dear anonymous asswipe

who said my post about the chicago buzznet meetup was boring,

who the fuck asked you?

and who the fuck cares what you think?

theres a reason your momma named you anonymous, it was cuz her dick smelled like shit and her mouth was full.

why didnt you leave your blog address? the one thats burning up the blogosphere and people are falling all over themselves to link to you? was it because after you signed up for you forgot the password?

its bushcheney just like all your passwords genius.

i bet your dick is huge. i bet you get lightheaded when you sweat to the oldies with richard simmons. i bet you look great in your peter pan outfit and your angel wings.

i bet right now youre stocking up on peanut butter to rub all over you as you starve your poodles in preparation.

let me tell you something about this blog negative anonymous commentor, this is as good as it gets. its the best because we dont allow pussy ass bitches to fuck up the program, we treat them like whiteheads: we identify them, analyze them, squeeze them, and then sterilize the infected pore. sorta like what God did to your momma after she shit you out and left you in that dumpster to die.

but even hell didnt want you so you had to move away to the cold, get raised by constantly lactating dobermans so you could leave fucked up lies on peoples blogs.

i came to chicago i drank booze i ate hot dogs i drank more booze i danced to fucking shania twain i drove pretty girls home and i woke up with a hangover in hangover park for your ungrateful ass, and then i fucking wrote about it and posted pictures so that you could be entertained for the hour and a half that it took you to sound out the words and you thank my by saying it was a zzzz post?

fuck you and your sore asshole. fuck you and your sadness. fuck you and your political and religious beliefs. fuck you and your kiddie porn.

im sorry that people want to come out in the rain and the shit and the cold and party with me and dance and drink and leave their shit in the back of my car and write about meeting me in their blogs and take pics with me and link me at the top of their shit. to be honest i dont know why anyone does it but they do. and theyve done it now in ny, la, vancouver, and now my sweet home of chicago.

im sorry i dont suck cock for crack like you do and then write about it so you’d find some sort of deeper bond than me. im sorry i use my real name unlike you and your pussy ass. im sorry i live a life worth writing about and you have your hairy palms and oprah reruns.

and im sorry youre such a loser

mr delay

but as soon as bushie pardons you you can go back to sucking on the teet of america and living off the fears of the redstate nation like youve done all these years.

just do us all a favor and keep your dumbshit comments out of the blogosphere

or if you insist on acting a fool, be a man and leave your name email address and brilliant blog url so we can all be enlightened with your prosedy.

hell is full of dullards and liars, my comments are full of angels, so either change your tune or stay the fuck out.

out like your daddy

out like your facist party

out like your ip address which will be right underneath the phone number that you scrawled on the bathroom stall at the little league.


and next time you leave a comment tell the truth which is you love my shit. leave the bullshit for the grand jury.

natural kinds + chad + raptor blog + bunny

dear jessica simpson,

dont be sad that youre divorcing nick. you know what i say about boybanders: kiss em but dont marry em.

you dont see my girl anna k marrying enrique do you?

no, and thats cuz gay boyfriends are fun, but gay husbands arent so fun. they want you to clean up around the house, they want to play dress up when you want to be in sweats, and they end up just breaking yr heart babydoll so dont blame yourself, blame nature.

now the good book says a lot of things about married women and divorce and technically i cant really marry you since youre always going to be married in the eyes of the Lord to nick.


but we dont have to get married. and to be honest, youre so fucking hot we dont even have to get it on. and from what i could gleen from your tv show it didnt seem like you were that into getting it on anyways.

so heres what i propose. i propose that you move into my hollywood bachelor pad and be my girlfriend. if you wanna buy a dog you can buy a dog. if you wanna call tuna chicken you can call that shit chicken and you know what i’ll do, i’ll say baby i love you. thats what i’ll say.

you know who tells someone as sweet and as hot as you that youre wrong and ditzy? xhusbands.

youre perfect. and you look good in uggs. you sing like youre having sex and i cant name one song of yours but you can sing em all around the house and i’ll just say louder baby louder.

and then we’ll get some food delivered and heres another thing, i will never interrupt our days or nights by watching college hoops and calling my buddies on the phone in the middle of the game and say holy shit that was a fucked up call.

what i might do is call them up and say jessica is dressed up as a school girl and shes thinking about buying a new purse.

yes i know im not handsome, but your handsome boy just broke your heart.

yes i know im not buff but people who are constantly making their muscles grow are making up for a muscle that will never grow

their heart.

i know youre being passed around by the jackass boys but you need to get out of that world cuz dudes who are that nuts about getting their balls shot at by firehoses and aligators dont know how to treat a dainty southern girl whose dreams have been crushed.

what you need is a blogger.

a failed poet.

a hetrosensual.

a very old one who will look at you from across the room and say stand up on that coffee table baby and spin around real slow.

and when you do it he’ll say damn girl.

you might even persuade me to move to calabassas, but only if tsar can play in the backyard on new years.

the state im in + dave the pa + welch was in the LA Times yesterday