Posts tagged ‘chicken’

Put on some clothes!

I’ve be been hiking through the woods round my hometown with my kid lately. We’ve met a few people doing so.

First to mention is Pia, a girl a year younger than my son, whom he claims he loves. She’s blond, like the other girls he’s fallen for so far.

A couple of people with dogs, which reminded us both that we miss having a dog.

Most recently a pair of elderly ladies, who were really nice people, it saddens me that they’re elderly, because they’re so nice and that means in the not too distant future they’ll die, and make place for ASSHOLES.

Which brings me to the last group we encountered: assholes.

First off, the bicycle creeps.

Guys (and it is almost exclusively GUYS) riding their bikes at, what I can only describe as, terminal velocities, down WINDING HIKING paths, full of people, children, and dogs.

I hope they all have accidents that involve them falling in a way onto their wheels, crotch first, ridding the world of their genes.

Secondly, shirtless men.

These fuckers come, generally, in two flavours: chicken breasts, and bears.

No well defined Adonis, not a young Schwarzenegger. No.

Young dudes without muscles, or hair – sometimes badly plucked chickens, guys with some patchy hair – strut through the woods, dripping sweat like a pathetic miniature raincloud on legs, bearing an expression as if they, these human mole rats, were the new definition of manhood and manliness. Fucking incels.

The bear type is either fat, or hides a chicken breast beneath some fur, but is otherwise EXACTLY like the mole rat. Hideous and sweat dispensing.

You may not like to think of sweat, and much rather pretend that it waters the woods, but if it runs off of your body, it’s useless. If some clothing catches it, and it evaporates from there, that’s what cooles you down.

You may think you’re manly, but you are a disgustingly looking piece of shit – mole rat or bear – that reeks of desperation and, coincidentally, SWEAT.

Put on some fucking clothes you repulsive sack of body odour liquids.

I outlined to you a practical reason why – the disgusting, and unhygienic, sweat dispersal aside – its unpleasant.

YOU ARE UNPLEASANT.

To look at.

Your backpack is dripping wet, so you shifted the sweat problem from a piece of clothing to a piece of luggage, and you’re not an Adonis!

I’m not some prude who dislikes naked bodies, sense of place. Semi nudist in public, isn’t decent. It isn’t esthetic.

Stop it.

Go to the beach if you want a tan. Put on some fucking clothes when you want to hike. Or shop. Or eat.

Take care,

A.

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Crappy Birthday in June

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If your entire family has birthdays this month, then you’re in luck!

I present you, the unholy trinity of crap!

A plush toy for kids with no imagination, the DVD for people with no life, and the room spray for families with no taste.

Yes it’s a plush roast chicken, with detachable legs, on a velcro spot. A thing I wouldn’t have wanted to play with as a kid, as I couldn’t eat it. For the very same reason I hated plastic fruit. Playing make believe is one thing, creating roast chicken plushies is another.

Then the DVD, laundry machine impressions. It is exactly what you think it is.
Laundry machines, … washing laundry! If watching paint dry is too riveting, here’s the answer!

Finishing off this month with the Chicken Soup RoomSpray.
What can I say that hasn’t been said millions of times? Imagine entering the bog after your uncle Rob had a particularly nasty dump, and your nostrils are pleasantly surprised to find the odor of chicken soup lingering in the air! Makes rubbing one out that much more pleasant!
In addition, try imagining if this roomspray was advertised for like a Calvin Kline perfume. Two skinny mouthbreathing people who only speak in whispers: “Desire meets the tastebuds. Chicken and hunger. Passion and the soup. Chicken for nose, soulfood in the air.”
Crappy Birthday!

Easter presents…

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This easter rabbit can count the eggs hidden behind the house, sitting on the front porch.

Now take this trashbag, and haul this year’s sodded easter crap off…

Fiendish Easter I
Fiendish Easter II
Fiendish Easter III
Fiendish Easter IV
Fiendish Easter V

Yes, yes this was the index for this year’s Easter.
A.

Fiendish Easter IV

shudderThis cackling and jiggling chick is the latest of motorized easter gimmicks.

Scaring away Spring and Fertility Spirits, small children, and even Jesus, this demon – placed behind the door after the scare tactics of a dismebodied rabbit head had failed – will succeed in preparing for the arrival of the antichrist….

Suits.

Originally I wantednto write about TTIP and how much I hate the entire idea, and concept. But I have to admit that my knowledge of the entire deal is limited (as everyone else’s) and I could only rant around.

Instead I want to tell you about a pet peeve I have: SUITS

Yeah suits. It’s a pet peeve bordering on major psychotic hatred. Maybe because I’m biased by all the crap that has been raining down from wall street and its copies worldwide, but I hate people in suits. I see some schmuck in a suit, and I immediately assume he’s a liar, a thief, a crook who’d sell his grandmanfor the right prize (or businesses deal), a dishonest man who should not be allowed to breed (if he has the time, if his wife has the time, if the kids are even his).
I looked in the mirror at my wedding day and I had to work hard not to see a crook, a thief, a dishonest man. Same thing with all the men who attended the wedding.  I know them! Each and every one! I fracking know that they are honest people, nice, hardworking. 

It’s the god damn suit! It is tailored for empty people with empty lives, money is their only worth, and their only measurement of things, and people, and time.
Empty, meaningless exisences, who steal, lie, trick and maybe even kill to get some extra cash.

And it is such meaningless existences who are the cause for the problems in last week’s post, and who are the problem in TTIP.
Feed them chlorine washed chicken, raised on GMO corn, given to drink only that water oozing out of the ground near fracking sites, give them the minimum wage and let them try to live on an island deprived of any bees (and subspecies of bees).
Let’s see how long the empty suits can survive under these conditions…