get to a laundro-mart sometime this weekend.

It's yesterday's leftovers! It's a baked potato!! It's Aluminum Man!!!

05.13.08

Gadzooks!

I'm not too sure what kind of toilet paper I used today, but I think I paper-cutted my butthole. A little after dropping a huge load off at the Johnny, I wet-farted, and discovered a spray of blood on my tighty-whiteys. It wasn't a lovely site, but it was funny nevertheless. If I didn't paper-cut my a-nole, there must've been glass shards or something in my previous meal, which would definitely not be cool unless the glass shards were really bits of ice cream topped with nonpareils. That would've been sweet. Oh well. It'll eventually heal because that's what a-nole's do.

On the lighter side, I found a part-time job that pays under the table, and though I only plan to work 56 hours for one week and never show face again, I can say that I helped to heal the world. As I write, I am gathering pieces of paper and recycling them into paper airplanes that I plan to fly around the world with secret love notes hidden within. So, if you happen to unfold a paper airplane with a sexually harassing message written inside, know that it came from my heart and involved much scientifical and perpetual thinking.

As for the lost wallet situation, I have decided to make my name Chief Champion of the Brussel Sprout Brigade. And to prevent another lost wallet casualty, I will start carrying a man-purse to ensure that such a travesty never happen again. If anyone has ever lost their wallet, I would highly recommend man-purses, especially ones with secret compartments to hold FOOTBALLS and BEERS, because you never know when one might put to test your testosterone levels.

There's nothing wrong with carrying a man-purse because I enjoy watching LESBIAN ACTIVITIES!!!

05.07.08

I hate losing things.

The other day, I happened to misplace my wallet. I could have left it on the counter at the fast food joint. It might be on one of the many tables I sat on. It could even be on a train ride cross country. The point is that I have lost the very last bit of evidence that can prove who I am. I never even bothered to remember my social security number. It's such a terrible occurrence, but at the same time, I can start anew, which just may be a good thing. The worst part of the situation is that I lost the business card containing the phone numbers of the lady I sat with at the coffee shop. I always hear stories about fate and how things happen for a reason, but me losing my wallet couldn't have happened for a reason, unless fate wanted me to find a look-a-like to eliminate and assume his identity. The only thing that is seeming to keep me together is this cell phone and my shoe laces, and neither of which seems to be able to hold a condom securely. I doubt anyone ever reads this, but if you're out there and you've found my wallet, please e-mail me at jamal dot pirruth at gmail. Oh well.

However, I can think of one thing I can't hate losing. And if I ever do lose it, I'd probably find a way to keep myself satisfied, losing it over and over and over again. Whether it's on a roof, in a house, out at a park, or at the beach, I'm sure I can find newer and better ways to improve the experience, making each time more exciting than the last. With so many different ways to make it happen. With different directions and fancy moves to make my penis quiver. The options seem so endless. Though I'm still waiting for that special day in my life, my self-made paper airplanes will always be the same until it's gone. When that day happens, I'll let you know what happened with it and where it got stuck.

If you ever fly a paper airplane off of the roof of a high-rise apartment building, the chances of getting a ticket for littering is highly unlikely.

05.02.08

Un-fucking-believable!

Here I sit, in a Starbucks (never thought I'd ever visit one of these places), checking the latest bocce scores on the internet, when one of the most gorgeous ladies I've ever seen walks into my life. With every seat taken, except the outdoor ones and the seat on the other side of the two person table I sat at, she asks me if she could take the seat. Giving her permission with thoughts that she'd drag the seat away, she sits down in front of me and makes small talk about how tiring and stressful her job is. I eventually tell her about my work situation, and somehow we got to a point where she's offering me a job. Apparently, she's the boss lady of a big-named website which specializes in research and writing. I lied to her and told her, "...I'm a successful writer with 3 books in publication, 2 of which I co-authored, and I have tons of experience with writing and shit." She was totally digging me, giving me her business card to contact later. I'm pretty sure she just wants to have some office-type affairs with me, but I can't blame her for that, since I am the stud of all studs. So far, things are looking on the up. Whether it's hand or blow, I'll be getting some type of job in the very near future.

Right now, there's this girl sitting a couple tables away who I'd definitely want to give an STD to. Too bad I'm pretty clean. Or maybe that's a good thing. Oh, well. I guess we all can't be sensual deviants.

Oh yeah. Just to update you on my whereabouts, I finally made it to "New Joisey," and I have no idea where the hell I am. I downed a half-pint of Hennessy on the train and jumped off some stop because I noticed this blind guy with his guard dog getting off the train. Since I had no idea where I was going, I just followed this guy who most likely didn't know where he was going. Hopefully, I can run into some cool mafiosos and become part of the Sopranos and shit. Aside from becoming a superhero/villain, my goal is to get drunk with strippers and own a tommy gun. It's going to be the shit.

"I'm not lost. I'm exploring!" -comedian P. Rodriguez

04.30.08

The world is mine!

I've finally upgraded my life. Still without a job, I still managed to trek my way to Wal-mart to make some very valuable purchases. To ensure that I never lose my way again, I bought a new cell phone with GPS installed. I'll be able to walk around any neighborhood and be certain that a satellite is shooting invisible rays in my direction. Also, I was running low on clean socks, so I picked up two six-packs of socks. Who would've thunk that they sold left foot socks and right foot socks separately? That could be my new money-making idea. Sell socks for both feet in one pack. Watch out, Hanes. The JP Enterprises is on the rise, and we sure as hell ain't no Star Trek battleship.

(pause)

I just googled the name and apparently my company is selling bolt-action rifles and gun shit. I guess I'll have to invent a new, more prolific name. Oh, well. Back to my day. I made sure to purchase some Under Armour because those are the only tights I can probably wear and not look like a gay superhero. I couldn't find a nice ski mask, so instead I picked up a kid's Robin Halloween mask. Though, I haven't tried on any of it yet, I can already tell my outfit is going to be kickass. I also bought 3 boxes of cereal, which should last me the rest of the year if I eat two pieces every few hours. I'm already anxious to finish a box to see what lucky prize I'll win. I hope it's a laser gun because that would seriously make my super-hero costume accessorizing complete.

I can see it already. I make my way to New Jersey. Breathe in toxic fumes. Gain mutant powers. Fight crime in the tri-state area. Soon enough, Spielberg and Scorsese will be contacting me to star in their next generation X-men flick. Then, Buttman will be calling me up to make a biographical film of my life, only I lose my virginity and continually get laid. It's gonna be the shit. Look out for me because I am on the road to better places and shit.

Some choose to dream their life.
I choose to live my dream.
But people still call me an idiot.

04.28.08

Work is for suckers!

The past Thursday, I went into work. Unshaven. Unshowered with bed head. Coffee stained clothes. Goo crusted eyes. Dirty fingernails. You get the point. Basically, I did not want to work anymore and was planning on a career change. As soon as I walk in, I headed straight to my bosses office with a letter of resignation in hand. As soon as I was about to let my boss know that I plan to resign in two weeks, he cut me off and informed me that one of my TPS reports had an ASCII picture of some naked Jessica Rabbit and that I was fired. It's some serious bullshit. He can't fire me when I'm about to quit. I tried to tell my boss that I'm handing in my two-weeks notice, but he told me I can't quit when I'm already fired. I told him I'd be sending my lawyer over to handle the matter. Too bad my boss doesn't know that my lawyer's name is Molotov Cocktail. (Actually, it's not, but that would be pretty damn cool if it was.)

I'm going to miss the boobs with that noob-hire attached to it. Apparently, he left to get a breast reduction and will be out for the next few weeks. I'm not going to miss the copy machine boy, but as a going away present, I chewed up all 40 sticks of my gum and left the huge wad on the underside of his newly, undeserved desk. While gathering my belongings, I took that half-empty bottle of Fanta and dumped it on the floor. I went to look for the intern I've been banging, but she was out on some business trip and shit. Upon leaving, I made sure to take the paper clips and stapler with me. The company makes so much money, they'll never miss the paper clips, and stapler, and computer monitor, and desk handles. MUWAHAHAHA! Good luck on figuring out how to open the drawers to the next guy who gets my desk.

So, here I am, at the library, writing this, trying to figure out what direction my life is headed. So far, I've only come up with two options.

1. Take a train to New York and become a professional homeless man, begging for tax-free income.

or

2. Take a train to New Jersey and hopefully find a toxic waste dump to bathe myself in with hopes of gaining supernatural powers.

Since I'm not much of a beggar, option 1 is out of the question. Well, Off I go to my quest of becoming a superhero or super villain. Either way, I hope I meet someone who will accompany along the way. This way, we can start some kind of alliance or war between arch-nemesists. Wish me luck and god's pee.

Here is a picture of me with my refund check that will be used for my train ride to the unknown. I had to photoshop the shot so that the actuall value of my dollars wasn't clearly visible. Unfortunately, the flash of my camera has altered the lighting, giving the perception that I have no nose. Don't let this picture fool you because like the rest of the nose-having population, I really do smell.

If I can't enjoy work, work sure as hell better enjoy me.

04.23.08

Well, I'll be!

For lunch, I took a brisk walk to the sundae shop a couple blocks down. It was only 12:30 pm, so I wasn't too hungry. As I waited in line, there was a fine, young thang standing ahead of me. Though it was mini-skirt weather outside, her short shorts were good enough for my eyes to ogle at. Trying to figure out how to begin a conversation with this lady, I just blurted out, "Excuse me, miss. Your knees are ashy." She dismissed my comment, and snapped her focus of attention away from me. I quickly apologized to her and offered to buy her an ice cream. Accepting my kind gesture, I began making the small talk. The wWhos. The whereabouts. The life and shit. Assuming that she was a college girl, I got to the question, "So, how old are you?" To my surprise, she was 16. Apparently, this child was either skipping school or she was a child actress who made enough money to the point where school was not a necessity for her. Not wanting to seem like a perverted, old man, I told her, "I know it's a nice day out, but you need to be in school with the rest of the children. Trust me. Just stay in school. And don't do drugs!" I paid for her ice cream and walked back to work, while silently praying for forgiveness for my lewd imagination, which wasn't as bad until I found out her age. On the way back, I felt like a super-hero. Changing the world, one person at a time.

Now, for the pissed off part. My fucking boss is a fucking piece of shit. I just had my quarterly review, and it was decided that I did not deserve a raise. It's complete bullshit. I understand I've made several passes at the better looking female employees, and that my TPS reports didn't always have the proper cover sheet, but that doesn't mean I can't get a raise. The fucking secretary got a raise, and every time I've checked her out, she's been painting her nails, or swinging her leg with her oh-so sexy stilettos hanging off of her toes, in that gray business skirt with the red glasses, looking too damn fine. I mean, she hasn't done much work, and she got a raise. Whatever. The point is that my boss needs to open his eyes before I open it for him, permanently. I'm tired of this weak ass pay. If I can't get a raise, at least make it legal for me to get a blow job each day from the female of my liking within the whole floor who cannot be selected for consecutive days. Is that too much to ask for?!

"Do it slow. Do it sexy. Do it deussimo.

04.21.08

I finally got my very first camera and am very anxious to share my pictures with you. Through here, you will be able to see the start and evolution of a photographer specialist deluxe super sized. My camera only seems to be able to take black and white photos. I'm sure there's a way to change the settings, but I'm way too smart to read the construction manual. Besides, I ordered it from some online off-site warehouse in Japan, and all the constructions are in Japanese. And to make things worse, I can't figure out how to send it into the Google translator. Anyway. Here is the very first photo I've snapshotted. It's a picture of me using my cell phone, talking to the Verizon operator to express the joy within about purchasing and using my first camera. I told her to smile in the picture, but technology isn't that advanced.


Off topic, my freaking boss is a moron. He writes out these newsletters for all of us lesser people to read, discussing the latest news, benefits, and gossip about where this company may be heading. Before handing out the newsletters, he gave a brief summary of what is in the newsletters. He totally ruined the ending for me. What's the point of handing out readings if you're just going to spoil it for everyone. It's like making a hit movie about sex, drugs, and explosions and telling people it's about Mormons. But this isn't why my boss is an idiot. He's an idiot because if he wanted people to read it, he would've e-mailed it to his employees like the rest of the world. Everyone knows that paper is obsolete and that it kills Earth. He needs to jump on this bandwagon of technology before he gets left behind and gets mistaken for a real individual.

I'd complain some more, but I have to go buy stamps so I can send out my renewal for my nudie magazine subscriptions.

Enjoy life. Eat hard. Drink heavy. Indulge.

04.18.08

I hate gossip.

The latest office talk, at least from what I've been eavesdropping on, is that pregnant he-she on Oprah. I don't get what the big deal is. If this man still has ovaries, he's still a female. Apparently, the reason this is the latest talk is because some college kid just got hired as an intern. Though he is very ashamed of himself, he is a really smart person with a good rap sheet. It may sound completely out of the ordinary, but this kid had some seriously bad luck. According to his story, after he had graduated college, which I'm guessing wasn't too far back into the past, he took a vacation to Mexico. After months of hard partying and sinful endeavors, he woke up one day on the street with a pair of tits. That's right. As hard as it is to believe, the new intern got tits and he's a man. It looks real funny, but I must admit, he's carrying a great set on him. He said he wants to get rid of them, but hasn't made enough money to get the operation, so for the mean time, we are all laughing at him behind his back and to his face. We, here at the office, have been trying to get him to flash us, but for some reason, he's being a little bitch about it. I'm not too sure what this guy did to get a great set of tits, but his story sure beats the hell out of the pregnant man story.

I've heard of chicks with dicks, but never dudes with boobs until today.

04.16.08

I'm poor and it doesn't make sense!

I was listening to the radio today at work and they were discussing income of people. Of course, Tiger Woods racked in some big bucks. I mean, if I was the first Cockblackasian, or whatever the hell he called it, people would be sending me checks, too. And of course, The Bushies was stacking them big bills. I mean, the man isn't The Man for no reason. And apparently, there's a 15 year old girl who racked up $18 million dollars this past year. I want to know what the hell this girl has been doing. She has either got to be partaking in massive amounts of prostitution or distributing illegal contraband in the big weights over international borders. Or both. At the same time. All I know is that she sure as hell ain't pushing girl scout cookies in front of ShopRite like regular 5th graders. I'm just wondering how the hell did this teenager made close to 2000 times what I made this past year and probably more than I might make in this lifetime. Shit like that piss me off more than a prom night abortion with a soda on the side.

I may be poor, but I shouldn't be complaining because to the really poor, I could be considered a middle class money puller.

I was standing on the welfare line to apply for my free government checks and the guy behind me strikes up a conversation. He says to me, "You sure as hell don't look like you need welfare money." I was dressed in my dark grey, pinstriped Pierre Cardin suit with matching tie, solid gold-colored cufflinks and 13 year old, scuffed up Italian leather shoes, but since I had happened to brush my teeth that day, I could understand why he would assume I wasn't in need of government monies. We started talking about life and he went on and on about his trouble finding jobs and getting arrested for crack and heroin possession every few months. I tried to tell him that there's still hope, but I knew there wasn't much left. As a matter of fact, I could still smell the liquor in his breath, so he had to be intoxicated. He rambled on about how he couldn't figure out what he's been doing wrong his whole life to get to where he is. I cut him off mid-sentence and just told him he needs to lay off the drugs because if he can't keep his life together while attempting to maintain particular habits, then some of those habits need to go. That's why my life is almost together now. I was able to separate the necessities from the luxuries. I realized underwear is just a luxury and after wearing dirty underwear for 2 and 1/2 weeks straight and developing that diaper rash, I found that I didn't really need it. (So what if the scent of my farts are more noticeable?) And I realized that food isn't too much of a necessity when you have caffeine and the internet. A $12 dollar coffee and a wireless internet connection is well worth it when the lady sitting across the room is a hottie with a body deluxe, wearing a black business suit and skirt with glasses, showing cleavage and panty line, and when you wink at her, she'll think you're a creep and leave the cafe, and I'm left watching previews of internet porn for the next half hour while sipping on my small Extreme Caramochalottaccino with raspberry swirl and whip cream. Or some shit like that. It's shit like this that I live for. Of course, there's always water. Because you never know when someone will internally combustulate into flames. And Lord knows how often that happens.

Do what you have to do to survive.
And always keep prime color crayons handy because you never know when you'll run into a coloring book.