You know what I love? Coming back from hiatus to an inbox stuffed with fan mail. Like Jay, who wants me to watch him jerk off on webcam. Or SandyBunny, who wants to buy the exercise machine I’ve been trying to unload since spring. But you know what’s even better? The hate mail. There’s nothing that reaffirms a catty, insensitive bitch’s self-value like catty, insensitive diatribes from random bitches. So lets dip into the pot of festering cock-envy and pull out a few gems.

One loyal reader that we’ll call “Jen Connors” (“417 Elm St, Dansing, Connecticut”) just had to weigh in on the overall tone of my blog. She says it’s “adult” and may offend young web surfers. Well, Jen, I think it’s pretty apparent that I didn’t write my piece on Craig’s List whores for a bunch of whiny slit kittens still dangling from a wet placenta. But if they happen on it, fuck ‘em. They’re gonna learn about the birds and the bees somewhere. Might as well be at the hands of a nymphopedobeastialnecrophiliac with an untraceable IP. If you don’t want your cabbages to read, blind them. Bonus: You don’t have to lock them in the closet while you shoot heroin. If they don’t actually witness it, they can’t testify.

I’ve had a universal call for blood over my use of the word “fag” in September. Intellectually, I understand that the word has evolved from an English slang term used to describe elderly and unpleasant women (like we use “canvas-cunted circus whore” today). It is best used to describe a feminine subject with undesirable traits. Like emo kids. On the other hand, I don’t owe anyone an explanation or apology. Within my dominion, I am god. If you didn’t think it was funny, blame it on having a sense of humor like whipped diaper-pail cream, not on my unwillingness to pander to it. And if that doesn’t work, I can always use the “I’m part of the GLBT community, so I can say it” card. Either way, fuck off.

But this is my absolute favorite. I consider the post itself to be a mild boil-over, but the comment I received is priceless. Thank you, Lola, for setting the record straight. Of course we wouldn’t be nearly as shocked if we knew that the woman was practicing adult neurology without a license. And we should, of course, always think of the children. But only select children. Because the children of the patients she treated have no right to be upset that some unqualified psycho was living her dream by poking around in their parents’ heads without any training whatsoever. Oh, and avoid any attempts at spell-check. Perfect. Any other limp-wristed twat waffles want to prove my theory of human inferiority?

So, it’s back to the grindstone… I just hope I still have some spleens to grind. You may not know this, but ground spleen is a proven homeopathic supplement that curdles bile into an ink-like substance. Doesn’t hurt if you harvest your organs from wayward nuns. In an alley behind a deli of ill repute. Under a full moon. While incanting. But watch your incantations. If you end up summoning Count Chocula, you’re just stupid. But if you find yourself staring into the endless face of Nyarlathotep, you’re fucked.

When left to my own devices, dinner often consists of dry cereal. Thank goodness for my TechSmith titanium spork! *thumbs up*

- Jess

Source: Defamer

O de Conde Chocula, para ser mas precisos, personaje de unos cereales al chocolate (contra todo pronostico) muy populares en EEUU:

El motivo es que Cracked.com ha convocado a sus lectores a que envien imágenes de los que serían ‘Los peores monstruos del cine‘, y entre Cujos/Terminator y Tiburones/Focas nos encontramos a Javier Bardem de Conde Chocula:

Hombre, un aire si que se da…

Blogalaxia Tags: Javier Bardem Count Chocula Vampiro Vampire Cereales Spain España
Technorati Tags: Javier, Bardem, Count, Chocula, Vampiro, Vampire, Cereales, Spain, España

I am watching my two sons run like madmen around the house, one with a mini-Chewbacca, the other with with a mini-Ewok. Both are singing the Star Wars song. Well, they are not really singing, since there are no words, but they are somehow constructing the melody in a way that is louder than a hum but quieter than a scream.  Speaking of Star Wars songs without words, my wife sang the Ewok “song” (aka “Yub Nub“) in middle school as part of a choir program.  Was this required in the North Thurston School District in mid 1980s?

So my kids are going crazy and it’s about 10 minutes until their bed time. And like many modern parents I would like to blame this on sugary cereal. I would blame everything on those crunchy, high-fructosed-corn-syrup-drenched and “well-balanced” breakfast treats if I could. Global Warming? Blame Captain Crunch. Money problems? Cookie Crisp is the culprit. Failing relationships? Reese’s Puffs.  But of course, my kids didn’t have cereal for dinner, as convenient as that would have been, so I just can’t use it! Darn!

This reminded me of the health kick my mom took our family on when I was a kid. Chocolate was banished by it’s healthier cousin, carob. The healthier relative was later found out to be in no way related to cocoa and it took about a millisecond for my 8-year-old tastebuds to figure that out.  Nevertheless we ate the brown substance (the color being the only similarity I could observe) for quite awhile.  While perusing the healthier food section of the Tumwater or Yelm Hwy Safeways, maybe I will see a Count Chocula alternative with carob and excite my children with my discovery. I am sure they would love it.