Was reading an article on cnn.com that a good friend of mine from UNC Chapel Hill sent me.  There was one thing about it that really bothered me.  The following quote:
“There are some people, and I’m one of them, that believe George Bush was placed where he is by the Lord,” Tomanio said. “I don’t […]

Found this from a user named Kiwi on www.meatsock.com
Dear President Bush,
Congratulations on your election victory and for doing so much to educate people regarding God’s Law. I have learned a great deal from you and understand why you would propose and support a constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage. As you said, ‘in the eyes […]

So I live at this apartment complex in Raleigh NC called the College Inn Apartments.  It’s nowhere NEAR the greatest place to live but it’s also not the worst.  Having said that, seeing as it’s 2006 I’d expect decent internet anywhere.  At home on a residential cable line i get 40ms pings for gaming and […]

Acupuncture has never called me, at least no more than acuripping, aculeeching, or acu-kicking-you-in-the-groin. Besides, if acupuncture worked so well, how come porcupines get sick?

But my headaches were that bad, and Dr. Lynn, my dealer, didn’t know why.

“We can’t figure out what’s happening, Jason, so we’re just going to rub some more insurance money on it and see what happens.”

Dr. Lynn may have been sharp in his prime, but now you get the feeling that when he laughs too hard, he pees his pants just a little.

In tenth grade I tried my hand at JV Football. The venture was to last one year because, and I was not aware of this going in, football hurts. With football came weightlifting class, an easy credit designed to keep football players from over stimulating their fragile brains. Mixed in with football players were three mentally handicapped students, placed in a normal class to help integrate them with the other students. Naturally there were small problems, such as how they constantly dropped weights on themselves and had to be pried out of machines. An even more consistent problem was Terry.

Terry was one of the handicapped students, but this kid had a death wish. He was constantly punching unsuspecting students or getting into arguments over who owned the weights. Coach Anderson, our weightlifting teacher, knew nothing of meeting the needs of a handicapped student; he was hired to coach football. His only rule was that we not hit them back, just ignore them, and we did. That is, until we had a substitute coach.

It was towards the end of July when I noticed the trail-blaze orange billboard outside Greensboro Convention Center proclaiming “Gun and Knife Show Aug. 27-28.”

I don’t squeal with excitement often and God willing that will be the last time. After getting my car back into one lane I made a quick u-turn to double check the date. For the next four weeks I talked about little else.

Like an early Christmas morning, August 27th rolled around. As I walked into the convention center I realized that, in my child-like anticipation of the gun show, I had failed to prepare myself mentally for such an event. The first thing I noticed was that these people were, well, all white. All of them. I hate to act on stereotypes, but hey, it was a gun show. A full-on, liberals leave your politics at the door, sleeves optional, guys in fatigues standing around quoting Reagan and cleaning their rifles HO-DOWN. And at about 2 o’clock in the afternoon a college kid with glasses and his Asian girlfriend were thrown in the mix. We blended in almost as well as the camouflage these guys were passing off as street wear.

First published on January 3, 2005, IMFOECOE originally ran in eighteen segments over two months that together formed one of the most mammoth and comprehensive works in the history of obscure political science humor: a complete, alphabetical listing of all 189 countries recognized by the US government, with accompanying attacks on the culture, history, or population of each.

All of the information used to make the jokes can be found in the CIA world factbook, or in the author’s relatively extensive knowledge of geography, history, and savage insults.

Dear God and all the Cardinals and whoever else:

Ever since I was a little child it has always been my dream to be pope. While other children were playing with broken glass and eating cats, I was blessing things and reading nutritional information on the things I ate (the pope must be very healthy). My mom always told me that Catholics would have a special place in hell below the Jews, but slightly above Mormons. I know in my heart of hearts of spades that this is not true.

Ladies and gentlemen, readers and people who read, today in modern and civilized America we are facing a great many ills that threaten the fate of our fair Republic. The grand experiment set forth by our fore-fathers shall but erode to dust, if we dare not take action. These evils are not simply a sum total of malice from varied sources; rather they can be traced to one origin. For I have pinpointed the locust that sweeps barren across our great land, and it is none other than the most abject and weary of our kind; the geezers.

With the possible exception of a mother or two, nobody who reads my journal has been alive during an Intergnum — that is, the period including the death of a Pope and the election of his successor. The series of events that is initiated upon the Pope’s death is actually quite interesting, so I thought this would be a good time to share some of the rituals with you, my loyal readers.

When the Pope is first thought to be dead, a special Cardinal first asks him, basically, “Are you dead?” If the Pontiff doesn’t answer, the cardinal takes out a special hammer and strikes him about the head with it three times. The purpose of this is to make sure he’s proper dead; if, in fact, the Pope was still alive, the repeated blows to the head would change that with a little holy brain trauma. Then special bells in the Vatican are rung to scare away all the vultures that have been roosting outside for the past decade waiting for that old coot to up and die already.

What in the sweet blue fuck am I doing here?

I don’t know any of you people. Well, OK, that’s not true. I know the gentlemen that you, in turn, know as Kalen and Wilshire. But I haven’t talked to either of those douchebags in years, so that hardly justifies my presence.

What the hell is this site even about? Probably a failed computer game mod, if my last experience with those guys is any indicator. Fuck. I don’t know anything about computers. It took me years to figure out how to get the thing to make any decent porn. That was a rough patch of trial-and-error. I had wondered why none of its various orifices seemed to fit properly. Also, for anyone who was wondering, the human penis does conduct electricity, and how. You live, you learn.

So young buck, you have made the fatal mistake of putting all of your eggs into one basket and then lighting it on fire with a giant flamethrower that also shoots fire ants on fire, by purchasing an Apple Macintosh. Yes, you invariably wasted 3000$ on a PowerMac, and yes you might be classified as criminally insane. But cheer up, because when using one button mice or trying to get any games to work (any will do, please why can’t I just play half life? Why God, why?), there are many other things you can do with a Mac, and with this guide I’ll set you on the path to Mac freestylin’.

Is it just drivers in North Carolina that are stupid or people in general? Nevermind. I have two tips for those of you who endanger society by starting a car.
1. Car horns, they’re there for a reason. If somebody cuts you off, doesn’t realize that a light turned green, or has a Republican bumper sticker, HONK! Sometimes I go around honking at people for no reason, just to keep them on their toes.
2. Turn signals are almost completely useless. Here’s why.
“This guy is slowing down, I guess I should slow down too.”
“This guy is slowing down and turning right, I guess I should slow down too.”
If you want me to signal when I turn then you might as well stop me and ask me where I’m going and what I had for lunch, because that information is about as useful.

Having just recently moved into a dorm, it has come to my attention that a startling amount of people don’t wash their hands after using the bathroom. Umm…eeww? Can you at least rinse the urine off your fingers? My god, no wonder dorms are a cesspool of disease. And for anyone who doesn’t think that a trip to the toilet warrants a quick scrub, here’s a quick visual of what I do in the bathroom.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m jumpy. I don’t mean jumpy like “good reflexes” jumpy, I mean jumpy like I “once accidentally hit my grandmother” jumpy. And anyone in the world will dodge a big bug that flies in your face. I was taking a piss last week, when this moth that was about the size of an orange flew in my face. Now, not wanting to bring my hands anywhere near my face, I did a swift and graceful bob and weave that would almost put Muhammad Ali to shame. Actually I jerked around like I was being electrocuted and did everything short of screaming like a little girl. Maybe I screamed a little. More than a little. I was a urine flailing banshee.

Why is it that now that we’re in college, a time in our lives where we are the poorest we’ll ever be, people solicit us the most? I can’t get to my bathroom without somebody trying to stick some piece of paper in my hand, which is convenient considering I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll need it. To wipe with. My ass that is. I crap four times a day.

And why is it that it’s illegal to throw paper on the ground, but perfectly legal to put flyers on a car windshield? I’m going to start putting soda cans and plastic wrappers under people’s windshield wipers. I bet there’s some law against that, laws are a pain in the ass. Whenever someone hands you a flyer, do what I do. Hold out your hand to take it, and the second it leaves their hand just drop it. Then you either walk away, leaving them owned, or you look at them like they dropped it and wait for them to hand you another. Repeat. Another solution to the flyer problem, grab the whole stack of flyers from them and fling them in the air, then yell “WEEEEEEEEE!!”. Then later steal their hat or something.

One of the greatest debates in the history of mankind was that between the virtues of a rock versus that of a tunnel. This debate was originally initiated between Socrates and his students. Unfortunately it was never discussed to completion, as everyone had their own opinion and could rarely, if ever agree on anything. This matured beyond the marketplace in Athens, and became the point of contention in almost every debate, discourse, battle, and war in the ancient world. For instance, the celebrated Battle of Thermopylae was not a decisive conflict in the Persian Wars, but instead a battle over whether or not the Persian King, Xerxes I, had authority to ban the quartzite phalanx of Leonidas from entering his cut and cover soft ground tunnels in Persia.