Hey! Why don't you go fuck yourself!

You know what I want? I want an ocean of doofus-bloggers blogging about things they don't like while, at the same time, obliviously committing the exact acts they impugn (don't question me on whether the usage of 'impugn' is appropriate!!!) Go read gorffy for a taste of his raging rage, such as:

The internet, for all it's wonder, seems to have one little side effect that's starting to annoy me to no end. LITTLE KIDS ARE TOO FUCKING LAZY TO TYPE PROPERLY.

Now, I'll give little Gorffy a pass for his confusion of "it's" and "its". It happens to everybody. The irony is funny.. but not damnable. Maybe it isn't laziness that made him post "it's" instead of "its", but bald, eye-scorching ignorance, blinded by rage. Sadly, for Gorffys (hehehe) sake, he makes consistant (hahahahaha) spelling misteaks (^&*%^%^%!!!). THIS WIPES ME INTO A HATE-FILLED, RED-EYED FRANZY!! GO FUCK YOURSELF, GORFFY! Right now, I'm shouting and people are looking at me weird, wondering why I am so rage stuffed like angry shrimp. Take a tip from Serious Bastard, Gorffy:

If you're going to rage on how "no one can type anymore", make sure to check your fucking spelling!!

Hahaha, I hit him with three tags.. block qoute, bold, italics and heading 3. AND, I got him with a Dick Cheneyism. Also, note how I was nice and didn't bitch him out about using "internet" instead of "Internet".

Serious Basterd out!

Alright, babies.. if you thought last night's entry was upsetting, then you'd better start naptime early, because I'm going off the end tonight. Here's the story: Most of the writing on and about love is generally mushy, flowery and stereotypically poetic or, plainly, gay. As far as Serious Bastard is concerned, there is a significant absence of aggressive, potty mouthed "love talk". DO NOT confuse what I'm saying with the general, run-of-the-mill misogynist, chauvinistic "I'd like to bang her hot butt" crap. DO NOT confuse this with Henry Miller erotica. (Then again, what the hell would I know of Henry Miller since I've only read several hundred words of his writing, en total.) There must be a way to sincerely discuss love using foul words and aggressive behaviour. I don't just think my girlfriend is pretty like a meadow brook or precious as the morning sun upon dew dropped flower petals, I think she'd better get over here and give me a fucking kiss and every other woman on the planet is a no good pale impersonation of the perfect female form that she embodies. I don't just want to whisper pretty-baby nothings in her ear, I want to scream filthy, shocking gut-driven desires into empty midnight streets. I think it would do this society well if a new, modern male evolved. One who could fulfill the traditional, testosterone driven role while, at the same time, bringing a small bit of intelligence to the table. There's a long overdue need to sincerely mix erotica with love.. though, maybe I just don't read enough, and it's already been done.

Serious Bastard out.

Holy shit, people! Serious Bastard is back!!! My minions in the netherworld tell me that Locutious has been copying from Tarzanza! and that crap won't fly!!! There's no place in this world for a no good baby-time blog-copying poon-tang mush-stomper. Serious Bastard Blog is taking a new direction.. AS OF NOW! As far as I'm concerned.. this is now the "Love Blog" and all of my posts will be about the most beautiful woman in the world, my mind numbingly hot girlfriend! IF you have a problem with public displays of affection, then you'd better sulk your whiney ass over to some grump-blog where everyone spends their days moaning about 'blahblahblah' or 'wahh wahh wahh'. There's one thing that spins this worthless planet around in circles and that's "love"... l-o-v-e.. everything else is a waste! I wake up in the night with shakes and quakes and my neural cortex blasts out any number of irregular activities simply because I'm hopelessly captured by this woman of mine. If you have no woman (or man) who freaks the living shit out of you and pressure cooks your loins, then I pity your whiney-ass-no-good soul.

You've got who knows how many pointless groups of dung-schlobbers saying 'this and that' about what one needs to do to make their life right. Let me tell you! Let me tell you, if you aren't in love, then you're waiting to rot. Good luck to you, childrens.. love is stashed somewhere beneath the details.. but I'm not about to illuminate it for you. AND IF YOU EVER FIND LOVE AND DITCH IT, I WILL PERSONALLY UNLEASH AN UNHOLY ALLIANCE OF HELL-DEMON-SOUL-DESTROYING HURT UPON YOU!! Take that as your first warning.

Serious Bastard out.

Yes, my readers!! If you thought the first page of Ulysses was most difficult.. then you should read it in Snoop Doggy Dog format.

-- I --

STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THA STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror 'n a razor lay crossed." A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, wuz sustained gently behind tha dude's ass by da mild morning izzle n' shit. Tha dude held da bowl aloft 'n intoned:

--INTROIBO AD ALTARE DEI, know what I'm sayin'?

Halted, tha dude peered down da dark winding stairs 'n called out coarsely:

--Come up, Kinch! Come up, yo' ass fearful jesuit!

Solemnly tha dude came forward 'n mounted da round gunrest." Tha dude faced 'bout 'n blessed gravely thrice da tower, da surrounding land 'n da awaking mountains n' shit. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, tha dude bent towards tha dude's ass 'n made rapid crosses in da izzle, gurgling in tha dude's throat 'n shaking tha dude's heezee." Stephen Dedalus, displeased 'n sleepy, leaned tha dude's arms on da top of da staircase 'n looked coldly at da shaking gurgling face that blessed tha dude's ass, equine in its length, 'n at da light untonsured hair, grained 'n hued like pale oak, know what I'm sayin'?

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under da mirror 'n then covered da bowl smartly."

--Back barracks! tha dude be like sternly n' shit.

Tha dude added in a preacher's tone:

--For this, O dearly beloved, is da genuine Christine: body 'n soul 'n blood 'n ouns n' shit. Slow music, please n' shit. Shut yo' eyes, gents." One moment." A little trouble 'bout those white corpuscles." Silence, izzall n' shit.

Tha dude peered sideways up 'n gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, tha dude's even white teeth glistening here 'n there wit gold points, know what I'm sayin'? Chrysostomos, know what I'm sayin'? Two strong shrill whistles answered through da calm n' shit.

--Thanks, old chap, tha dude cried briskly." That will do nicely." Switch off da current, will yo' ass?

the setup..

..drop the bomb

Hahahahaha! Yes, my readers view this funny tirade!

Yes!! How hard it is to find dates these days!!

Locutious takes the Tazo Tea challenge

Claim on the back of a package of Tazo Calm tea:

A single cup of Tazo Calm has been known to have the same effect as sitting for 45 minutes in a mountain meadow on a sunny day with your shoes off.

Welp, all right, I'd like to be barefoot in a mountain meadow on a sunny day, sure beats being at work. So the first thing I did was grab my trusty stainless steel mug and head over to the coffee area and fill the mug with hot water. The water was very hot, practically steaming. "Aha," I said. "This will be perfect for my tea experiment."

Walking back to my desk, I turned the corner around a cube aisle into a hallway and some jerk blew right passed, not even looking where he was going. This startled me, and about one third of my scalding hot water splashed out all over my arm, pants, and tummy. "Fucking shitbag, watch where you're going, dickhole," I absolutely did not say, but thought about saying. So, I returned back to the hot water maker and there was a co-worker, Tim.

"What's the matter Locutious, you look a little tense," said Tim.

"I just need some more water for my tea."

"Your pants are all wet, did you pee on yourself? You know, we have bathrooms here. Hey everybody, Locutious peed his pants!"

"I did not pee my pants," I said as if it mattered. "I spilled water."

"You should be more careful, there's no need to be in such a hurry."

"I wasn't in a hurry, it was just a ..."

"Yeah, whatever. Hey when's you're birthday. I'll buy you some plastic sheets. Ha ha ha ha," and then the dick Tim walked away.

"Yeah, keep it up Tim," I thought in my imagination but was probably moving my lips while I thought it. "Keep it up asshole, I am gonna fuckin'... well, I don't know what I'm going to do..."

By this point I had made it back to my desk. Looking down on the desk, the teabag's title, "Calm", looked back at me, almost like it was taunting me. Whatever, I'm ready to go to the mountains, and if this don't work, I'll get a sixpack of Busch and head to the mountains that way.

I opened the teabag, and immediatly, the string broke off. Great. I tried to reattach it, but the little tiny staple on the bag was bent and the string wouldn't stay on. Fuck it. So I dropped the bag into my mug and pushed it down a few times with my pinky. The water was still pretty hot.

I let the bag steep for a few minutes, then hunted for some way to fish the bag out of the cup. I tried using my hand, but the water was still really hot. All I could find was a pencil, and I can't use that because I don't to want to get lead poisoning. I figured I ask someone else if they had a plastic knife or fork or something I could use. I walked out the cube and there was Tim again.

"Hey Locutious, did your pants dry yet."

"Shut up, Tim. Hey do you have a plastic fork or knife or something."

"Maybe, what do you need it for."

"I just need it."

"Tell me what you need it for, and I'll consider."

"I need it to get the teabag out my tea, the string broke off."

"Just use your finger."

"It's too hot."

"Here, let me do it then."

"No, I don't want you sticking your finger in my tea."

"Fine, then I guess you won't get to have any tea today. No, seriously, I don't have any plastic ware, either. Sorry dude. Catch you later, bra."

"Asshole," I absolutely did not say out loud.

At this point, I figured I'd just nut it up and fish out the teabag with my finger. I tried to reach down real quicklike and pinch the bag with the nails of my forefinger and thumb, but that didn't work. I couldn't get a firm grip. No, I had to quickly stick my finger into the water under the teabag and pull it out. So I did. And it was really hot. Hotter than you would think. But, it wasn't too bad.

I drank my tea. I held up the package again and reread it.

A single cup of Tazo Calm has been known to have the same effect as sitting for 45 minutes in a mountain meadow on a sunny day with your shoes off.

Hahahaha! Yes, my readers, see how uncalm the tea is for me! Not so relaxing as it would like me to think, yes?

Here is a joke faithful readers:

-Knock knock.

-Who's there?

-Banana.

-Why, if I do say so myself, you look nothing like a banana. You most certainly look like a person.

-No, I'm sorry, you're supposed to say, "Banana who?"

-Why on earth would I say something like that? That doesn't make sense.

-No, see it was all apart of the setup.

-Setup? What setup? At first when you knocked upon my door I thought you were perhaps promoting some form of political action, but I see you do not have a clipboard and pen, so I know it cannot be that. Then I thought maybe you were a solicitor, but you do not have any solicitation materials, which is good because as you can plainly see, I have a sign saying "No Solicitors" clearly posted. Then, I thought that maybe you were stopping by to announce you lost a pet or maybe you needed to borrow some sugar to make a cake. Are you baking a cake? I would love to try some.

-No, I'm not baking a cake.

-So, it is rather odd, If I do say, that you would show up at my door and announce that there is a "setup." I am terribly confused right now.

-No, see, it's the setup for a joke.

-A joke? Is this one of those practical joke shows? Is this Punk'd? I really do not wish to appear on television. There better not be a camera man in the bushes.

-No, no camera in the bushes, this is just a regular joke, you know.

-Ah, I see. Well, not to be rude, but you're joke isn't very funny.

-No, it's not. That's because the rhythm is all off. The setup was botched, and now the rhythm is off, and the joke ceases to be funny.

-Seesaws? That's a funny word to say.

-No, not seesaws, ceases. C-E-A-S-E-S.

-Oh, I thought I heard seesaw. It's a shame you didn't say seesaw, because I was beginning to think that you're joke was picking up steam.

-Yeah, perhaps I should have said seesaw.

-Yeah.

-Hmm.

-So.

-Yeah.

-Well.

-Uhh.

-Yeah.

-Yeah, this is kinda awkward.

-Awkward, yes. Yes, it is. So, uhhh, I just made some popcorn and I was preparing to watch a movie, would you care to join me?

-Sure, I would love to.

-Yes, come on in, my name is Samantha, what is your name?

-Orange.

-Orange? First you said banana, now you say orange. Are you some kind of fruit?

-No.

-Well, Mr. Orange, come on up.

-It's not Mr. Orange, it's just Orange. Orange is my first name.

-Okay, Orange, come on up.

-You have a lovely place.

-Thank you.

-What's this? This is an interesting item, I've never seen anything like it before.

-It's something I got when I was in Peru.

-Oh really, what were you doing in Peru?

-Oh, it's a terribly long story. Maybe another time, what do you say we start the movie?

-Okay.

-Here's you're popcorn, Mr. Orange.

-No, it's just Orange.

-Okay just Orange. Orange who?

-Orange you glad I didn't say banana.

-Okay, Mr. Yougladididntsaybanana, what do you say we start the movie?

The green play button
on the remote is depressed
and the movie plays

Hahahah! Readers, you will never believe the funny emails I have been receiving. Here's a letter from N.M.:

Dear Locutious,

What is up with you? What are you, like 2 years old? Seriously. It's as if you've become obsessed with poo-poo and pee-pee and cursing and what not. It's ridiculous. This used to be family blog! Now it reads like something you might see at the nickel peepshow at the state fair. I'm fed up with it. First Janet, now this.

Your former reader,
N.M.



Ouch! Next time N.M., why don't you tell me how you really feel. Haha! Here's another from S.D.:

Locutious,

Knock off the potty talk. I don't want this coming into my home.

you still suck,
S.D.



Nice one, S.D. First you accuse me of potty talk, then you use the word "suck". Can you say "ironic". Jeez, what a dipshit. Here's another letter from F.L.:

Hey Tanzana!

U R so lame. I've taken more interesting shits asshole. Witch is what your blog has become.

die.

with hate,
F.L.



Thanks, F.L. Say hi to mom for me! Haha! And one more, who actually has some nice things to say:

Hey Locutious!

Where's Jane? Hup! J.K. dude. Not! No, seriously. U RAWK! Keep up the goodnessless.

Boyeeeee!



Hahahaha! What's that all about? Such funny emails that I have been receiving!

Hahaha. Readers, isn't this a charming, cursing, cheerleading teddy bear? Oh yes.

Oh faithful readers of Serious Bastard Blog, these times are troubled, indeed. I, Locutious, venture forth, in Serious Bastard's stead, to shepherd you through these twilight tinged nights of dark, dark, dark. Yes, we suffer immense loss as of late. If one listens oh so closely, they hear the silence of a quieted soul, they smell a world minus one... still billions... yet somehow less. A brief moment of emptiness reared its head only to be trampled by the frenzied, shuffling masses. Yes, dear readers, Serious Bastard now dwells forever with the stars or the brown dwarfs or whichever interstellar geewgaw suits his stone cold dead fancy. He drifts far beyond the furthest gleaming fusion reactor off the edge of this universe into something we can neither spell nor draw pictures of.

How? How has this end become Serious Bastard? It is a much difficult thing to decipher, but I will deliver comprehension to the best of my abilities. Just this morning, I received a most mystically enigmatic letter from my dear friend, your esteemed Serious Bastard. Here, I shall recreate it as best as possible:

Greetings! Dear Locutious,

A multi-headed, obese humming bird stole me away to a bizzare cloud cafe near Albuquerque, and then its Al Gore head handed me a secret message and directed me to escape down a magic slide. I slid for days clutching this note. I was sure the slide might never end so I studied my encrypted letter. Maybe you can make sense of it.

ZYM IMKBZ QMBZELSME LDMXMQ FZB CKAB KXQ DEMDKEMQ ZL MEKBM TKXNFXQ. KZ ZYFB TLTMXZ LV UMKBZ YLDM, ZYM TLXBZME ZPEXB FXAKEQ KXQ QMGLPEB FZB LAX MXZEKFUB. YLAUFXO KXQ BHEMKTFXO KB FZ HLXBPTMB FZBMUV. KXQ ZYM DMLDUM TPBZ VFOYZ. ZYMS TPBZ QELAX ZYM BLPXQB LV QMKZY AFZY UKPOYZME KXQ HLGME FZB BZMXHY AFZY ULGM. ZYMS TPBZ VLEOMZ ZYM ZMEELE KXQ EMDUKHM FZ AFZY HMUMIEKZFLX. ZYM TLXBZME FB ZYMT. FZ FB SLP.

I've partially decoded it, but its meaning still isn't clear. Maybe you can give it a shot. I feel I am very close to figuring it out. If I decipher the message, then I might escape this magic slide.

Your Compatriot,
Serious Bastard Smith

A few hours after reading Serious Bastard's letter, I heard his voice trickle in from some unknown place. "Farewell, Locutious. I am drifting far, far away, and shall never return." he said, "Please, take over my blog and apologize to my many fans. Spread love and joy and happiness. It's all we have...." Then his voice trailed off into nothing.

I dare not decipher the message for fear of being banished to this nether-dimension. Attempt it at thine own peril. Regardless, I am to be your new steward, who shall guide you down life's contortious path. Though, I fear myself incapable of approximating glee to the extent that Serious Bastard might desire. I shall give it the tops. Until then..

I'm writing from a secret Native American outpost above the deserts south of Albuquerque.. just as I was waking under a cactus after my two hundredth night here, a fifty three pound, five headed-humming bird picked me up and carried me off to this Web Cafe in the sky. During this ten year long flight, the Al-Gore-head screamed and spit at me while the half-Al-Sharpton-half-Jesse-Jackson-head sang a muscial-theatre version of something called, "The Fair Ladies and Fair Bottoms of Selma, Alabama" It wasn't until landing at the cloud top internet island that I realized there were six other heads (eight or nine in all) including George Bush, Donald Rumsfeld, Karl Rove, George Tenet, Paul Wolfowitz and Ahmad Chalabi on this plump humming beast. Quite shockingly these extra heads had just devoured Mr. Tenet and then set about eachother in a mad frenzy. While they were feasting upon eachother, I snuck over here to add a quick entry. I've got to run, but I have amazing stories to tell about a mysterious "Hell on Earth" called Lubbock that stinks of feces and makes all of its inhabitants severely overweight.. (a kindly Indian family took us in at sundown and ushered us to safety the next morning.) The Al Gore head just slipped me a secret message, and told me to flee out the back down the mythical ten mile long slide. Wish me luck!