The people we hate... Revisited.

Well, I was confronted by the original JK on Facebook and this is what happened.  He attempted to rewrite my little blurb about him and turn it around on me.  He did a good job and I applaud him.  But he fell right into the trap I wanted him to fall into, now I have pictures to post.  You are the judges, who wins this little tiff?

Note:  What does "I do find that I'm less funny than I actually am" mean?

Fond memories of my grandfather...

We all miss our grandparents after they pass, I especially miss my grandfather who passed in November (which was the reason I didn't post in December).  I've finished grieving and now I need to share my fondest memory with all of you people.  It is a tale that many believe is blasphemy, however I will assure you this is not embellished.

One afternoon just after school had let out and I had gotten home, I made my usual mega sized bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and locked myself in my room.  As I jammed out to some tunes I got lost in the endless links to useless minutiae Wikipedia had to offer, it was my usual passtime.  My grandfather sat in the next room over watching Judge Joe Brown.  At this point in time he was competent and able to walk about, however the sickness made him too feeble to manage any other sort of physical activity.  Needless to say, I rushed to the man's aid whenever he asked because I knew he was on his last leg.

The house was empty at an unusual hour because everyone had errands to run so it was just me and the good ol' Papou (that's grandpa in Greek).  I heard the underbelly of his slippers stalking towards my door until finally his shaking hand reached for my doorknob.  With an extremely loud creak from my unoiled door he politely poked his head through the door and announced, "I need to make-ey showera."

"I need to make-ey showera" was his way of saying, "I'm going to take a shower," in his heavily accented English.  I gave him the affirmation and looked back to my computer screen...  But something was off.  He just stood there staring at me with a strange look.  When I finally looked at him I realized what exactly the face entailed.  It was the face you make when you don't have good news and neither of you are going to enjoy what's about to happen.  That was the moment I realized I had to bathe my grandfather.

I sucked it up, damn it, I was going to do what I had to do for the man.  He broke his back for about fifty years in the restaurant business so my father could eventually come to raise and support my slacker ass.  I undressed the man, helped him in the shower and started scrubbing.

It wasn't bad, I lathered up the washcloth and cleaned the man pretty damn well.  However, it seemed I wasn't thorough enough because he kept giving me the same look he gave me earlier.  There was bad news and I knew exactly what it was...


I had to wash my grandfather's dick.

As if I were staring at the Grand Canyon like Mister Kenevil before he jumped it; I had to have the confidence and the preparation.  I took a deep breath, reached down, gave it a quick scrub and got the fuck out of there.  But still, he gave me those eyes.

I didn't wash his dick good enough.  Every man knows you need to wash your dick thoroughly, with pride...  It's your dick!  So I sucked it up, took another breath and started washing my grandfather's salami like a man.  I thought I did an awesome job...  But I didn't.  Those eyes were upon me again.

At that moment Morgan Freeman could've narrated, "It was this time, this look, a profound silence fell upon the boy."

I glanced down at his sausage and discovered something I had never stopped to think about.  You see, my dick is missing an accessory.  One could say my cock isn't in the season for a turtleneck but my grandfather's was.  I had to pull the cowl of the one-eyed beast back and wash around his rim.

You're damn right I did it, and when I did do it I had somewhat of an epiphany.  I was wielding the dick that created the dick that created my dick.  And as I held this brilliant artifact in my mitt I felt energized...  So energized I kinda wanted to wash my father's cock'n'balls next.

An important thing #2

So we all know the first important thing I wrote about, sandwiches, was a short, sweet little blurb of relentless truth.  Sandwiches are honestly the perfect food especially if a woman makes it for you while she's naked.  However, the next important thing I've to discuss cannot be made better by a woman.  In fact, the next important thing is a delicate matter a woman can easily destroy with her nagging.  The next important thing is shitting.

Now I try my hardest not to fall into that subcategory of pseudo-chauvinistic pricks who love reciting things they learned from the Alphabet of Manliness (I'm an actual chauvinistic prick who has a respect for Maddox).  But I can't help but agree with everything that literary masterpiece happens to share and take a special liking to a specific point.  Taking a dump is probably one of the greatest things a man can accomplish.

But what the book didn't capture was the importance of taking a doodoo.  Men have three basic modes: eat, sleep and shit.  When dropping a turdmonkey is 1/3 of all your modes you need to realize its importance.

The way I see it is men need to accomplish at least five manly things each day or else they'll become a JK.  Shitting is a manly thing you can do every day to help meet your quota.

The best part?

If you've mastered shooting the asscannon as I have, you can butterslide the toilet five times a day and be in the clear.  This is only allowed because shitting is the cornerstone of mankind.

Taking a dump is the most subtle obvious thing you can do.  If you walk into a bathroom and lock the door behind you chances are you're sphinter-dragon is breathing some brown fire.  However, it is not so overwhelming that it'll consume your time.  The toilet is called the throne for a reason because when a man sits on it, he becomes a king.  He can theorize, culture himself, break up with a girlfriend via text message and also call him mother.  In other words, men enjoy shitting because they are optimizing their time while they sit down; they have complete peace to organize themselves, read, et cetera. 

Here are a few things you can do while on the toilet:

1. Plot murder.
2. Beat God of War on the PSP.
3. Write this blog.
4. Masturbate.
5. Nap.
6. Fart as loud as you want and not be nagged.
7. Grow facial hair.
8. Masturbate.

Those are just a few suggestions to get your imagination going.  Anywho, it's time to wipe so I'm gunna end this post.  There's your second important thing.

The people we hate.

I'm a slacker.  I admit it.  However, naturally bestowed "smarts" have launched me through high school and allowed me to score extremely high on my tests.  That being said, I want to address the hard workers who are always hating on me.  And for you I have this to say:

Fuck you and lick my balls.

I could really care less if anyone has animosity towards me.  The truth is...  I feed on it.  I'm a fucking fiend.  I'm likely evil.  Possessed?  Probably.  But I don't look too much into that religious voodoo nonsense.  All I know is that I'm clearly kickass at kicking ass and my balls are huge.  Give me a fuckin' break, seriously, you're going to go to college and party, get a degree and likely make way more money than I am.

See what I'm getting at?  You worked hard early so you could relax and enjoy your 20's.  I've basically said...  "Fuck it, I'm napping now and doing shit later."

Now when I graduate high school I'm going straight into the cutthroat world of entertainment.  I'm going to come across some slimy assfucks and dirty Hollywood types after my mojo; all the while my money will be extremely tight.

Now that I've justified myself to you douchefags, I suppose it's time for me to lay hard into some of the people -I- hate.

JK's. AKA Tools.

JK's are the people who aren't funny, will never be funny, but will never stop trying to be funny.  Some of you readers might be wondering why I call them JK's.  Well my answer is pretty fuckin' simple folks.  The first JK I ever met had the initials JK.  So now I officially label these unfunny turdmonkeys JK.  Redundant enough?

Most importantly about JK's are their ability to spread their bullshit into things we like.  Much like Dirty Kids, JK's tend to like the same things as you, hang out with the same people and even post comments you don't really want to read on your Facebook when you clearly dreaded adding them in the first place.

Anyway, here's a list of shit I hate about JK's.

1. "Dude it was so fuckin' epic!" One of the many overused quotes.
2. Pseudo-intelligence.  Yeah, they get good grades, but they got nothin' to show for it.
3. How pussy they sound when they use obscenities.  I sound like a man.
4. Their hopelessness with girls.
5. Their constant consumption of trendy bullshit.  Right now they all dress like fake frat dudes.
6. Once Kanye started rapping they all got on board and started listening to it.
7. Hang out with the cockteasing preppy gals thinking they'll get lucky.  (See #4)
8. Uselessness despite being called a tool.
9. They outgrow their cuteness.


You should be honored to be in my blog, J-daddy..

Questions Only.
People, I love talking about myself.  But I hate people who constantly question how/why/where I learned to do ANYTHING.

"How do you come up with blog material?"
"How do you think of jokes?"
"Where did you learn to act?"
"How do you profile people so well?"
"Where did you learn to eat pussy?"
"Why are you stomping on my puppy?"

I get it.  I'm fuckin' intriguing.  You wanna know how half of the shit I do starts?  By thinking.  Something none of the Questions Only populace do.  Stop asking so many god damn questions and start thinking for once, Christ.

But I suppose I have to thank you people for giving me something to write about.

Herpes.
The next group of people are called herpes because they don't go away.  They try to relate to you because they are so damn in love with your balls.  This person is insignificant, they lead a perfect life and nothing bad happens to them for them to make jokes about.  So they cling to you to laugh.

Do I look like a fuckin' clown?

If I had a gun, that'd be the line I say before I murder these people.  They stick around despite your ignorance to them and they even posture up beside you when more people come to speak to you.  They try to act like they know you well enough to answer questions for you.

Listen.  When I get married, my wife's soul purpose in life will be to speak for me because my mouth will be full.  Why?  Because she'll be feeding me perfectly grilled steak from her vagina.  If you don't have steak in your vagina, don't speak for me.

What irks me even more about all of the people listed above is their constant need to use big words around me.  I don't have a big vocabulary and even if I did, I try to communicate in a way that everyone can understand.  Not because I care, but because I want everyone to be insulted the moment I open my mouth.

So do me and all the other awesome people in the world a favor:

Get off our balls.

I'd say vagina too, but there aren't any awesome women...  Unless they have a steak in their vagina.