Booker T. Awesome

I don’t think that I am alone in that I feel things from your past should stay in your past and not fuck up your present. I learned that from a fortune cookie. But then Henry Louis Gates had to go and get arrested for being black and break into his own home. What a fucking asshole.  

After the infamous “Beer Summit” between Gates, President Obama, and Cambridge police officer James Crowley, the nation and my nosy-ass girlfriend decided that sharing a brew is the best way to resolve a conflict.  

That’s a nice new TV you got there. How long did you have to save up for it?  I've been saving up for a big purchase too. No, not a new TV or a new computer. I've been putting away a quarter a day for the last two years in order to host an international summit between my penis and shit ton of international whores. Why you ask? Because the Olympics are coming, you silly billy!   

This is the first part of a multi-part series that I’m calling “Shut the Fuck Up and Listen to Me.”  I was told that title is in violation of a copyright law since it’s a working title for an upcoming Tom Hanks movie. So I have re-titled the series “Shut the Fuck up and Listen to me Despite what Tom Hanks and my Mom say.”  The first entry is about things that I have learned while being a contributing member of society and working a normal 9-5 like a jackoff. Despite what my moms says that does make me an expert on all things office related.

What do you tell a woman with two black eyes? Nothing…you’ve already told her twice. This is a joke of course, except the Gatorade dispenser in the Chicago Cubs dugout is not laughing. Twice in the last week the Gatorade dispenser has felt the sting of physical abuse. But when asked about the alleged attacks, none in the dugout are showing the Gatorade dispenser any sympathy. “Gatorade (machine) had it coming in my opinion” said an anonymous source. “That machine…I don’t know how to put this nicely, is a total whore. It was only a matter of time before it got a good beat down.

Are you happy with your life?  You shouldn’t be. I’ve been where you are now. You’re living on the North Side in your two bedroom apartment with all utilities included except for cable because you wouldn’t give your landlord a Z-job. Then you decide one day to get a dog. They’re so cute and loving and they won’t leave you by the side of the road after you accidentally kill a hobo. So you go to the shelter and narrow your pick down to the Pug, or maybe that Black Lab, possibly the Golden Retriever.

Dude, you’ve got to see this. I just took the biggest shit of my life, and I want to share it with the world. Don’t worry; I took a picture on my iPhone so you don’t have to go into the bathroom. Frankly I wouldn’t recommend going in there for another 30 minutes anyway. I could tell that it was going to be a good one. I hadn’t shat all weekend, and I ate a LOT of Chens. It was one of those purely miraculous shits that I could feel growing inside of me.

Thanks to an adorable five-year-old Mexican child, the world is doomed.  This delightful child who can turn the world on with his smile is single handedly responsible for wiping out the human race.  Sure, there will probably be a few survivors.  If I’ve learned anything from movies those who survive will be disorganized and won’t be able to do as God told us to do and dominate all the plants and animals on the planet.  Thanks a lot, Mexico. You go sit in the corner and think about what you did while we talk to Canada and try to figure out your punishment.

Baby, we’ve been together for a few months now and I will be the first to admit that things are great. We have a great time hanging out; we both think Indian food isn’t actually food, and you scream during sex … I like that. Seriously, you make me feel like a rock star when we’re banging. Combine your screaming with the shitty insulation in my building, everyone must think I fuck like a champ. So thanks for that. But this relationship is starting to get in the way of my furious masturbation schedule, and I just can’t have that happen. Please … let me finish ...

Dude, if you offer me pizza again I swear I’m going to punch you in the face. No, this is not an idle threat, this is a real threat. I’m sorry; I’m going through bread withdrawal. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had any bread? 24 hours! That’s over 1,440 minutes of yeast-free torture. That means no beer, or pizza, or pretzels, or anything else that is delicious.

The strategically placed pile of stem cells left behind at the home of a recently deceased abortion doctor can only mean one thing: Charlie the Fetus has struck again.

Dr. Kimberly Bruckman was found dead in her home in Winnetka this afternoon in what local police believe to be the final piece of the revenge puzzle that Charlie the Fetus has now completed.