Why Tom Cruise is a bleeding penis tip... but RIGHT!

I should start out by declaring

SCIENTOLOGY BLOWS.

I don't think it's necessary for me to go into the reasons. Just the fact that something like this exists in the 21st century -- that people take this shit written by a hack of a sci-fi author not just seriously, but religiously -- is positive proof that the human race is doomed.

Now. By now most of you have seen or heard about the video of Tom Cruise again being a blathering twat and getting a big stiffy over his main-man L. Ron (The Hubber, as he might be named) as he talks about acronyms and other bullshit that those nutters use to sound like a bunch of secretive cockblossoms. You also may know that I have the extreme dishonor of living close to a Scientology center/hive/breeding ground. The story continues to the next paragraph...

In Tom-tom's laest romp through illogic, he explains that "if he sees an accident on the road, as a Scientologist [he] is obligated to help, because a Scientologist is the only person who can help..." Poor Cruise-control is apparently unaware that paramedics are probably going to be a bit more helpful than proselytizing in the event of an accident. Or so I thought... because AS BLOODY SHIT WOULD HAVE IT I DROVE BY A CRASHED CAR BEHIND THE BIG SCIENTOLOGY HOTEL TODAY. And guess who was there??? SCIENTOLOGISTS! HELPING!!

There they were, wearing their sleek navy blue sweatpants and chatting jovially amidst eachother. The driver was huddled up on the sidewalk looking in shock at her car (or at the fact that she crashed in a place worse than the scorched lands of Mordor). And those good, good Hubber-followers brought out orange cones and were sweeping up the glass.

T.C. says that only a Scientologist can help at an accident. The Scientologists were sweeping up glass. Ergo only Scientologists can sweep up shit.

QED, BITCHES!


You should send some of those fools over here. My patio is getting dusty.

Growing up Sucks Balls.

I hate growing up so much. The benefits totally outweigh the rewards. Since I know most people just scan blogs, I'll write this up in an easy-to-follow list of bullshit...

First the positives of growing up and why they really mean shit anyway:

1.
Positive: Your 18th and 21st birthdays. Time for cigarettes, porn, and booze!
Why it means shit: News flash fuckwads, I was partaking in all of that shit when I was 16. It's not like it's that goddamned hard to procure this shit. Cigarettes I got from my senior friend; a five year old kid could find porn. Don't believe me? Go to google image search and type in almost any word you can think of. BOOM, anything you could imagine someone doing to their or someone else's body for pleasure. Alcohol? Try the parents' liquor cabinet or even better, just go out and buy it yourself! Shit, get a little 5 o'clock shadow, pick up a bottle of Jack like you do this sort of thing in your sleep. Or get a fake ID. This is easy fucking shit.

2.
Positive: No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers dirty looks... Schools over and you're now the master of your own destiny.
Why it means shit: Welcome to the real world, douche. Master of your own destiny? You're gonna be waiting tables, so fuck you and your excited 'tude.

3.
Positive: ummm.... nothing else good comes to mind.


Now for the negative things:

1. Losing your girlish figure
2. Losing your boyish agility
3. Losing your friends who move somewhere else to do their thing (good for them for doing what they want, but it's a drag)
4. Realizing that you will never be able to do the things you assumed you would when you grew up. (aka adios fireman)
5. Increasing indifference towards the rest of the world
6. People your age start having babies/dying/doing those things you never expected them to do when you were younger
7. Fuck it. This list is depressing and I'm sure you two readers get my point by now. Sorry to be a downer. I'll come up with something more uplifting next time. I'm gonna go play video games and eat chocolate.

Wonder when my cockslap cohort is going to start posting on here with me again.

Sorry I didn't put any pictures in this post. Blogs without pictures blow, but I'll make it up to you in some way (that doesn't violate blogspot's TOS).

This City Hates Me.

Here I am. In the city of angels. And it sucks ass.

Reason: There are no fucking jobs. I've been sitting on my ass playing picross every day. I've been living here, unemployed, since August. I've gotten to the point where I've thrown out any ideas of actually working in my field and have just walked into stores randomly and asked if they're hiring. They aren't.

Reason 1: Writers. The goddamned writers are fucking this whole city over. Don't get me wrong, I support their cause, but they're being fucking numbskulls about the whole thing. They aren't hurting the people they're striking against because they still have cash pouring in:
Big business guys will make a reality/game show about fucking anything, and people flock to it like flies on shit. The writers aren't really being hurt by the whole thing. Both sides are acting like fucking children that refuse to talk, and meanwhile no one else can get a job because they have no need for fresh faces around.

Reason 2: This country is in a recession. No one's spending money, so no one's making any money. No one's making any money, so no one's hiring anyone. I have a fucking college degree, am more proficient on a computer than 97% of this country's population, worked in a fucking high-energy physics laboratory where I was making more money per hour than these people will ever see in their lives (and I was published), and a list of other stuff I don't even want to mention and I can't even get hired for fucking retail.

Reason 3: My own fucking school's career development office isn't getting back to me. I have an email dated November 7th from the office saying they were compiling a list of alumni and people related to the school who might be interested in hiring. November. Fucking. 7th.

Reason 4: No one returns my emails/calls/candigrams/smoke signals. I meet people around here who are doing what I want to be doing. They are interested in my skills and give me their card telling me to contact them... They never even give me the decency of responding saying "no thanks, dumbass, we think you should go fuck yourself with a 2x4." The one psuedo-exception to this seeming rule is a director I knew who responded to an email. I emailed him back saying "wow, it's really refreshing to actually get a response from someone" and then attempted to continue the dialogue, to which he never responded (for the record, my computer thinks I misspelled "dialogue." Dipshit.).

I'm done. Go fuck yourself, LA... and quit flying your goddamned military choppers over my house at 6AM.

THANKS.

CAN'T KILL ME, MUTHAFUCKERS!!!

Ok. Round 2. Little Mac is back in the ring to fuck some shit up. I know we still have one loyal reader, so it's time to start firing all cylinders.

This is just a warning post. I'm going to write a real one as soon as I publish this shit.