Things I Do and Don't Miss about Amerika : Part I

UPDATE:

I’m sick of apologizing for always being late with my blog.  Let’s call this what it is – I’m pretty fucking slow with my creativity.  I’m not sure if this will change going forward but it might because my travels are changing.  After 4 months of touring most of SE Asia I have arrived in Manila to pause from my sojourn and go back to work.  Ironically, I have been hired back by my old company to help them set up a new office here in Manila.  Yes, I will struggle as I live the next two months in a 5 Star Hotel and endure its relentless amenities.  My body will ache from going to the gym and using the personal trainers and my belly will bulge in excess from the gourmet breakfasts that are included.  And I will scowl in rage when I return each day to find my clothes laundered, my dishes done and my bed made.  I’m not sure how I will cope but it might include one of the two pools, the sauna or the Jacuzzi at my disposal. 

Anyway, enjoy my latest installment entitled: Things I Do and Don’t Miss About Amerika

*Just an update that my body does ache from the gym.  I tore my pectoral the other day on the bench press.  Hello stationary bike and excessive drinking…

Things I Do Miss About Amerika : 1

Sweatpants

Holy white Jesus I miss my sweatpants.  What I would give to wear some of that fine Canadian lingerieh.   If you didn’t get that shitty joke it was just intended for you to remember that Canadians are a bunch of classless seal stuffers.  Oh I’m sorry, did I forget that every Canadian I met traveling was so nice and awesome and generally what everyone thinks Americans aren’t?  Or did I realize that they’re a giant group of unoriginal penisholes that all have a fucking maple leaf stitched to their backpack like some god damn medal of honor.  Hey Canada, make syrup, come spend your loonies and shut your voice holes.  Alright, so yeah, sweatpants, I really miss those things.

Attention fashion world: you can stop what you’re doing and go ahead and Dereklick your own balls. The world doesn’t need your shitbrained ideas anymore.  We have oversized cotton pants and they’re awesome.  Your new age bullshit is about as useful as the fat kid on the basketball team.  If it was anything but JV we all know he wouldn’t be playing.  So no one needs a cape with wings or whatever else that anorexic toothpick is dragging down the catwalk.  If you want to impress us then take fashion back to its roots and show us hot models wearing bras and teasing us with their titties.  You’ll make your quota in 3 hours.  I guarantee it. 

Now, traveling around the world I was unable to pack my XXL sweatpants and thinking about them now is giving me a giant fashion boner.  I swear the material they’re using these days is illegal.  I mean, you ever walk into Champs sports on a Saturday intending to pick up a new jock strap and golf balls and you find yourself drawn to the sweatpants section?  There you are, hungover and reaking from last night’s whiskey n’ coke beerbong challenge (naturally, you were the winner) and suddenly you wake up in the store with your hands thrust into the insides of the latest Nike Swoosh Air Jordan on 50% sale for only $129 sweatpants? There you are, drool coming down your chin and splatting your chest in the v-neck part of your shirt where more shirt should be and a soft groan is emanating from your throat.  Don’t tell me that hasn’t happened to you. Note: for any women who are actually reading this, I’m sure you don’t know what I’m talking about so just draw a parallel to how you feel when you buy a new Cuisanart or spoons or some shit.  I’m bet you go apenuts for napkin holders.

Why do I love sweatpants so much?  Well yeah, part of it is comfort.  Every now and then I’ll go commando in my sweats and hang free.  If only we had some sort of ratio based measurement scale to identify the underlying construct for the indescribable pleasure of letting freshly showered man balls collide with sweatpants that were just washed in a gallon of Downy. Now that’s a science fair project in the making.  Now don’t forget kids, construct your hypothesis and then experiment; not the other way around. No one likes a fucking cheater.    Another is convenience; waking up on a Saturday nothing can erase the toothy grinned mistake next to you but at least you can rest comfortably once you jump through the window and run home to your grey Champion sweatpants that won’t judge you.  Ahhhhhh….how I desire NCAA sports with beer and non-judgmental sweatpants.  I miss America.

Traveling has deprived me of such comforts as I’m forced to wear some bullshit polyester performance blend, totally removing cotton from my fashion diet. I miss trying to walk up to the drive thru atTaco Bell at 3:00 am overdressed in open laced sneakers, sweatpants dragging at my ass and a classic Jansport hoody.  And depending on how many 40’s I’ve drank I might even say I miss the Crunchwrap Supreme they won’t sell me because I’m not in a car.  Even SE Asia can’t beat an octagon taco for $1.99.

I mean let’s be honest, sweat pants are essentially one giant pocket to keep your hands warm.  No man can resist slipping a hand down the front if only to perform the routine cock and balls maneuver.    

Step One: Grab entire package from right side lifting balls off right leg.

Step Two: Grab entire package from left side lifting balls off left leg

Step Three:  Grab shaft removing said shaft from balls.

Step Four:  Allow slight smirk to cross your face.

Total implementation time:  1.4 seconds

So this weekend when you wake up Sunday morning with some cockbreath and you stumble into your living to watch football, just do me the honor and make damn sure you’re wearing your sweatpants.  You can explain your bad breath some other time.

Travel Sex: 4 tips to help bros land muff while traveling

Alright, this article is for all the bros out there traveling around the globe. I know that traveling can really exhaust a bro and what better way to recharge than by plugging his battery into a muff outlet. But traveling can make it more difficult than usual to tame some muff as a bro encounters language barriers and other cultural cock blocks. So after months of depleting research I have compiled a few tips on how to nail some tail while on the road.

Note to bros: This article would have been finished sooner but some chick’s ponytail kept hitting the space bar.

Facial Hair – Alright, if you’re a bro out traveling you’re a damn fool not to be sporting some facial hair. Facial hair is an unmistakable way to signal to the world that a bro has arrived while subjugating any and all muff immediately upon visual contact. In other words facial hair is like a fucking hypnotic laser that captures muff. “They’ve done studies, you know. 60% of the time, it works every time.” As soon as some muff sees you with a beard she will instantly know two things; one is that you’re a bro and the second that you’re the Mayor of Muff City. Now bros already know that we are the best at stuffing bone, but I realize many people are still ignorant of this fact. How do I know that bros are the best at taming muff? Well, because bros are the best at everything. If need be we could outswim a dolphin or play football on the moon. Bros love showing off against wild animals and participating in lunar sporting events. If you think I’m wrong just check out this list of dudes with facial hair: Paul Bunyan, that guy from the Dos Equis commercials, the Brawny paper towel guy, ZZ Top and Jesus. Yeah, I know, that’s a fucking legit list of bros. All are clearly the best at what they do and all of them were bros. So put down your razor, grow your beard, and slam that muff.

Beaters and heaters – All bros know that appearance means everything but that with enough drinks you can always improve on your first impression. So when it comes to your attire no self-respecting bro would wear anything but a beater (tank top to the ignorant). The beater is a fucking lethal weapon in the bro wardrobe and is almost so effective it should be illegal. It’s like hitting down+down+up+up+a+b in Mortal Kombat on Sega. It’s like a Sub Zero “freeze move” as you lay out muff with your favorite beer logo and perfect tan while also demonstrating how super ripped you are. Starting out shirtless, while a classic bro option, will sometimes encourage non bros to do the same thing thereby visually retarding the talent with their non-bro bodies. While a bro can overcome any obstacle it’s just better if a bunch of fat dudes aren’t walking around half naked. Fact: bros hate fatties, male or female.

Now sometimes you won’t be able to stand around pounding beers with other bros because you’re by yourself. So in these moments of going brolo you’ll have to step up your game a bit. Enter the heater. Fact: smoking makes everyone look cooler and impresses chicks. I’ve literally seen panties fall to the floor in the club when a bro starts puffing on some a Marlboro Red. Don’t bother yourself with all the lies floating around, cigarettes are not harmful. Bros never get cancer.

Money – Shit, bitches love money. There’s nothing that gets muff hotter for a bro than knowing (or thinking) he’s got stacks of cash. I mean really, watch the way the eyes of some muff light up when a bro pulls out thick rolls as if he just landed on the fucking sun and he ain’t even breaking a sweat. It’s a well-known fact that if you’re a bro with money you will be dining on muff candy all night. But for the traveling bro I know you’re on a bit of a budget and that can make things difficult. That’s why you should travel to countries that have ridiculously stupid exchange rates. I mean you can get 4000 Cambodian Riels or 8000 Laos Kip for just $1. Let’s be honest, you can’t help but hit Bro status when the ATM stops you from withdrawing more than 1 million at a time! And don’t get me started on Vietnam. Any country that names its money the “dong” is just begging you to visit and show off just how much dong you’ve got stuffed in your pocket. In fact, it makes for a great ice breaker to ask any muff how much dong she thinks you’ve got and then encourage her to stick her hand in and find out for herself. This sly move basically guarantees any bro to a “non-refundable 1^st class VIP no-condom-necessary” ticket to our favorite destination: Pound Town.

But why is this so helpful you ask? Because unless you’re talking about the cost of shoes (which a bro will never be doing), then muff have no concept of numbers, money or counting. Just ask any chick how many players are on an NFL team, what the maximum Roth IRA contribution is or how many places a bro can stick it in them and every time their answers will be too low. So they don’t realize that when you roll up with 30 thousand Kip and offer to get them drunk enough to dome you on the dance floor you’ve really got less than five dollars. And you thought math would never be useful!

Foreigner/ accent – Note to fellow bros: muff absolutely love bros with a foreign accent. So every time I travel to a new country I use a new accent. When I’m in Germany I speak like the French. Visiting the beaches of Thailand; go ahead and suit up with an Italian twist on. Or if you’re traveling to Zimbabwe go ahead and use the Aussie tongue and invite them to go down under. The problem is that since America is the center of the universe we don’t actually have an accent and thereby must borrow from others. Make sure to avoid the harsh languages, no bro is get some Columbian muff by speaking like a god damn Uzbekistani. Just pick a country that naturally speaks English (Britain, New Zealand or Ireland) or that just makes a bro sound super cultural (French, Italian and Brazilian). Now bros, there will be an occasion when you need to make a change on the fly due to unforeseen circumstances. (For the record bros don’t make mistakes we make adjustments). Let’s say you’ve been pounding beers and you’re already 17 deep when you spot some a nice slice of muff pie. You size her up and determine she’s definitely from Nigeria and within moments you calculate you should go with the French accent (an all-around winner). But when you begin talking you realize she speaks French too. Don’t worry, stick to nodding your head and pounding beers. Encourage her to drink more and interject into whatever she’s saying with an occasional wie for good measure. Within an hour you’ll be able to take her back and find out if she’s Greek too!

Random picture of a bro demonstrating these useful tips

And if you hadn’t figured it out this piece was a bit of muff taming hyperbole that was inspired by http://www.broslikethissite.com/

Some of best / worst / weirdest / funniest / things while traveling: 2

Crazy Night – Siem Reap, Cambodia : August 3^rd 2011

Alright, so Cambodia is a hell of a place. I totally recommend everyone to tour the massive site of Angor Wat. There are some wicked temples and other ruins that are great to view when tripping on a half oz of shroomers. Check out my photos of us pretending to bang stone lions. Shit’s great.

Anyway, so the city of Siem Reap is pretty decent too and David and I had quite an interesting first night. It started with us on the hunt for some decent grub after killing some Angkor beers back at the hostel. Man sized appetites demanded meat and we stopped by some restaurant that had some animal roasting on a spit. This thing was the size of a small cow and had a long tail but the meat was all white. It smelled good so we took a seat; we figured if the locals were eating it then it had to be food, or close to it. I implemented some wicked sign language to get us some beers and an order of the grilled beast. (We never did learn what the fuck it was). When our food arrived we were treated to what can only be described as pieces of skin on top of pieces of fat. It was about as chewy as a used Trojan (or so I’ll assume…) and tasted about the same. Fuck it though; we ate it, pounded the beer and paid our $3 bill and left. After grubbing on some banana pancakes in the street (absolute tits!) we found ourselves a nice bar packed with locals. We were the only vanillas in the joint but what the hell, everyone drinks beer.

Side note: The whole world loves beer. It’s a beautiful thing, but that’s another topic.

So we started guzzling some local brew for like a nickel a pint or something. I don’t know, when we left we were drunk so we just left some monopoly money and walked away. By this time the beer was taking hold and we were getting a case of the drunken munchies. I attempted to beckon the waiter over but in hindsight I think I just waved at everyone that walked by. I mean after a fistful of Angkor beers they really do all look the same. I inquired to whoever showed up what would make for a good snack choice and he recommended dried snake. “Oh shit,” I said “I didn’t realize snake was in season. Yes, bring us one.” It was dark in the bar but what arrived definitely looked like a dried rolled up snake. It was salty like jerky but definitely did not taste like beef. Honestly, it was pretty decent and we ate the whole thing, washing it down with some more pints. At this point I had to rock a piss so I set out searching for the men’s room. Outside was a trough of sorts with dudes letting loose. I pulled up a spot and just as I whip it out some little guy comes up behind and starts rubbing my shoulders.

Handsy bathroom dude : “You like massage mister?”

Me: “Uhhh, yeah. Wait no. What the shit are you doing?”

Handsy bathroom dude: “I give you massage”

Me: “Yeah I see that. I’d suggest you stop doing that.”

Handsy bathroom dude: “You sure you not want massge?”

Me: (Pausing while he worked down the lumbar) “Yes, I’m sure.”

Let’s be honest, the dude had soft hands but I just can’t be having that. I mean, usually I can pee anywhere anytime, but with a little Cambodian man rubbing your back and your dick is already in your hand it’s surprisingly difficult to piss. Luckily he backed off and I was able to take care of business. I made my way back to the table and we proceeded to drink more and then hit the road.

So we’re making our walk back home when we turn a corner and out of fucking nowhere David is mobbed by hookers. Now, I already had a prostitute grab my cock in passing when I was in Laos so I was a seasoned vet to this shit and I figured the rookie David could shake it off and we’d move on. In fact I found it quite funny and while I’m laughing I proceed to grab my can of Grizz and begin packing a dip. It must have been the beers but I hadn’t figured our little situation wouldn’t have been a problem but all of a sudden they spot me too and come flocking. Now, these girls ain’t like hookers back home; these bitches get quite physical, almost violent. At this point I got three or four women surrounding me, bumping into me, grabbing me all over and speaking broken English sex talk. Quickly I realize that I have a bit of a dilemma; my can is open and I can’t afford to spill this shit (you can’t get chew in Asia) but these hoes be trippin’ and trying to make a mess of things. I’m trying to keep steady with my hands while trying to force theirs away with the rest of my body when, Fuck! I realize they got their hands in my pockets and it’s not my junk they’re after, it’s my cash. I jiu jitsu my way out while David and I make a hasty zig-zag maneuver to finally break free of them. God damn sluts tried to rob two poor drunk white boys. Trapster probably said it best: “Damn! Sluts!”

Some of best / worst / weirdest / funniest / things while traveling: 1

Hello readers,

I realize yet again that I have left a large gap with my blog posts. I hope you have been able to fill that void with drugs, alcohol and Harry Potter. I blame Beerlao, Tiger Whiskey and the amazing value of Laos street hookers (the exchange here is awesome) for my absence from the blog. Going forward I vow to increase my posts and write about things that are weird, funny or horrible while I travel. Since I journal everything in my other blog I forget to keep you all aware of the best and worst parts. So…..my deepest apologies. I have some catching up to do but here are a couple of them from days past to get you started.

Traveler’s Diarrhea - Pokhara, Nepal : May 31^st 2011

I awake with a bulging feeling in my gut. There’s low rumble with an impending request to make an exit. I stumble to the bathroom in the dark and turn on the light. Fuck, there are 3 cockroaches stunned by my entrance. Cockroaches always look guilty when you see them in a group; like they were doing drugs, telling a dirty joke or standing around with their “wieners hanging out for everyone to see.” Under normal circumstances I would have shrieked like a bitch and then grabbed a shoe to chase the fuckers. But not this time, fuck me I barely make it to the toilet in time. Standing there I shuffle my feet and hear a crunch as one of the roaches miscalculated my need to regain my footing when pissing at night with a raging pee boner. But wait, what’s that?! I pull down my pants and land on the seat just in time as lunch comes pouring out like a fire hose. Twice, no, three times. Fuck I say, I think I’ve got the shits. Feeling depleted and tired I head back to bed. But sleep does not come as there is no rest to my stomach while it churns and pain mounts inside. It is but half an hour before I am forced to return to the throne and further empty solids, liquids and plasmas from my body. It’s only twenty minutes later and I am urged back, but this time it is my stomach. I drop to my knees and violently heave as dinner bursts like a culinary volcano. After the third heave while I ponder if it tastes better coming out than going in (the food in Nepal is really bad) I jolt upwards and sit down just in time as liquid fire escapes my ass. By 3 am I am making my eighth appearance and while slumped over with my intestines leaking from my body I smack under my leg and feel a squishy crunch as I kill a second of the roaches. I’m not sure why but he seemed to have been headed for my butthole. I feel so sick I don’t even care. The minutes tick on with return appearances of me in the bathroom. I am so thirsty but we have no water, the stores are closed and tap water isn’t safe. I rummage through the bag of my roommate looking for iodine pills or a revolver. In a state of confusion as to why I am going through his shit at 5 in the morning I moan something about water and cockroaches so he gets up to help. He finds the pills but reminds me it takes nearly an hour for them to work and the water to be safe. Fuck. And so it goes for the next 24 hours as I lurch and moan in bed like a beached whale, making 20 individual trips to the bathroom. The only thing keeping me alive was the thought of smashing that third and final cockroach. Well, that and a heavy dose of azithromycin.

Smuggling Beers - Bangkok, Thailand : July 2^nd 2011

Alright so it’s the night before the presidential elections and the country of Thailand thinks it’s a good idea to stop selling alcohol at 6 pm. Let me sum it up as the worst idea ever. I mean it’s not like there is a history of violence related to elections. Anyway, so we were hoping this just applied to the impoverished Thai citizens but we soon discovered that even the tourist section had dried up. Such news could only be described as fucking lame. It’s like learning that Santa Claus doesn’t exist anymore because he died of AIDS before they could make a quilt big enough to cover the North Pole. So yeah, it’s basically the worst night imaginable. But as we are strolling a side street we here a little voice shout out “hey, what you need? You need beer?” My friend and I look at each other like we just spotted the Holy Grail. Well, the Holy Grail if Jesus bled Chang. We shuffle over to the man to confirm our request. He nods his head and makes a secret Thai signal (holds up two fingers) to another man hidden in the shadows. Moments later two cold packages wrapped in newspaper are delivered to our shaky hands. We sneak the man some cash and shove the giant bottles in our pockets. Had this been another night we would have happily pretended that we had “popped some Viagra to issue tickets with raging boners.” But tonight we had to sneak our way home. Honestly we both felt like we were back in high school buying our first bag of weed. What a couple of pussies we were. We checked every corner for cops and took side road all the way back home. Not only that but we paid triple the normal price. Fuck, sometimes you just have to have a Chang.

Quick Update

Alright so here’s a photo update of me. I grew a beard, shaved my head and donned some aviators. And yes, my shirt does have a panda holding handguns. You can buy anything in Thailand. Shit’s great.

I’d like to also give a big thank you to everyone now that we have surpassed 1000 page views on my blog. I know about 900 of those are mine and another 100 are probably from Tyler Luckey so really I’m thanking about 7 people. Keep it up!

I’m currently in Laos right now and I am literally partying my dick off. Don’t worry I’m also working on a little article for all my bros so stay tuned in the coming days for that one. Enjoy your Monday at work!

Why the Zoo sucks

Note: If you want to see photos you’ll have to visit my other blog or my facebook page. It’s too much of a pain in my dick to upload them everywhere. Just click this link to my PG blog and shutup. Also, it’s nearly 2 am here in Bangkok and I’m hammered. I started this sober and finished it tonight. Ignore the mistakes and enjoy the rest.

Zoos

Alright, I acknowledge that I have been away from this blog for quite some time. In my defense I was busy drinking and fucking. If you think those are poor excuses you should go make me a sandwich because anyone who doesn’t think that pursuing carnal pleasures is the most important thing in the world clearly shouldn’t be wasting her time thinking and should be busy stacking meats on other meats. And don’t forget to toast the bread.

l should also clarify that Sarah just visited me in Thailand so I wasn’t randomly dipping my stick in foreign holes with careless abandon. But now that she’s gone I have a green light to frolic in the nightlife of Thailand and play my favorite games of “Is She a He?” and “I Can Do What That For $3?” with unbridled booze fueled pleasure. And for the record all of them have been He’s. Money well spent.

But in the days leading up to her arrival I was passing my time in Bangkok taking in the sites and had the opportunity to visit its shitty zoo and it has left me thinking. This whole zoo racket needs a bit of a home makeover and who better to make the big decisions on what animals to keep and which to toss into the gutters of Kolkata, than me, Zoo Critic Aficionado.

OK, Zoos have too many damned animals that no one gives a shit about and not enough interactive exhibits. In the future there will be 3 criteria for who is chosen to sit in a giant box of natural habitat for eternity and who gets to join Toto and go bless the fucking rains down in Africa. And the criteria are….Big, Dangerous or Cute. That means elephants, pythons and seals are in and camels, rats and every god damn bird is out (will address later). And any animal with a combination of these powers: like a rhino, a panda with a machete or a fascist penguin, is guaranteed a golden ticket to the big show. Any animal that lacks one of these criteria can piss off.

BIG: OK, this is the exact opposite from the traits to be looked for in humans. Notice to fat chicks: no one likes you; we only appreciate putting another notch in our belt. When I come back from the zoo I want to tell everyone I saw the first giraffe/ blue whale cross breed. I don’t want to tell my friends I fucked one. Back to the point here, big animals make the cut because by default they are savage beasts. I like the fact that if you attempt to feed a buffalo in the wild he might freak and trample your family while you take photos from the top of the Jeep. You’re going to regret not having bought that Canon EF-S 55-250mm telephoto lens when the last memory you have of your daughter is a grainy blur of dirt, fur and blood. At least remember to put it on ACTION mode when you’re on the Jeep!!

Exceptions: Hippos. These aren’t big they’re just fat. If hippos were people they wouldn’t be in the WWE they’d be that sweaty guy you got stuck behind at the DMV. Don’t mistake fat for unique, beautiful or special.

DANGEROUS: Holy shit I love dangerous animals (from behind an steel gate of course). I’m talking about all the cats: tigers, lions, cougars and jaguars. All the bears: brown, black, white, white and black, cinnamon and teddy. We’re keeping the sloths, poisonous frogs and sharks. I love witnessing any animal that in other circumstances would just as soon slash through a man’s thigh like butter and eat his face while he screams in terror. I would however, like to give a belated shout out to V Kilmer though for solving that nasty lion problem back in 1996.

Exception: Poisonous spiders. I hate spiders and they’re no way in hell they’re coming into my zoo. They give me the heeby jeebies and a zoo is no place for that.

Cute: Before you call me a queer for this one don’t worry, I checked the official bro code and it’s cool to like cute things. It’s like thinking your buddy’s little sister is cute. Yeah she’s only 17 but she’s got perky tits and he isn’t your best friend anyway. No one is going to blame you if you get to cop a feel. So…cute animals are in. Admit it, you love watching those little otters play in the water and when the penguins come scampering down that little ice luge it makes us all a little wet.

Exceptions: Your buddy’s little sister. That would just be effed.

….

So now let’s discuss the animals that are a fucking waste of space and would better off mounted on my wall than part of my already miserable Saturday. Besides, the only reason I came to this zoo was because I was told there would be sno-cones and all I got was some miserable shaved ice. Does no one realize there is a difference? Anyone can pour shitty colored syrup on ice and put it in a cardboard cup. It takes some real talent to make a sno-cone with every tiny perfectly shaped ice cube drenched in shitty colored syrup. I want my 50 cents back. I mean, it’s like telling me were going to watch Babe and instead someone puts in Gordy. I hate those people.

Top 3 biggest wastes at a Zoo:

Insects: About as useful as a degree in English are the bug exhibits. I don’t like bugs out of a cage so I sure as shit don’t need to see a million of them running around a box of dirt. Oh, what is this? The new mosquito exhibit you say? Well sure I’d like to enter it. Nothing gives me more pleasure than looking like the Indians after we gifted them all those warm blankets. We hire people to kill these things in our homes and you want me to pay to see they live in a shoebox? I don’t care see ants living in a farm or watch snails move faster than Superman after he fell off a horse. I’ll go to the Amazon if I want Malaria or to New Orleans if I need to see cockroaches feasting on a FEMA failure. Creepy crawlies are fucking out.

Exceptions: Ladybugs and the cast of Bug’s Life. Man I miss getting high and watching Pixar.

Animals we eat: Why would I pay to see an animal that might be part of my dinner that I’m eating at Old Country Buffet? Deer, kangaroos, ostrich, goats, deer, fowl, fish, zebras, pigs, cows, sheep, antelope and gazelles are all excommunicated from my zoo. Look, unless you’re going to set up a giant spit in the center of the Zoo and let us pick our lunch there is no reason to showcase this entrees. No one wants to pay an entrance fee to see how our dinner eats hay and takes a shit. We hunt, butcher and devour these animals. If you want to see these animals walk into Safeway and get a steak stuffed with a pork chop wrapped in bacon and fry an eagle egg on top. And get it to go so you can eat it while you’re touring the zoo. The wild beasts will go crazy from the scent and we’ll have the fences so low they just might jump to take a bite. Interactive zoos is where it’s at.

Exceptions: Any endangered species. Just knowing it’s illegal makes it that much more awesome. I invite some spotted owls to make an appearance at my Zoo but I’ll be handing out complimentary crossbows to make things interesting.

And finally….Birds: The number one biggest failures at zoos are birds. They’re loud, annoying and don’t do anything but fly around. And don’t tell me that flying is significant enough and that’s what makes them special. Giving a bird credit for flying is like high fiving a fatty for having diabetes. Of course they’re going to fly; they have wings attached to their bodies. Show me a chicken in the cockpit of a F-15 mowing down escaping refugees with a .50 cal and then I’ll say birds can come into my zoo. Until then, let’s call birds what they are; assholes who can shit on you and get away with it. To help prove my point let’s look at the famous birds in our culture and break down why they suck.

First is Donald Duck. This quacking sack of pubic feathers wouldn’t be so bad if he had never introduced us to his shitty little nephews: Douchey, Pooey, and Louie. When I was watching my Saturday morning cartoons all I wanted to see was that dipshit coyote repeatedly stick Acme dynamite up his ass in hopes of blowing his pecker through the roadrunners skull. Instead I would be randomly treated to three autistic baby ducks yammering about their molester uncle and go on asinine adventures. You took away the Saturday mornings of my youth and I refuse to let that happen as an adult.

Next are Angry Birds. It’s hard to hate on these flying missiles of animated ecstasy but then again I hate anything made popular by Apple. I just want Jobs to know I’m routing for the tumor. But on behalf of corporate America…everyone needs put down your iPods and get the fuck back to work. You’re putting us in jeopardy of being as productive as a condom at a bugchasing party.

And finally…Big Bird. Never in my life have I seen a more apparent pedophile wearing a costume. At least with clowns we know they’re after our kids, but that’s why we hire them. Anything to get 2 hours of peace and quiet while little Jimmy can become afraid of the dark and people with red balls on their noses. For years Big Bird has masqueraded as a servant to our children, supposedly wanting to teach them how to tie their shoes and make PB&J sandwiches. Jesus Christ, if your kids are that retarded then let them play with some giant groping bird that always has a suspicious smile on his face. There’s little doubt what goes on inside Big Bird’s trailer when the cameras aren’t rolling. I bet Snuffleupagaus would probably be getting in on the action too if he didn’t look like he had always just injected a pound of heroine. By the way, Snuff would be allowed in my zoo on grounds of big and potentially dangerous.

Notable exceptions: Penguins - these little fuckers are too damn cute to be mad about. Besides, they live on a sheet of ice, slide into frigid water to have fun and can’t even fly. Everyone wants a penguin as a pet.

Black Swan – Natalie Portman is hot and can cum and preform at my zoo anytime.

Changes to make to Zoos

Now that I’ve pulled the panties down and given zoos a little bit of penetration it’s time to tell them how to tend to their wounds. Yeah, clear the cages of those no talent ass birds so we’ve got space for our new additions. Or at the very least we need to add a little intrigue to the day’s events. Here are my suggestions:

4: Drug day. Once a month we’ll get a grab bag of the latest shit on the streets and add it to the morning rations. After the feeding we’ll open all the cages and see what happens. It will all be random and fucking exciting. We’ll have bats on crack, baboons on 4 Loko and rhinos tripping on angels dust. The trick is to not tell the general public. No one likes a riot and besides it will make a shit load of good material for Tosh.O I can’t wait to see him in a sweet new T and trendy hoody giving a web redemption to the crying mom who tripped her 4 year old to save herself from the crystal meth induced raging pack of porcupines. Shit will be sweet.

3: Puppies and kittens exhibit. I’m getting a boner just thinking about it right now. Absolutely no one can deny that these tiny creatures aren’t adorable. I suggest we open a kittens petting cage right next to the open air python booth. Not only would this solve our need to source gerbils for the snakes (Richard Gere wait your turn) but it would also relieve us of manually updating the kittens display every 7 -10 days. Besides, we would run out of shotgun shells if we had to rid ourselves of cats all the time. As for the puppies there would be a peanut butter stand right outside and for a meager $17 you could have a tub of Jiff creamy to “feed” the puppies in your own private booth.

2: Monkey Monday: We all know these creatures are part of our past. Whether we came from them or someone came in one, we are irreversibly linked to them. Why not let them participate in the modern world with us on what is normally the worst day of the week. We could all use some cheer on Monday so I suggest we drop a basket of modern weapons into the cage and see what happens. Of course we’ll lift the top of the net so they can fully integrate with humans. Chimps with rifles, gorillas with mace and baboons wielding batons should let us know once and for all who will win. I don’t need to watch another shitty version of Planet of the Apes to determine the outcome, let’s Darwin be the judge.

1: Humans cage. I can’t possibly be the first person to think of this one. What would be better than see your fellow man in a miniature version of his real world? We could finally know how he acts in the wild, track his moves and discover the long lost mating habits. Maybe men do cry when watching Lifetime or maybe women do like it in the ass (fingers crossed). We would finally find out. No worries, all subjects would be volunteers and paid a fair wage. Finally, we can find out how someone survives in one of those 100 sq ft Ikea floor plans.

OK, so now you’ve read and internalized all my great ideas you should have come to a some forgone conclusions: viewing savage beasts in a fake environment is worth your precious time if your lady promises to blow you while you watch NFL on Sunday, animals when given the proper equipment to terrorize civilians is better than watching Will Smith pretend to be awesome in any movi, and unless we find a Pterodactyl, birds need to stay the fuck out of Zoos.

Goodnight everyone.

And here are some more rules for you all…

Rule #8: Feel free to post comments about how much you love me or anything else.

Rule #90: Just to be clear, everything I write is completely true.

Rule #4: Click on some ads. I could use some revenue for my endeavors and I have currently made $0.00 off you twats. So just log in, click the shit out of those banners and support me.

And here are some official reviews from some fans:

"Reading Tony's blog is like putting your own thumb in your ass, it hurts for a few minutes but you still hate it when you are done. I also hate the fact that Tony is getting blow by a Thai boy" - Terry Gamble

“Tony’s words tickle my country soul. My old bones ache as I am filled with laughter. My cock grows smaller with age, but again, I am renewed with life and laughter as Tony writes away the sad, sordid, journey of his twisted youth.” - Wilson Bigely

Tony be a straight gangsta homey. He slings ice and loves the Thai rock. He be rollin’ deep in muay thai thug life .Good shit tony, good shit m’man.” - Real G’zus

Few more rules

Rule #2: Pop culture. Seemingly at random but actually with deliberate care I will be referencing pop culture as I dazzle you with quotes from shows like Big Lebowski, Archer and any movie with Jason Statham. If you expect quotes from Gaga or Bieber you might as well start that gas oven and pop your head in because that teenage drivel didn’t make the cut.

Rule #43: My jokes are not nor are they intended to be racist. I’ll work to evenly distribute the harassment: whites, browns, fatties and lefties will all be treated with equal derision. If you think otherwise you have missed the joke.

Rule #5: My jokes might be a little sexist. There’s no avoiding that

Rule #18: Although rules may appear out of order they are not. I’m employing a mixture of Fibonacci, Pythagorean and Stolichnaya techniques.