Archive for December, 2012

KingDumb Comes

I’m gonna throw myself under the bus here. I’ve mentioned before, (See the entry Pick Up Fuck), that I have an absentminded retardobrain. I wish I properly understood the inner workings of my wonderful noggin. But I do not. And believe me, it’s not for fucking lack of trying. I have spent time analyzing how I live. How I act. How I walk and talk and fucking breath.

And somehow I still trip up the fucking stairs. I still walk into fucking fire hydrants. I still stub my toe on something that’s not even fucking there.

It makes no sense to me. I don’t feel dumb. Or absentminded. I mean no lack of modesty, but I’m an intelligent guy. I know a lot of shit. It might sometimes not be the most practical shit. But I’m sure you can tell by my writing that I’m not a retard. Entirely. I hope. You don’t think I’m a retard do you?

Well if you do I’m not about to help myself.

So here’s my story.

A couple weeks ago or so, my Father says to me.

Dad: Rooster. There’s two jugs of windshield washer fluid in the front. You can take one.

Sick. I totally needed some windshield washer fluid. Whenever I run out I don’t remember to refill for like a week. So obviously, I forget for another couple days.

Couple days pass. And one morning as I zombie my way out the door I remember to grab a jug. Now you need to know, when I wake up. I’m fucking dead. If I’m absentminded when I’m awake, well, let’s multiply that fucking tenfold when I’m waking up. As if that will excuse my actions.

So this action is a stray from my morning routine. And in my morning state, I am entirely a fucking creature of habit. But this isn’t a difficult action. So I open my hood, fill the washer fluid tank, and head out.

Later in the day while I’m driving, I try and spray my windshield. And am entirely surprised to find it’s not working. And I’m like fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Another goddamned problem with my car? FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

So I tell the rents of the newest automotive issue. And I make the mental note to call my mechanic once I remember to stop procrastinating. My mechanic, being PornStar. Who is probably right now hearing this story for the first time. But I totally procrastinated. Until one day. This occurred.


Hold on now. I know what you readers just realized. I’m getting there.


Now the first time it didn’t hit me. But the second time he said something. Well. The realization came. Oh it fucking came. And my mind must not have wanted to accept it at first. Because it still took a minute or so for me to make the goddamned connection.

Rooster: Oh no.

Dad: Seriously. Do you know what happened?

Rooster: Oh no.

My mother hears me say this at this point. And makes the connection fucking immediately. Her eyes widen and she looks at me in disbelief.

Mom: No. You didn’t……

I look at her with this hopeless look in my eyes. I can barely even fathom the mistake that I have made. How is this even possible.


My father comes in the kitchen and looks at us. Me standing there looking entirely fucking lost. And my mother looking at him with wide eyes. As if in shock. And we didn’t even have to say anything for HIM to make the fucking connection. I look at him slowly and he’s looking at me with this tiny subtle smirk on his face. And he shakes his head and heads out the door.

Mom: Rooster. You know you’re the only one who could do this right? You’re never going to live this one down.

And she picks up her phone to call her best friend and tell her the news.

That’s right. In case YOU guys have not made the connection yet. I poured almost an entire jug of motor oil into the tub for windshield washer fluid. And fucked up the whole system. THIS is why it wouldn’t work when I tried to use it. BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING MOTOR OIL.

And the rents were hardly even surprised. Even though it is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever done. It still only mildly surprised them. Because this is how their Son is.

And how did this affect me you ask? Well you might not be asking this. But I fucking was. I was fucking wrecked. How the fuck did I do this? How could I make this mistake? How am I fucking like this? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME!?

Seriously. I hate it. And I fucking cannot fucking figure it fucking out. I’m not a dumb person. I promise you. I KNOW WHAT WINDSHIELD WASHER FLUID LOOKS LIKE. I fucking know what motor oil looks like. I’ve had a car for fucking two years. I have filled those tanks over and over and over again.

Washer fluid is fucking BLUE. IT’S BLUE YOU STUPID FUCK!

This is what was going through my head when I realized what I had fucking done. I legitimately rethought my entire fucking life. I’m fucking broken. That must be it. I’m a broken fucking thing. Goddammit.

Anyways it boils down to me being an absentminded motherfuck. That morning I must have been so fucking tired that I saw the two bottles of motor oil. And all I remembered was my father saying there’s two bottles. So I just automatically grabbed one. I didn’t look at the label. I didn’t realize the bottle was gray. And even when I was pouring it. I fucking remember stopping to think. Why the fuck is it coming out so fucking slow. Like fucking syrup. But still I didn’t process that it was a clear fluid and not blue.

I just shrugged off the fucking doubt, and kept on pouring.

I wish this was all a valid excuse for being King Fucking Dumbass. But it’s not.

PornStar. You’re my mechanic. And I apologize so hard for my actions towards my vehicle. I am ashamed.

But look on the brightside my lovely readers. It took three hours for my father and I to drain and clean out the tank and everything associated. Sure. Now the motor for my washer fluid is fucked. But.

Father son bonding session! W00t.

Aliens Exist

I thought of something.



How many of us totally believe these motherfuckers are out there?

I dunno about you but I totally do. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I doubt it. Logically speaking, it makes no sense to me that we’re the only fucking things in this verse.
And on top of that our planet is so fucking bullshit. Ugly piece of shit this is.

I’ve said countless times. I wish I was born however many years in the future. When intergalactic space travel is discovered.

INTERGALACTIC SPACE TRAVEL. My fucking favorite three words to say.

I have a dream! A dream that consists of me being the captain of a small wanton crew of misfits. Traversing the stars in an awesomely fucking awesome little ship that owns your face.

But unfortunately. I am one with a dream that he can never fulfill. Unless one of you has discovered time travel. If so. CALL ME.

But that’s unlikely. So we’re stuck. Here. In the now. With one of the biggest questions out there.


Fuck you we’re not.

I dunno where they are. If they’ve really already made contact. Or if they know we’re here or whatever the fuck.

But what if they are here already? What if they have made contact? And what if they’re just the biggest fucking trolls we’ve ever encountered?

Think about it. Think about the modern fascination with UFOs, or “Flying Saucers”. The first, most well documented sighting being in 1947, where a pilot reported seeing 9 objects shooting through the sky at a fucking estimated 1000 miles per hour. That’s some fucking TRIPPY shit. But there are even more reports dating even further back closer to 1900. And even in fucking ancient history and shit.

But let’s take into account the last hundred years or so. All these accounts of sightings and people flipping the fuck out. “I’ve been abducted!” “I saw a UFO!” “ALIENS EXIST! BLINK 182 WAS RIGHT!”

What if, for the past hundred years, these fucking Aliens have just been fucking with us. What if they’re just a bunch of jokers. They’re not evil. They’re not looking to conquer us. They’re just a bunch of fucking trolls.

That’s their prime fucking directive. Troll the shit out of the fucking human race.

They’re up there. In their fucking AWESOME ass space ships. With gold plated thrusters. And MASSIVE fucking subwoofers. Smoking their alien dope and laughing their fucking asses off. If they even have asses. Which they probably don’t.

That’s what is happening people. Us humans are fucking tripping balls. And have been for a hundred years. And it’s all for those stoned motherfucking aliens’ entertainment.

And if they’re reading this, I have a message I need to convey.



FlipSide Down

Let me tell you a story about how FlipSide changed my life.

So last night, I went all lameass hermit and went to sleep at 10 o clock. I never go to fucking sleep at 10. No matter what the night entails, chances are, I’m still awake at 1am.

Sleep is a glorious fucking thing. So glorious. So fucking glorious that I can’t even think of a funny metaphor to establish how fucking glorious I think fucking sleep is.

So like I said, I went to sleep at 10. And apparently I was so dead that I just fucking passed the fuck out.

And at midnight, FlipSide proceeded to turn my whole world upside down. Obviously not expecting me to be asleep, he texts me. Then. Still, not thinking I’m asleep. He texts me again.

By this point I’m legitimately fucked up.

BAM. Text number 3. And quickly following that, text number 4 shoots to my phone.

I know. BEST STORY EVER. Line up girls, I’m signing autographs all day.

No but seriously. These four consecutive texts fucking flipped my world on it’s goddamned axis.

I was so fucking tired when I went to sleep, that I just fell all the way down to fucking deep motherfucking deep sleep.

And when my phone started screaming and vibrating at me, it was like being fucking born. I had no fucking idea what was happening.

You know how it is waking up sometimes. All disoriented and fucking confused and shit. Well I was this to the damn max.

My mind couldn’t put fucking anything together.

Why the fuck are my lights on? What the fuck is happening? How could it be midnight? What time is it? It’s 12? What the fuck? What time is it? It’s TWELVE!?!?

It was like I was in a cyclone of time. I couldn’t comprehend that I’m waking up from such a deep sleep at fucking midnight.

It just made no sense.

And while my mind is trying to make connections that it just can’t make, text after text is interrupting it. Which just makes it fucking worse.

I’m tripping uncontrollable balls, until finally I manage to realize I need to respond. Or this might go on for the rest of my life. Text him back or your life is over Rooster.

Rooster: I’m asleep.

I managed to squeeze out that little gem before passing the fuck out once again.

So. That’s the story. I’m sorry for overwhelming you with so much substance and character development.

Good day.