Beards and Flannel

In this modern high-paced world women are now considered equals to men. There is nothing a man can do that a woman can’t.

Oh shit, I’m sorry. I was watching Dexter’s Lab and I didn't know what I was saying. What I meant to say is that women are inferior - not equal - to men. Women can't drive, piss standing without getting urine all over themselves, drive, not bleed from their genitals for 4 days in a row every month, drive, fix things, drive, “bring home the bacon”, drive, throw a ball, drive, and most importantly, drive...just to name a few. As much as I would love to go on about how women and cars are an awful combination, this blog is about perfect combinations, and I, Soup-Kitchen Sanders, have sworn to seek out and report on such combinations.

Today’s combination takes us on yet another ride through the realm of shit women can’t do. Have you ever seen a woman wearing flannel (shirt, that is)? Of course you have. Have you ever seen a woman with a beard wearing flannel? Fuck no, and don’t let Raptor tell you otherwise. He was drunk and the bulge in that bitch’s pants was evident. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, beards and flannels are a combination that will make Miley Cyrus want to move her hips “like yeah”. Some assholes may argue that flannels aren't that great. I tell those assholes to go chew on some diabetic porcupines. The key here is, of course, the combination. Beards are already manly enough, but toss in a flannel, and your peeper will become an indestructible rod of justice and pleasure (to vaginas). This combination brings a man to a whole new level of man. A “beard and flannel man” is a man that can go outside in the middle of an Alaskan blizzard wearing nothing but his beard and his flannel (and maybe some boots but these are just for show) to build a shelter out of nothing more than a polar bear’s hide and bones - which he killed by mounting a grizzly bear, tearing off its head, and entering its body to use it as an ultimate polar bear-destroying-super-suit - that he didn't need in order to kill the polar beast and only wore to impress a foxy lady who’s into that kinky bear stuff.



The flannel of a “beard and flannel” man is always covered in assorted scents that do nothing but please the individual smelling them. A mixture of smoke, beef jerky, pine needles, freshly chopped wood, and a small hint of body odor cover the flannel in a layer that protect the bearded man wearing it from any harm, such as bullets and fags. The beard is covered in a sweetly intoxicating combination of varied alcoholic beverages. Some say that if one squeezed such a beard, perfectly delicious moonshine would pour from it with any and all impurities filtered out by the beard itself. This is only a myth, however, since not one person has ever come close enough to the beard of a flannel wearer to attempt such an act.

Now, my homeboy Ryan Mackay brings up a fantastic point: there ARE some fucked up bearded women out there. Does the righteousness of the beard/flannel combo apply to them as well? What I said to my homeboy Ryan Mackay was that these women are called “Bull-Dykes” and are among a rare breed of vagina-d super humans that almost, but not quite, parallel the raw power of a bearded, flanneled, man. This is the closest any woman will ever come to knowing what it’s like to be manly. Documented cases even exist of bearded women driving while wearing flannel. At first glance this might not be surprising, since almost all women drive, they just happen to suck at it. What is surprising, though, is that these particular flanneled freaks drive well.


Whats that Joey Skinner? You still don't believe that beards and flannels are a perfect combination? Consider this, your junk keeps the lower half of your body warm (don't believe me? Ask Fuzzy Randy how he keeps his house warm), a flannel can keep your torso warm, and a beard will keep your face warm. Besides, the beard/flannel combo is about as rough'n'tumble as it gets; no one ever worries about getting his beard or flannel dirty. Oh no did you get wood shavings all over your flannel when you were cutting down that tree with your butter knife? Don't cry like a pussy; that shit builds character and your flannel knows it. If the flannel had a brain of its own it might feel sad and abused, but only for a split second. It would quickly look up at the beard and notice that it, too, was covered in wood shavings. The flannel knows it can be taken off and washed. The beard is there to stay. And so the flannel realizes things could be much worse and decides that if the beard can take one for the team, it can too! Likewise, the beard knows it has to set an example for the flannel. Ultimately, the beard and the flannel work together to protect and bring out the best qualities of the wearer in the most selfless act of teamwork facial hair and clothing could possibly display.

Beer and Smoked Fish vs. Wine and Cheese

As Bob Dylan once said while smoking a pound of cigarettes at one time, "the times they are a-changing". Well, that's not exactly the reason why we have been so inactive here on this blog for five months, but it seems to make a bit of sense. Fuzzy Randy and I have been traveling the seven seas all this time searching for better and better combinations. We can't settle for the things that are right in front of us anymore, for everything has been reduced to boring, streamlined shit! I guess it's true that we've always done this, but this time Meduca got in our way a few times and screwed up our trip so that we couldn't write for an indefinite amount of time. But then, in the southeastern tip of Bosnia with a group of slime monks (yes, slime monks, they never explained that), we found a killer twosome of combinations that has set in motion a serious debacle between the two of us. The slime monks regaled us with the legends of these combination's origins, and we're here to share them with you, and rip our balls off in the process due to so much intense argumentation. This whole collaborative effort may be the beginning of a new theme here at Perfect Combinations for Better Reputations. Hope you enjoy.

BULLY BEGINS...

In the tumultuous Middle Ages, Randolph the Raunchy Pirate had scurvies on the lower deck of his ship. That is nothing new. Pirates getting explosions on their hoohangs. In Randolph's desperate fear (he was afraid he was on his last legs), he screamed "GIVE ME A BEER!" Randolph was never a bombastic boozer, but on this day, with his hoohang burning, he needed a nice solid stout. Jemiah Banchee, the most talked-about prostitute on the ship, heard Randolph's plea. Fortunately, she was in the kitchen (where else would she be?), so she instantly poured Randolph a delectable secret microbrew. This was a serious kegger, and Randolph scoffed it down, asking for another. She immediately went to retrieve a second one (after tending to some other business, of course). In the meantime, Randolph took notice of a gaggle of fish suffocating on the floor beside him. "Why not put them out of their misery, and turn them into my pleasure?" he thought. So he directed his scurvy blast at them and found them an instant later drowning in a disgusting miasma of internal rage.

Jemiah Banchee returned with another kegger, and Randolph promptly asked her to scrub the fishies and serve them to him on a silver platter. She did, and she smoked them in the meantime. A few minutes later, Randolph found himself with a heaping platter of smoked fish by his side and an overflowing stout. He finished both of them, and his scurvies were gone. In fact, all the scurvies on the whole ship were gone! And Jemiah Banchee was ready for action more than ever!



This ancient tale is the foundation of an everlasting kinship between two individually magical specimens of food and spirit: smoked fish and beer. Both have their own distinct palette-related charms - the moist, musky "cahhh" of smoked fish, the no-nonsense, bitter punch of ale. Together, they fuse into an utterly unique flavor. To me, there's nothing better than sitting down to a plate of fish and a mug of beer after a long day of punching Raptor's teeth out. I also feel like I'm continuing a long lineage of manhood, an unavoidably awesome stroke of "hell yeah" that begins with vikings like Randolph the Raunchy Pirate and ends with the hulking bearded men of contemporary Scandinavia. So, I propose to you, honorary Fuzzy Randy, what could possibly top this primal concoction?

FUZZY RESPONDS...

Well my good friend Bully, you really buttered my biscuit with that post. My biscuit and my balls. But another story much like the one you’ve told doesn’t just use any brand of butter for the biscuit, it uses Olivio. There was once an Italian man named Buster Bronco who was unlike most men his age. Buster was thirty-two years old but still acted like a five year old who woke up on the wrong side of the pee-covered bed. He would fart loudly in public, eat with his mouth open, say inappropriate jokes, and buy stocks in businesses that made little profit. Because he was so immature, no one really hung out with him which made his wife very lonely. Her name was Patty Pleasure and she was awarded that name after pleasuring 5 guys with just her eyes...and her vagina, which she put on them hardcore. Patty was getting her buns tied in a knot trying to put up with Buster’s nonsense. She decided to step out of her kitchen (where else would she be?) and buy a gun to shoot Buster Bronco’s guts out to the next level. It was on this trip she discovered the ultimate food combination that separates the men from the boy toys.

While on her way to the gun store, Patty Pleasure got in a car accident (typical). She crashed right in front of a wine tasting store which was also across the street from a cheese tasting store which was also right next to a whale blubber tasting store. While Patty was waiting for the tow truck to arrive she peered into these stores. She noticed that in the wine tasting store everyone seemed to have very sophisticated mannerisms. They spoke as if they have lived an honorable life, one filled with many experiences that would put chests on your hair. The sweet and acidic taste of wine that tingles in your mouth all the way down your eating hole gives you a sense of who you are and what you’ve accomplished in life. It takes years for a wine to have its superb taste just as it takes years for a person to become wise and worthy of such a drink. Then Mrs. Pleasure looked into the cheese store to see that everyone looked and dressed in very good taste. Their skin was baby soft, clothes were clean and in style, and butts were squeaky clean. It’s the creamy and salty taste of cheese that makes a man realize that he must look just as eye pleasing as the food he’s eating. Cheese has a clean and smooth appearance which makes it only a shame if the person who’s eating it doesn’t look up to par. After that she looked into the whale blubber tasting store and thought, "why the fuck is that a store?"



It was at this point Patty realized what she must do. So after she had sex with her landlord she then realized she should also feed Buster Bronco a wine and cheese treat to turn him into a mature man with something to live for. Once Bronco finished his tasty tasty treat you wouldn’t believe what happened next. He died of dick cancer. But in the fifteen seconds between Buster finishing his wine and cheese and the dick cancer he said one thing with his pinky in the air, “Why honey, I must say this was quite a delightful meal! If you didn’t perform sexual intercourse on so many lads I would perform it right now on ahhhwhooowaaablaaaa I’m dying of dick cancer awwwsloooowiiiifla I’m dead of dick cancer!” And that was the end of the new mature Buster Bronco. You see Bully, beer and smoked fish will indeed make a man out of you but it won’t make a mature man with wisdom and intelligence. Hell, without maturity we’d all be spitting on each other and laughing at Dane Cook. Imagine a world like that. Now I could go further into this but I would like to know Bully J. Johnson, do you agree that this is the better combination or do you want to start a heated argument? Because I’ll just leave you off with one more thing. I’m open for rape!

BULLY:

Ahh, Fuzzy Randy, you have opened up a serious can of worms, and by golly, for a second I believed you! But, your trickery only rests upon trickery mountain, not down here on Earth! An engaging story indeed (although I was slightly offended when you bashed the whale blubber store, for I have eaten there and enjoyed myself many a'time), but also one with several significant plot holes. My story discusses the very origins of one man's discovery of this combination, and thus, the world's first exposure to it. Yours implies that wine and cheese had already been old and boring by the time it entered Buster's mouth. Even worse, it seems to be a combo only for the rich and arrogant!

My other problem with your story is that Buster was not called upon in the depths of his soul for wine and cheese. As you can see, Randolph's inexplicable desire came from the fact that he was on his last legs, about to die and give up his legacy to the wicked demons! Buster seems to have just been supplied with it on the spot. His discovery of it was incidental! If a combination is not beckoning my soul forward with ball-grabbing intensity, I say forget it! But I digress.



Though your specific tale was, to my mind, not well argued, I can understand your decision to choose wine and cheese against beer and smoked salmon. Ever since my days sailing with Scrawny Mo and sicking creatures, I have enjoyed the occasional Pinot Grigio and Brie. However, it has never produced the kind of spiritual satisfaction of a good IPA with smoked bluefish. I'm left with a hint of urine in my mouth, and whether that's from Scrawny Mo literally peeing in my mouth moments before or from the wine and cheese itself, I don't know, but it has never pleased me. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the experience of wine and cheese consumption is great while it lasts, but irritating afterward. I'm also trying to say that I'm closed for rape!


FUZZY:

Dayum Bully J. Johnson, that argument really stomped my melons and could really make any man give up his argument. But I’m unlike any man (for one I still pee sitting down and fully nude) and I always stand by my point. I think I may not have been clear enough about some of the things I’ve said. Wine and cheese has indeed been around for a long time, probably because both of them alone are still rocking to the core. But it wasn’t the kind of shit it is now until Patty Pleasure came along and combined the two to make that delicious duo of jazz. You didn’t hear me mention any wine/cheese tasting store in that story, did you bullet breath? No, they were separate just like the disgusting whale blubber tasting store. It’s not that I hate the taste of whale blubber, it’s just personal. A whale broke my uncle's heart and raped him into dust.
Another claim you make is that “Buster was not called upon in the depths of his soul for wine and cheese.” The beer drinker in me would respond saying, “fuck you lilly licker,” but I just helped myself to a tall glass (bucket) of a nice red wine with a pound of a creamy cheese so I have a more mature response. Buster doesn’t play such an epic role as Raunchy because he really stands for a point where civilized people stepped up to a new plate. Now when I say civilized I don’t mean rich and arrogant because anyone of all shapes and penis sizes can help themselves to this treat. It’s just that most people who do help themselves to this combo usually realize that they should probably look and act more dignified. It damn well wouldn’t surprise me to see Bobby Benson picking beer and smoked fish over wine and cheese on any given day. Jesus Christ, on the other hand, would easily pick wine and cheese. Hell, that guy turned water to wine and poop into cheese.



Now the taste of the two combinations is a different story. Well, not really a different story but that always makes a good topic sentence. Both combinations make orgies in your mouth but wine and cheese’s soft, creamy, smooth, and tangy touch to the tongue makes a brotha’s mouth say, “YEAH!!!” compared to beer and smoked fish's bitter, rough, slimy, and salty touch that makes a brotha’s mouth say, “YEAH!!” See that, only two !!’s.

But I digress, as now I do realize that both combinations need each other. You have the delicate combo of wine and cheese with the bolder combo of beer and smoked fish. That itself is a perfect combination, delicate and bold, something every sexy man with pubes has. So I say we quit our bitching and just realize that both combinations are pretty much equally as good, even if that’s the pussy way of ending this post and completely contradicts what I said earlier about always standing by my point. But fuck it, we’re faggots with nothing to lose.

WHAT DO YOU THINK?!

Jean Luc Godard and Women

“All you need for a movie is a gun and a girl.”

-Jean Luc Godard

I know what you’re thinking and it’s true, a gun can indeed silence a woman. But that’s murder my friend and that’s not what this quote is about. You see, this quote was created by a brilliant man named Jean Luc Godard. Now make sure when you read his name you roll your tongue and try to huck a lugie because this man is indeed a Francais. (That’s French for French weasel teeth.) Jean Luc Godard is a famous French director who was one of the pioneers of the French New Wave.

“I thought France’s old waves were big enough already.”

Shut the fuck up Raptor that’s not even a funny joke! And stop saying stuff during my posts. I don’t even know why I don’t delete this before publishing.

The French New Wave was when a couple young, French ass filmmakers decided to disobey the system and make films that rejected the classical cinematic form. For example, say there’s a typical movie about Billy James chewing mud. BORING! These French boyz would’ve taken that Billy James chewing mud and change it to him chewing mud with a cigarette and saying poetic shit. That totally puts the system in its place. Now I’m probably shoving tons of info up your nostril bums right now but just remember that Jean Luc Godard’s films were unlike most Hollywood squat. They consisted of thought-provoking dialogue, political ideologies, and characters who you would find interesting even when they’re clothed. This is the kind of stuff you can only find in Steven Seagal’s Half Past Dead. But what fascinates me most about Luc Luc is how he has changed the woman that we all know and dread to a woman who we would gladly shave our peepees for. This croissant sniffing genius has created the IDEAL woman.

It might come to a surprise but I am quite the expert in the female gender. Some say I know the female psych a little too well, which is probably why they stopped talking to me. After years of womanly research on google images, I’ve discovered the many problems with these milk infested honkies. Women today have too many lame feelings, get offended too easily, aren’t funny, and can’t take a punch to the face. Why would any man want to hang out with someone like that? It was that very question that went through the mind of Jean Luc Godard as he put his brain slaves to work in order to create a tolerable gal. And as luck would have it, along with a good brain slave whippin', Godard succeeded in just that. In his films you’ll find the women characters to be so much more fun. They’re funny, energetic, spontaneous, intelligent, adventurous, and also SMMMMMOKIN!!! You’ll never guess what they’ll do next but they're so hot you don’t even care. On top of that they say some poetic words that melt your ear drums into next week.

This is a scene from Jean Luc Godard’s lost film Le Petit Peep. The dialogue is in French so you might have to bring it to a translator.

Stephane: Your eyes are like two of le God’s testicles.

Charlotte: But isn’t le God inside us? Aren’t we all just filled with les testicles?

Stephane: I love you. Bibliothèque.

Charlotte: I want to be dead so I could wish I were alive. Fuck me!!!

Shephane: L’Aight.

As that scene shows you, these woman are serious business. You won’t know what to expect in a relationship with them mommas. All you can do is act like an all around cool French guy as your honey actually keeps you entertained with her words. Wait...What...I’m sorry but I’m just in shock from my last sentence. Entertained by her WORDS?!?! Since when does a man EVER get entertained by a woman’s words? Normally you’d be listening to a nag fest about how you're not a good listener or your butt stinks and that nag fest never turns into a hump fest. With Jean’s women, you could listen to her for hours and actually enjoy retaining the information. Plus, while she talks you can take a gander at her sweet jugs. Even women in other films can't out-sexify Godard's. Sure you'd want Angelina Jolie inside your pants right now but have you ever thought about being in an actual relationship with her? Her, along with all other women, just want to get as many kids as possible and make you take care of them while they go get a pedicure. It's unfair I tell ya.

Every moment with les femme is so magical it’s like a movie. It’s as if everything she says is scripted and was written from an intelligent critic/filmmaker. And isn’t that what every man wants? A women who is under the control of a hip, French guy. That would be so cool boobies. Just don't get the thought in your mind that all you need is a French girl. Helllllll no! The real French hoes are super mean and don't have subtitles under them so they're speaking gibberish. What I suggest is that you quit being a Wacko Link who takes beatings from your boring, emotional girlfriend and just learn how to brainwash women to become sexy, Jean Luc Godard babes.

Popcorn and Movies (SAY WHAT?!?)

As Fuzzy Randy and I have traveled the world in search of combinations to make our butt hairs twinkle, the kind of immaculate pairings that could set Jesus and his disciples in an orgy of ecstasy, we have been invariably shocked by the number of appalling combos that have got in our way. It seems that for every perfect combination there is also a perfectly bad one. We decided that because we can't lie to ourselves and say that the world is made up of only the sweet stuff, we also have to cover the things that make pirates shoot gross stuff out of their weenies. We're too smart to deny that for every block of feta cheese there is a block of swiss, for every Wes Anderson there is a James Cameron, for every Quasimodo there is a Raptor, and so on. Therefore, we have made the mutual decision to include bad combinations too, and they will always be signaled with a (SAY WHAT?!?) next to the title. Accept it or wreck yourself.

I suspect that there is a collective disagreement from the outset about popcorn and movies being included in this light. Of course, this has been a cultural staple in entertainment for decades. Cinemas would not sell popcorn to moviegoers about to see Baby Geniuses 2 if not for its widespread appeal. People watch the babies running around burning crosses and slashing witches all while stuffing their faces with the buttery, crunchy shit, and this makes them happy. Well, I hate to throw a snake in your boots pals, but all you popcorn-chompers are out of your damn minds. There are a vast number of reasons why not to chuck choking pills down your throats while experiencing one of the greatest art forms the world has to offer, and I'm going to cover them. With extra butter.



1. Cinema began as a SILENT art. This means that there was no sound. Moviegoers would take their future brides out to the cinematheque and watch Charlie Chaplin comb his nasal hairs all while sitting there in awe of the simplistic beauty of the moving image. They didn't need the sound, for the vision was thrilling enough to put the jump in their jive. Popcorn, by contrast, is probably the LOUDEST food on the planet. I think this is a hilarious irony. One hundred years later, the pikchas have added blaring soundtracks that give you astronomical wedgies, but still the world's loudest movies (the Transformers franchise, superhero movies, Love, Actually) are not loud enough to drown out the explosive crunch of 25 fat lards eating gross popcorn. You can only imagine what this is like while watching a quiet, pensive movie like Soul Plane. It's like an atomic bomb goes off every time Snoop Dogg opens his mouth to speak that pitch-perfect dialogue: "baby, I'll pump yo ass" or, "damn, it's freezing in this coffin and my dick knows it!". This goofy kid knows what's up. (He's really talking about popcorn.)

2. Popcorn is just not that tasty. I don't care if you don't agree with my assessment. There's no way to persuasively justify bite-size plastic wrap with little brown flaky stuff on the inside that always gets stuck in your teeth, your tongue, and your lymph nodes. The butter and salt is the only thing that gives popcorn any flavor whatsoever. Have you ever had plain popcorn? That shit tastes like grandmothers! Choose candy or a hot dog or nachos at least, an assortment of other sub-par industrial snack foods that don't produce seismic shifts in the earth's atmosphere every time you take a bite.

3. It seems like when people buy popcorn, they receive the invitation to dump it all over the aisles of the theater. I've been knee-deep in popcorn before while watching a movie and that was no good. Even when there's only a thin covering of popcorn along the aisle, it creates a disgustingly greasy floor. One time, I sat in front of a lady who literally got stuck to the floor at the end of the movie. She could not leave and asked for me to get a paramedic. I decided that instead of wasting my time on that, I'd go sit on my ass and juggle pinballs. The next time I went back to that theater, the lady was a skeleton. Thanks a lot popcorn grease.

4. Raptor eats popcorn when watching movies like Bad Santa and Get Rich or Die Tryin'. That's self-explanatory.

5. Randy Savage doesn't eat popcorn when watching movies (some of his favorites are James and the Giant Peach and The Flying Toaster). That's also self-explanatory.

Don't eat popcorn at movie theaters or else you'll end up like this chap...



SMOKE!

Piano and Violin

Just imagine walking down a lonely, wet street just after your parent’s funeral. They died of course from being trampled by eighteen whores and thirty-two midgets just outside of TGI Fridays. It happens to the best of us. Anyway, you’re walking home with lost hope in the world. Your misery is starting to overcome you. It’s night time and your shadow stretches across the gravel. Trash fills the streets and a sharp wind stings your face. You’re all alone...alone...alone (echo). Oh yeah everything is in black and white too. But then out of no where this sad, melodic tune from an old piano fades in. It plays a song that transforms what you’re feeling into a musical form. It sounds a little like this. Just when your heart is ripped out your body from the beauty of this soft piano another sound comes in and puts your heart in the grinder and your balls in a stew. It’s the sound of a violin that sneaks in and mixes so well with the piano that it gives the Greek Gods orgasms. That sounds a little like this.The combination of these two instruments just create such a peaceful, warm mood that tickles your whole body, especially your butt hairs.

In a world full of chaos and cat raping we need to listen to something to calm us down. Rap and rock music just talk about elbowing hookers and smoking the marawons which doesn’t really help all this violence shove it. I discovered this wonderful musical combination when I was in a huge fight with Raptor. You see, Raptor stole one of my Dunkaroos so I told him to get bent and then we just started going at it like real men. We slapped each other for hours until a car drove by blasting a beautiful song with just a piano and violin playing. We experienced such tranquility that we stopped mid slap and just froze. I of course took that opportunity to round-house-kick his lights out and he ran home crying like a fucking galoop. Even though the music was just so breathtaking, I’m still not such a pusspot that I’d let it completely overwhelm me when theres a chance to put Raptor in the muck. What kind of guy do you think I am?

“A queer guy!”

No Raptor fuck you!!!

You see, a piano is like a Mermaid; they are beautiful, majestic animals that everyone wants to have. The only problem with mermaids is that...well...their lower half doesn’t really please any genitals because it’s scaly as fuck. Now you know that things become one hundred times better when you can put your genitals in it. Mermaids just show their knockers left and right but never put out. But don’t you worry baby boo because this is where the violin comes in and fixes everything. The violin would be the lower half of a woman that replaces the mermaid’s scaly ass tail shit. So the combination of a piano and violin is kinda like a mystical mermaid with a hot, human top and lower half of her body, making you say “Dayum babe is that an oyster in your ass or are just you happy to see me?” Unfortunately she actually does have an oyster in her ass and she probably got poop all over it. But just remember friendos, whenever you’re down in the dumps or up in the lumps take a gander with your ears at a real supreme composition. Your butt hairs will be thoroughly pleased.

Skateboarders and "No Skateboarding" Signs

CRUISING DOWN THE STREET WITH THEIR SERIOUS PETES! IT'S THE SKATEBOARDERS FROM QUARGONZAI! LOOK AROUND THE CORNER AND WHAT DO YOU SEE? IT'S THE SKATEBOARDERS FROM QUARGONZAI! MAKE YOU SO SCARED THAT YOU WANNA TAKE A PEE! IT'S THE SKATEBOARDERS FROM QUARGONZAI! BREAKING ALL THE BUILDINGS WITH THEIR JOHNSON'S FREE! IT'S THE SKATEBOARDERS FROM QUARGONZAI!

This is the coolest jingle ever written. (Listen to it here.) But it's also one of the truest. The jingle was actually made for a 1975 advertisement for...GUNS! People were getting fed up with unruly skateboarders intruding on their space and flinging kickflips all up in their shit. Basically, this advertisement was telling people to buy guns and finish off skateboarders, make their blood bleed, send them to the grave, buy them a new home with worms, etcetera. After the Watergate Scandal, people were going wild. They didn't know what to believe because they felt that any ruler would ultimately screw them over. So what's the best way to stick it to the man and protect yourself? With GUNS! I've bought like thirty guns throughout my life for all different reasons, some for things as minor as my aunt not giving me the recipe to her famous chicken pot pie. I taught her a lesson. (Why I didn't use one of the 29 other guns I already had is another question.) The important thing is to not let people like Raptor get their hands on a gun, because they just might start shooting people that matter. Give Wolfman 3000 a gun and you'll know for sure that the body count will be made up only of liars and thieves.

So, before I digress too much, these skateboarders were not in the best interests of the masses. After all, they had their penises out for most of the time according to the jingle! Learning about this story made me realize how similar today's situation is, with the exception of gun accessibility. Skateboarders still ride around with their junk out and swear at innocent pedestrians. They vandalize valuable property and steal kid's candy apples, not to eat them but to put them up their butts. And when I say this, I mean ALL skateboarders. They are all jerks. That doesn't mean however that what they do isn't incredibly badass; anyone who can simulate gay butt sex in mid air with a scratchy four-wheeled board is a proficient athlete in my book. It's only fair that the athlete should play on the turf most suited to his/her sport, am I right?



That brings me to the combination. Let's consider this from the skateboarder's point of view. He loves breaking rules. He's all about disorder and chaos. Why would He want to ride in the skate park built for Him, when that's just doing what someone allows and it means staying out of people's business. The skateboarder wants to be where His existence is noticed, where people can see His junk and be so up-close-and-personal with it that they nearly choke on it. Moreover, the skateboarder is really an anarchist at heart, so He wants to be be somewhere that strictly prohibits Him from being there. Consequently, this happens to be where the coolest skate spots are because of how many nice architectural flourishes are built. For instance, The White House would be the sickest place to skate; you could vertically grind the tall pillars and even nollie across Obama's clean-shaven head. These are the kind of ludicrous ideas that skaters eat up. Anything that shakes things up a bit is of interest to them. So when they see a "No Skateboarding" sign, it's like Christmas in July, even when it's not July. Yes, this may be annoying to the public, but we can't be too harsh on them. After all, they were born with the unfortunate disability of seeing the world as if through a fish-eye.

Men and Women

"Did you clean the gutter yet? Have you fixed the television? Are you listening to me? Hey did you just fluff your Garfield on my new hair iron?" How many times have you heard these obnoxious questions from your wife or girlfriend? Like three hundred zillion times right? It's just a constant nag fest twenty four seven. The women in this world just don't know when to stop talking. Men are just the opposite. We're all relaxed and cool individuals who do nothing wrong until the women come in and ruin everything. That's why men didn't let women have as many rights back then because they were scared of what those shedevils would do to the world with all that power. I'm scared just letting my sister babysit me when my parents are gone. She makes me wear her dresses and gives me Indian sunburns until I puke. Men and women have nothing in common and are an awful combination...so you think.

Now lets talk science for a bit. For those wee ones reading this I'd suggest you'd stop right now and go back to your Berenstein Bears because it's gonna get hot and dirty in here. Men have dingleberries and women have flarglesnoops. It's as simple as that. We like to stick our dingleberies into women's flarglesnoops because it feels good and it also makes slimy ass babies. They were made for each other, like a key and a key hole, a snake and a snake hole, or even a hole and a hole hole. What I'm trying to say is that pee pees point outward on the body and vee vees point inward on the body. Our shlongs fit right into the women perfectly, unless you're Raptor who's wiener is smaller than an acorn. I know cause I looked at it while he was sleeping.

Now I'm no homophobe saying that only men and women could engage in the sex business perfectly. What makes these gay men not so perfect is that poop lives in their butts and that poop gets all over their rods. And gay women...well...I don't really know how they have sex. Sex is just so fitting when it involves a man and a woman. Another thought for you to munch on is that men and women's opposite abilities come together beautifully when connecting genitals. Women are flexible where as men are stiff, but somehow that works. Women are silky soft where as men are rough with pubes and such, but somehow that works. Women are weak and brittle where as men are strong and smart, but somehow that works. Men's big hands fit perfectly on a woman's boob sac. Women also do wonderful things with their tongues that only men can appreciate. Sex is just the one thing connecting cool ass men and stinky butt women and without sex it wouldn't just be the dinosaurs who are extinct. Women would be...cause men would kill them...hehehe....get it?

Buttsocket!