Posts Tagged ‘Retard Phenomena’

The Worst Online Dating Ad In The History of Dating

Posted: January 31, 2013 by kaostheory in Rants
Tags: , , ,

While we have covered the nightmarish morass known as online dating before, it appears that many have not understood the depths of insanity that it can provide. It seems that some of you do not truly grasp how depraved, soulless, and Lovecraftian it can be. Thus, we have resolved ourselves to creating out of the swirling blackness an example so dark, so evil, so terrifying…that it can only serve to illuminate the horror that is online dating. A word of warning, if we may. This projection is (God willing) not real, but it shall be constructed so that it appears as such. If you are offended by such a frank portrayal of madness, be warned. If you are offended by many of the stereotypes presented therein…go fuck yourself with a splintery Louisville Slugger. Thank you. We begin anon.
——
xxxSeXXXiiBaBiii6969xxx

(insert picture of the most grotesque figure of ostensible womanhood your fevered mind can dredge up)

Yo., my name iZ jANNAlynne an i m 24 yrs yung and herrs a lil bout me, tha sexxxist bitch on tha whole dam block!!!!!!

i m righit now livin wit my ma and gma bcuz my exhusband is an ASSHOLE WHO CANT HANDLE A WOMMAN!!!

im goin thru a divroce right now bcuz my ASSHOLE ex beat me up alot and tried to kill me in June
he lockd me in a fridgerator and set it on fire but i made it thru with Gods grace and a halffull jar of mayo!!!

i got 4 kids who r my everything, they r my whole life n my world and you had better handle it
theyre names r Caidyn whose 7, Lexxxuss whose 5, T’Qua’Sia whose 4, an Joseph whos my pride n joy and is 2
funny story! Joseph won stop breastfeedin! he keeps pullin on ma tittles and tryin to get other girls titties too even tho i tell him that hes a bad boy for doing it but i cant stay mad athim becuase he is my pride an joy!!!!

fair warninr ! i m an pre op transexual so if u cant handle that, fuk right off!!! i havent felt lik a womman since i wuz a lil gurl so now that i got $$$$ comin in fromy my ASSSSSSHOLE ex for child support (only 2 are his LOL!!!) i kan finally be who i need 2 be!!!

im also tryin to lose 100 pounds bcuz i feel lik im 2 fat rite now an that the doctors tol me i hafta lose 100 pds bcuz they need ta oprate on me LOL!!!!

i m working on GED 2 bcuz i need 2 b educate 4 mi kids! kant let them grow up wit theyre mommy bein a MCD’s frier all theyre lives LOL LOL!!!
bcuz of that i also hat bad grammer n misspelld words bug me alot 2! u kan lern 2 typ rite if u tri!

4 stuff i lik 2 red, well i don lik 2 red it iz a waist of mi time! but the onlee things i DO read and luv SOOOOO much r Twilight an 50 Shads of Gray!!! edward an Christan are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO hot!!! y cant more men b lik them?! m i rite girls?!!!!???!?!? lol

i luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuvvvvv Jersey Shore n Real Housewives tho! i luv seein the girls be so bad bitchez bcuz i m a bad bitch an can totally feel that!!!

wen will i find mi prince charming? i think bout dat all da time an how i kan find luve 4 him an how much i ned a daddy 4 mi kidz

i m a heavy smoker n i don care bout quittin it calms mi hert down and makes me feel guuuuuuuuuuud! LOL!!! alsao i m a pot smoker so if u dont lik dat den u r not tha man 4 me!!!

i love sex an luv doin sex wit guyz but i m not here 4 sex so dont message me if you want sex – thats disgusting

i m lookin for a man to do things my way. i m too indepdendent an opininated 2 jus go wit da flow so boyz u betta b ready 4 me LOL!!!!

i m a bad bitch so watch out wen u make me angry, i hold a grudge and kan yell alot so if u make me mad u better bring flowers LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

country gurl and muddin’ r sum words dat describ me – i luv bein in da cuntry an gettin dirty (if u no wut i mean ;););););))

first thing people noticed bout me is my hair extensions bcuz they r so pretty an look so real! den dey move 2 my beautiful ass and titties bcuz dey r beautiful! LOL! i m gnna miss my titties an all da free drinks!!! LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!

as far as religion goes, i m a atheist polytheist anarchocommunist Muslim i dont expect u 2 understand but u betta b respecful since its what i blieve!!!

ive been a freerange organic vegan for 4 years and my man better share that belief bcuz im raisin mi kids dat way 2 and i don want any meet in da house EVA!

i dont know why im here bcuz all men are ASSSSSSSSHOLES! an dey only wan 1 thing and that is sex and den they leav an u neva see them again

i like sniffing things to see if they smell like other things i kno its gross LOL!
i also lik 2 b bitten durin sex bcuz it makes me feel lik EDWARD is there wit me!!!

READ THIS SO U UNDERSTAN WHAT U R DEALIN WIT!!!!! IF U DON HAVE A JOB DAT PAYS BIIIIIIIIIGGGGGG $$$$$$$$$$$ AN U DONT LOOK FINE AS ALL HELL AND U GOT KIDS, STAY THA FUCK AWAY!!!! I AINT WANTIN TO PLAY WITH YOUR BROKE ASS!!!!

i hop u saw somethin u liked! hit me up an may-b u r mi next husband! 😉 😉 😉
——
That…I think my brain is actually bleeding. I feel moisture in my ears. There is a throbbing dead spot behind my eyes.

(You’ll get no arguments here. That was an abomination, you fucking animal. – ed.)

I’m going to go…do something else now. Something that doesn’t make me want to set fire to the rain and watch the whole world go up in a billowing flame heap.


We here at Dan Eats Cat Food are nothing if not helpful…so, really, many times we are nothing. But we’re here to make up for it. You see, upon going through the site statistics, we noticed something odd. The most popular article is, in fact, written by Pred3000. This, of course, cannot stand. I mean, really. He hasn’t posted an article in well over a year! Then again, to be fair, we’re only giving you an article about once a month and that’s only because we have to justify the cost somehow. Shut up about it. KT is an anxiety-riddled, depressive, incredibly sexually frustrated, and probably alcoholic grad student. He SHOULD be perfectly suited to being funny constantly because of that, we know. Basically, he’s just a lazy bastard. Where were we? Oh yeah. The article. Since we can’t allow the most popular article to go un-piggybacked on,we are going to present to you today a more informative and in-depth guide to masturbating to Internet pornography than that bastard did. We hope you enjoy and can make use of our…um…useful suggestions.
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DO: Use the Internet to your advantage. It’s a wild, woolly, wonderful place full of literally quadrillions of ideas and thoughts and pictures and words being thrown around. This is the Golden Age of information transference and it is at your fingertips with the click of a button. You can go from researching the Fall of Rome by way of Norwegian black metal to reading a webcomic written and illustrated by some desu weirdo who likes drawing anthropomorphic leopards in leather pants kiss-fighting with a ficus in a bikini to watching a video about a cat firing a brick through a plate glass window and howling with laughter. Anything and everything you can dream of is there. Also there’s a whole lot of fucking that you can look at.

DON’T: Assume that because something is on the Internet that it is worth seeing. Remember, 50 Shades of Grey started as a Twilight fan fiction online. There but for the grace of God goes every single hardcore slash Gandalf/Harry Potter/Spongebob/Jabba the Hutt/Vishnu/Alec Baldwin fic out there.

DO: Sample the bounty of the Net. See what’s out there. Don’t be afraid to branch out. Maybe you come across a fetish you didn’t know about and have one of the most rocking-ass orgasms of your life. It’s possible! Not necessarily likely but possible. Who knows? You may actually enjoy watching a naked teenage anime chick being inflated like a balloon, being popped by a black man’s cock, and having mice come to eat her entrails. YOU might. I just kind of threw up. A lot.

DON’T: Be stupid about it. There are clearly areas to avoid. Horse porn. Maybe want to steer clear. Child porn. That’s a no-no in the bad place. The area where the underwear covers. Sex with bridges. You should not also rise. The aforementioned “inflationigrarumpebanturmuresextaphilia”. Even just putting that into a translator brought on the urps again. Damn you philiacs!

DO: Learn alternative ways of masturbation. Self-love is still a love life and you should switch it up to keep things fresh. If you’re always a southpaw (or a south-gnarled and withered claw), why not try pitching to Righty? Or on your knees? Or on your back? Hell, even the shower could be fun and you can clean your filthy,war-torn body afterwards. It’s a double duty dunker!

DON’T: Fuck your boxspring. Seriously. Don’t do it. You will never repair the damage an errant coil does to your dickskin.

DO: Use an aggregation website (you know the ones that are out there) to explore your tastes freely with relatively minor risk of viruses or random gay porn popping up and murdering your hard-on with great vengeance. They are free to use and have an incredibly expansive display to choose from. Just be careful not to Wiki-jump the different videos, especially the stuff with titles that are just random numbers and letters and/or are written in Spanish. Just…don’t do that. Save yourself a whole lot of terror-crying.

DON’T: Download those bullshit programs that some sites demand you use in order to…utilize their website. Fuck that noise. It just adds more clutter onto your PC and makes plausible deniability less likely down the road. Besides, if you are so desperate to download things, there are ways around every problem. I obviously don’t recommend or support those since they are the mark of low character, but I cast no such aspersions on the stoner dude down the hallway from your apartment that stays up until 4 in the morning listening to Rage Against the Machine, smoking pot and probably meth, and working on his anarchist’s manifesto. He can probably hook you up with some Debbie Does Six Day Laborers Behind the LA Fitness in South Central.

DO: Pay for porn when you can afford it. I know, I know. You just felt your heart seize a little. Let me explain. Paying for porn = more porn being made = more choices for you to make. And the cycle repeats. Also it’s someone’s career choice, you asshole, and nobody wants to fuck for free. Or so I’ve been told.

DON’T: Decide that, hey, this actress I jerk off to is on Twitter. I should Tweet her my dick! Stoppit. If you had people who wanted to see your cock, you wouldn’t be jerking off to Internet porn, would you? Leave her alone, get your Jergens’ and cry about yourself.

DO: Figure out what you like best and go wild with it. You like redheads (and who doesn’t?), you find every redhead video out there. You like big black girls taking it up the butt, go nuts. You like trannies rubbing each other with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter and pouring white wine everywhere while La Vie Boheme plays? …try RedTube. That shit has everything.

DON’T: Become so well-versed in porn stars, their names, and their appearances that you can name them in polite conversation. If you’re talking about your pornographic tastes in public, there is something severely wrong with you in the head. Either that or you are playing a DANGEROUS gambit of which we can’t approve. If that is where your path is taking you, know that we cannot follow you.

DO: Finally understand that they are real people doing real, sometimes horrifying acts on camera for your amusement. They deserve your dignity, your money, your respect, and about five squirts of baby batter or so, depending on how long you’ve done. Bon appetit, horndogs.
——
(This was disgusting. – ed.)

You’re disgusting! HOOOOO!

(And we’re done here. – ed.)


I’m not exactly the kind of person that one would call “up to date” on trends. I don’t wear skinny jeans, listen to pop music, or understand the appeal of why the hell anyone would produce a movie detailing the life of a current pop star. The world doesn’t need more movies about Katy Perry or Justin Bieber or, God forbid it happen, Ke(dollar sign)ha. I actually include the “never happening” of that last one in my prayers every night. I do wonder about the title though. “Memoirs of a Drunken Whore” sounds pretty good. It doesn’t quite cover it though. Maybe “My ‘Music’Sounds Like A Seagull Being Strangled To Dubstep But I’ll Blow You In The Alley Behind Starbucks For A Mocha Latte And A Gram Of Coke So You May As Well Love Me”. That’s better.

Anyways, the reason I mention this is because I don’t understand one damn bit why that crapsack of mutilated paper pulp known as ’50 Shades of Grey’ is so damn popular. All I DO know is that its existence and popularity means I get to write a follow-up piece to the wildly successful (well, relatively) article about Twilight. It’s the Golden Age of mockery and sarcasm, I tell you what. Regardless of how great things are as a comedy writer, I could always use some extra cash to line my pockets with pornography, alcohol, and bootleg Joss Whedon DVDs. Thus, I am resolved to write chick porn using 50 Shades of Shit…I mean, Grey…as a barometer. And as a bonus? I’ll explain to YOU how to do it too.
——
First, as in last time, murder any thoughts you have about being a respectable or even literate writer. You aren’t going to be writing for the elite, the well-read, the academics. You are barely going to be writing for middle schoolers reading at a college level. You are writing for lonely, bored, horny housewives, teenagers, and bored talk show hosts. Having it have a legitimate, engrossing plot is kind of like adding parsley, fine china, and a glass of wine to spice up the presentation of a steaming horse dump. Focus more of your time on how you can use the medium to create the most filthy, degrading situation possible while still maintaining a semblance of respectability. Think “upgraded fan fiction” because, let’s face it, that 50 Shades garbage is literally that. It can’t hurt to be a fan fic writer either. Anyone who writes that has a throbbing tumor called “I hate literature” inside their heart and uses it to crap out “ships” of any potential character pairings under the sun. Don’t get me started on fan fic.

Next, decide what you want your main characters to do. Oh. That’s right. You want them to fuck. The rest is just gravy. Cool. Check that off.

After that, figure out what your characters are named. If you’re writing chick porn, this will take up a solid 80% of your work time on the “book”. You can’t name them something like Amy Jones and John Smith. Those are boring names, names of IRS agents and middle management candidates. Likewise, you can’t use names like Jagatha Messy and Hondo Awesome. Nobody is going to take you seriously (let’s be honest, they won’t anyways but I digress) if you write ‘Hondo and Jagatha boned like archaeologists on top of Hondo’s 1997 Chevy Pylon’ or whatever. You need to create dark and steamy names, like Vanessa St. John and Juan Carlos Fancypants…I mean, Trenton Green. If it sounds like it could conceivably be a porn star but only in one of those high class X-Art ones (as opposed to, say, Gaping Assholes 8), you’ve hit the sweet spot. And so will your readers…if you get what I’m saying. I’m saying that they will play with themselves.

Naturally, take into account the audience while describing the characters. Naturally, the protagonist must be a legal-aged girl, probably a fresh-faced college student or even right after graduating. She has to be shy and naive, with no more sexual experience than a half-hearted handjob in the back of a Denny’s kitchen. Obviously, she must be a virgin. She has to have no confidence in herself and see herself as a plain, unassuming wallflower. Basically, if you do a copy/paste of every garden variety Twilight knockoff bullshit, you’ll have it down. And the man must be tall, strikingly handsome, broad-shouldered, and brooding, with impeccable taste in clothes, a high-paying job, no current relationship to speak of, and miraculously well-endowed. Of course, he has to be irresistibly attracted to the protagonist and, by proxy, the reader. I swear to God, this shit is like porn had a retarded baby with a chick flick. It’s like Naughty America banged 27 Dresses or some shit like that.

Also, since you’re writing porn for girls, which is much more about the experience than the actual act, you need to use euphemisms to describe what is happening. You can’t go too clinical, since “He placed his penis inside her vagina and performed intercourse until they both achieved orgasm”. Yes, that may be what happened but…snore. You also can’t really go too vulgar, since that can be a turnoff. “He fucked her cunt with his dick until they both came” also describes what happened but it’s so…inelegant. And yes, that is a concern of yours. Instead, use lines like “Trenton teased her gently opening flower with his turgid manhood. Vanessa felt her nethers quiver with excitement and, as he pushed her open, she felt herself becoming filled with an almost holy sensation. They began to merge as only lovers can and (yadda yadda yadda) they both felt a surge of heat as they crested at the height of their passion and fell to the bed, a tangle of limbs and satisfaction.” THAT is what gets the housewife tang all stirred up.

Since this is apparently the trend, don’t be scared to introduce some ‘taboo’ elements to the sex. 50 Shades decided to dive into the BDSM lifestyle (wrongly, I’ve heard) with the main dude apparently beating the crap out of the girl? I don’t know, I haven’t read it. So that’s right out. Since you want to distinguish yourself from the soon-to-be-arriving herd of copycats, why not take things to the logical extreme? Instead of spanking and handcuffs, try watersports and bloodplay. Instead of contracts and submission, have the girl take a dump on a glass coffee table. Make your characters have the kind of sex that even Max Hardcore would call “a bit too extreme”. End the series with snuff. You know you want to.

Lastly, after it naturally takes off and becomes a poorly-hidden dirty pleasure for soccer moms across the world, hang yourself with a shower curtain. That way, your poison and evil can’t infect the world with sequels, PLUS your faithful readers will call it a fitting way to leave this world. Win-fucking-win.

——
(You really have a problem with popular lit these days, huh? – ed.)

No. I have a problem with literal fan fiction and its metamorphosis into something considered worthy of publication. I have a problem with crap like Twilight and 50 Shades becoming popular while real writers struggle to make ends meet. I have a problem with the increased retardation of the next generation. You are going to have twelve-year-olds choking each other with a belt within six months. Mark my words. These are the End of Days.

(…a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say? – ed.)

There is no such thing as too dramatic, Ed. Not while evil reigns. I need a drink.

(You always do. Goodnight, everyone. – ed.)

When In Doubt, Stay Home

Posted: March 31, 2012 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , , ,

Instead of going with the standard ‘rant and rave about x issue’ polemic or the ‘pack as much violent and sexual content into an article as possible’, we’re trying something different this time. We’re going to offer up a cautionary tale so that you may understand the depths of madness that sometimes infest our daily lives.

Okay, there will almost certainly be violent and sexual content packed in too. Because that’s how we roll.

Anyways, on to the recounting of our trip to the Mouth of Hell.
——
The letter that came was, even before it was opened, an ominous portent. Even though there was what appeared to be the Disney logo on the back, the letters looked…odd. Reversed maybe. The envelope itself was ragged around the edges and there was a brown, leaky stain in the lower left-hand corner. When it was opened, the paper ripped with nearly no effort required and four asymmetrical chunks of paper and a creased sticky note fell out. The note read as such (naturally [sic] applies):

“Congrates! Yu an ur famly ur frens ar invted too bee spehshell gests at thee furst universery selleebrayshun of Dosneyworl! Heer ar for tikets fur u. Com on March 20, 20_year. Yu get thre gests. Bring moneies.

(signed)

(something unintelligible and probably racist)”

It was…a concern. Something definitely smelled fishy and it wasn’t even the leaky stain (which eventually was determined to be Kentucky Fried Chicken gravy). None of us (us being myself, Superfly, Pred3000, and Raybestos) had ever had any direct interaction with Disney but we came to the conclusion that would could reasonably assume that they wouldn’t send such shoddy quality material. At least not since Walt went in the freezer, at least.

Our opinions were split. Superfly and Raybestos thought it would be funny to give it a shot, while Pred3000 and I were more interested in not being abducted, raped, and our kidneys being sold for crack money. Finally, we came to an agreement: we would go but we would apply for and get open carry licenses first, just to be safe.

After each getting comfortable with our respective weapons (Raybestos and Pred3000 chose 9mms, Superfly got a .22, and I went all out with a Desert Eagle), we hopped in Raybestos’ car (another requirement for going was that I was allowed to be drunk and not having to drive) and set off for Puerto de la Muerte, Florida. Yes, you read that correctly – Port of Death. Not Orlando – although I suppose it could have an alternate name.

The drive was long and boring and I was starting to nod off from a combination of the rhythmic hum of the car and the half a bottle of Jameson I had killed on the drive when the car slammed to a halt, only to start up again at a very slow speed.

“What the hell was that?” I grumbled as I felt the car make a turn and finally stop.

“We’re…here?” Raybestos said, the question in his response worrying, even through the whiskey fog. We all unbuckled and got out of the car (I admit that I had a bit of trouble with the seatbelt, but I’m allowed). Blinking my eyes, I peered at what stood in front of us. It was…troubling.

The park itself seemed to span a couple acres of land but we couldn’t quite tell. A giant red and blue sign welded to a telephone pole read “Welcum too Dosneyworl” and flashed rapidly every few seconds. If any of us had been epileptic, it would have been dangerous. As it stood, it just added a “carnival of the damned” feel to the whole experience. We looked further ahead of us as we walked. Behind a very tall chain-link fence, complete with barbed wire rolls at the top, we were able to view what were ostensibly rides. I could pick out a roller coaster, merry-go-round, Ferris wheel, and various other attractions you would expect to see at an amusement park. For whatever reason, that actually frightened me more. But we had made it this far. We couldn’t go back now. As we walked to the front gate, the ticket-taker glared at us, surprise and resentment in his eyes. I don’t think he wanted us to be there. That made five of us.

He growled at us when we reached him. “‘kits, now.” We handed him the ragged scraps of paper and he tossed them in the garbage. With a sigh, he pressed a button, shifting the large steel doors apart. “Park closes at 7. Don’t be late. Seriously.” We scurried in, all checking our watches. We had four hours to spend in there. We all agreed we’d spend three at most, just to be safe. Bad things come at night.

The ‘road’ beneath our feet was a mixture of gravel and sawdust and kicked up little clouds with every step we took. A wooden sign nailed to a lamppost nearby read “Man Stret Yousa”, scribbled in the same retard patois that the invitation was written in. It was about this time that I really started to regret not eating lunch. I made this fact clear to the group and, fearing that any puking in this tortured land would invite its denizens to feed on our souls, they hustled me to the nearest food cart to get something greasy and delicious in my stomach.

Let me tell you. Nothing changes your “I have to puke” status than realizing that your other option is choking down a ‘befstik’ or ‘shulsie’. I just got a glass of water and even then it took all I had to kick it back. It was tap water but that was comforting since I was expecting bleach or something.

“So what do you guys want to do first?” Raybestos asked, trying to keep up a brave face.

“You mean besides go home?” Pred3000 muttered, already sulking in fear.

We wandered the streets of the park, only occasionally seeing a handful of other people, all with the same unsure looks on their faces. We passed the ‘Fast-circly-go’, the ‘Spiny-tal-circle’, a tea-cup ride that looked more like a human-sized centrifuge, and what looked to be a haunted house. Yeah. We sure as shit weren’t going to go in there. We kept wandering and and were about ready to mercifully leave when the 5 PM Parade started.

Have you ever seen madness walking? Like upright and walking? You lucky bastard. You never saw the mascots then. Let me give you the rundown.

First up was Mackey and Mornie Moose. Giant towering moose creatures with gloves on their hooves, pendulous hanging breasts and genitalia, and fur that looked to be at least half-mange, if not more. Instead of the charming “Ho ho!” that Mickey would always give, whoever developed these outfits really went all out to nail the sound of an angry, horny moose. The gronking and howling was beyond unsettling. I think that was the point that I realized that I had unsnapped the holster on my gun. Unconsciously, mind you.

Next up was Gorfy. You know that look in the face when something just isn’t…right in the head? Like the glossy, unfocused eyes, the slack jaw, the aggressive stance. Yeah. Gorfy had that. He also decided to stuff a live chicken through the mouth hole while right in front of us, so all we could hear for the next couple minutes as he ran around in pain were agonized screams and clucking.

Then we had Ronald Pigeon. I won’t say much about this one but you know how birds shit EVERYWHERE when they’re startled? Yeah. Gorfy startled Ronald Pigeon. I’ll leave that to your imagination.

I can’t really say what all happened next. All I know is that one of us – probably Pred3000 – started firing into the crowd and, well, we’re not going to leave our buddy out to dry. Did you know that guns can overheat if you pull the trigger too fast? I sure didn’t!

To cut a long story short, we’re not allowed to enter the state of Florida for the next ten years, we had to spend a week in firearm responsibility training, and I have a moose head mounted above my fireplace.

All that being said, would I call it the worst Spring Break ever?

Nah. I mean, have you SEEN Panama City Beach?
——
(Ending on a punchline. How classy of you. – ed.)

Shut up, Ed. Sometimes you can create gold, sometimes you can just be happy with creating lead.

(I don’t think that’s accurate. – ed.)

I don’t think you’re accurate! Deuces!


Although those of us at Dan Eats Cat Food.com (tell your friends, whore us out, bring us love!) are nearly omnipotent and thus unable to physically experience the trauma of making mistakes, we understand that mortals can have problems sometimes with life. And, of course, the demographic most desperately in need of our aid to prevent them from becoming drooling, crying, chest-slapping retards is simple: teenagers. Yes, we too were teenagers at one point, although we experience time differently from you. Be that as it may, we have deigned to bless your basic lives with some knowledge and advice that hopefully will turn the horror of adolescence into something marginally productive in society. As always, it must be assumed that this advice is being given to legal 18-year olds. Covering our asses.
——
Let’s be frank, here. Teenage love is the strangest, strongest and most damaging of all love, save perhaps anal. Thus, it requires the most help in understanding and navigating the non-Euclidean geometric waters. That’s an H.P. Lovecraft joke for you, by the way. It’s messy, confusing, frustrating, great and terrible all at the same time, kind of like a really difficult bowel movement except with more potential for ejaculation. And it’s not like it’s going to matter anyways. You little bastards never listen to any good advice from those who have gone before because we’re, like, old and can’t possibly understand all the intricacies of teenage dating. Ungrateful little punks. All the same, let’s help you out.

Girls, do you think you love him? Well…you’re right! Get pregnant so he can never leave you.

Boys, if she won’t sexually pleasure you, dump her. Right around the corner will be another girl, probably not as good-looking, but she’s willing to put your dick in her mouth and that is something that you can’t discount.

Girls, if there are aspects of your boy that you don’t like, nag and berate and harass him until he either leaves or changes. If he won’t change everything about himself to suit your ever-fluctuating whims, he doesn’t love you.

Boys, refuse to acknowledge any flaws that you may have in the relationship. You’re the almost-man and that means that you’re always right.

Girls, it’s not out of line or immature to scream at the top of your lungs, including that female banshee shriek teenage girls can achieve, at your boyfriend in the middle of the hallway during lunch because you totally saw him checking out that slut Lindsay’s ass, that fucking jerk.

Boys, that Lindsay has a nice ass, huh?

Girls, yes, it is absolutely rational to never want to see that asshole again because how dare he go to (insert new teenage shit movie here) with his family when he promised you that he would see it with you first when you were holding hands in your car after school.

Boys, erections are perfectly healthy and you should not be ashamed of them. Unless, of course, you get one in the locker room as you’re showering after football practice. Then you might have some other things to worry about beyond a simple erection.

Girls, it’s so heartbreaking when a relationship ends. You absolutely should go and give his big brother a handjob in the backyard when you’re drunk on wine coolers at Brad’s graduation party. That’ll show him.

Boys, you will be able to put it in her butt if you buy her a really nice meal at that Italian place down the road, manage to steal some champagne from your parents’ liquor cabinet (or get them to buy it, if they’re cool) and lie to her about other people doing it. It will be mediocre because she’ll be scared and tense up, which means it’ll hurt her so she’ll cry and you’ll have to abandon it halfway through and just cuddle the rest of the night. It will set a tone for the rest of your dating life.

Girls, is your relationship starting to break apart? There’s a simple solution. Have a baby. Introducing a baby into the mix never creates anything but a stronger love. Note: this is similar to the earlier piece of advice because it’s such a good idea.

Boys, just remember this: if you blow your load in her mouth or on her tits or, God forbid, in her butt, she can’t create a crotch spawn. Pray she’s too stupid to remember that.

Girls, you can totally get pregnant by taking a shot in the mouth or on your tits or in your butt. The whole body is connected! Your heart pumps blood throughout your entire body, right? Why can’t it do that with baby batter, huh?

Boys, it doesn’t technically count as cheating if you fuck her sister or cousin because, hey, you’re keeping it in the family. Also it doesn’t count if she never finds out so…that’s a plus too.

Girls, expecting that your boyfriend or crush will act like Edward Cullen is not realistic. He’s totally more of a Jacob Black. OMGZ!

Boys, if you find out your girlfriend is either reading the Twilight “books” or watching the “movies”, either dump her or distract her and burn her copies. Or burn her body and dump it in the copies. Maybe not that last one.

Girls, if you’re starting to get bitchy, go get a tampon so you don’t period all over your boyfriend.

Boys, if she’s bleeding, run for the hills for the structural integrity of your relationship is in grave danger. Do not come back until the passing of the full moon.

Girls, if your boyfriend hurts you – and he will hurt you – just go ahead and declare all men the sworn enemy of your sovereign vagina. Because clearly every man in the world is a stupid asshole who broke your heart.

Boys, be aware of one fact: no matter how fun it is to be a jerk, no matter how fun it is to snap bra straps or piss off girlfriends, no matter how fun it is to fuck around and sleep with everyone you can…your genitals are outside your body and hanging targets. Be warned. Nah, just kidding. Angry girls won’t go for the balls, no matter how mad they are. They understand the pain they provide and won’t take advantage of it. Teenage girls aren’t psychopaths at ALL, as you know.

And finally, for both genders, the love that you experience in high school is forever. No relationships past high school will ever mean as much or feel as strong as the ones you experience then. It’s all downhill. So be sure to get all your loving in during high school or you’ll miss out!
——
(You really hate teenagers, don’t you? – ed.)

Hate? No. Loathe? No. Respect? No.

(I…hm. – ed.)

Success!


Let’s just get to it. This is not going to be a fun recap. This isn’t what I particularly want to relive, but what the hell. Gotta tell you all about the good and the bad. And this is mostly bad. Holy Hannah. Let’s just do this and get it done with.
——
Monday morning, 10 AM, came way too quickly. I woke up and immediately knew something was wrong. Specifically, I noticed that sometime during the night our room had been placed into a gyroscope and was spinning uncontrollably. Curious and curiouser. My next reaction was more apropos. I walked calmly to the bathroom, bent over and lost the entirety of the previous night’s escapades into the porcelain shrine. Let me tell you this: there is almost nothing worse coming back up than motherfucking tater tots. That shit is like white-hot broken glass. It shreds the absolute shit out of your throat, especially the back of it. It literally hurt to swallow ANYTHING – including water – for two days. I did feel a bit better, albeit weak and dizzy. The best solution?

Planet Hollywood of course. Sonofabitch. Earl of Sandwich is there and I did need to get food into my belly. The sandwiches there are great and next time, I want to eat one when I’m not hungover to shit and can’t swallow. I think mine was some kind of club sandwich. I don’t really know. I may have still been a tad drunk. Goddamn Patron and Sprites. Most of the next…while was just spent wandering around the casino (winning like thirty bucks, shockingly), sitting in the sportsbook and browsing the sports shop again. Maybe it was the Hangover Monster talking or maybe the dehydration and sickness were overriding my Frugality Center, but this time, I couldn’t just walk away without buying SOMETHING. No, I didn’t get a jersey. Even hung the hell over, I can’t blow that much cash. I did, however, purchase autographed pictures of Earl Campbell and Steve McNair (God rest his soul). I considered – and still do – that a compromise win right there.

The rest of the afternoon was spent back in the hotel room, napping and puking. God bless Las Vegas. Eventually, I got up the strength to pop on down to Holstein’s again for dinner and a milkshake. We didn’t have Hottie McFineass as our waitress (we had a dude) but he was friendly and on top of things enough to warrant a really good tip. I think we were both still just pissed over Prime’s shitty treatment of us. We decided afterwards to just walk around a bit and did so, just checking out the water show at The Bellagio (really just impressive) and coming back to the room for another Bourdain marathon (seems to be a pattern now) and chilling out. We ended the night with an awkward tension in the room because a Girls Gone Wild uncensored special came on and neither of us were willing to either change the channel or “take care of business” with the other in the room. Like I said, awkward. Soon enough, sleep came and my pain was mostly done.

The next morning (Tuesday) was nasty. A 7:15 wakeup call is never a pleasant moment. Ever. I decided to take a shower and did so (with a little private time in the toilet as well) and before we knew it, we were checked out and riding to the airport in a shuttle. Funny story, the douchebags in front of us thought that it was a free service so there was much grumbling and complaining as they fished out money to give to the driver. I figure that they deserved it just for being presumptuous dicks.

Even early-ish in the morning, the lines at Delta are long and winding. Superfly and I were smart to actually have seat numbers given to us for the planes but were also lucky enough to see the creepy old guy (in a damn TURTLENECK) flirting with a Dani Woodward lookalike in the line in front of us. That was not a pleasant experience and I kinda wanted him to suffer a heart attack. I’m vindictive when I’m tired, what can I tell you? Anyways, after the security line, I had an idea that would probably not be feasible but still is cool anyway. From security to the D-gates at the airport in Vegas, they have a tram system that goes underground and I figured that instead of a security line, why not put a full scale scanner that can scan the whole tram at once and then just pull out suspicious people as they exit? Eh? Eh? Yeah maybe not.

Breakfast was a half-decent Egg McMuffin fake at some diner in the airport and, quick as you please, we were on our flight and I was unconscious. Yes, I slept all the way to Atlanta. It was glorious. Nothing passes the time faster than not being awake, I tell you what. What was funny was when we touched down in Atlanta and had to taxi for a little while. See, they have these screens in chair backs on big planes and you can watch TV or movies or whatever on then. Well…they broke. Or at least their programming did. Linux, by the way. So we spent about five minutes watched the Linux debug and restart. It was entertaining just to see how bad it had failed. Because Delta is generally a fail anyways.

The time we spent in Atlanta is pretty…whatever. It didn’t warrant any sort of space in my mind or in my notes. It just was. It was what happened when we boarded the plane that is the stuff of nightmares. You see, Superfly and I had one last “fuck you boys” coming to us straight from the universe and it came in the form of THIRTY-FIVE MOTHERFUCKING MIDDLE SCHOOLERS. Wired from their trip to Boston and caught in that strange realm of bravado and growing pubic hair, they are the harbingers of pure noise. It was hell. For the entirety of the half hour we were on the tarmac and the half hour flight to Nashville, a wall of sound surrounded us, drowning us in insanity. FUCK MIDDLE SCHOOLERS. What they did on that plane was tantamount to a war crime. Superfly and I both agreed that if we were to die to save the world, let it happen by making that plane crash. Even my Happy Place, complete with half-naked blonde bombshell, was invaded by their incessant chattering. Everyone over the age of eighteen on that plane had their heads in their hands and were softly weeping. I’m not even kidding about that. There is nothing worse than a middle school child. I say between the ages of 12 and 16 that they be locked up in an asylum filled only with themselves and left to devour themselves or form a crude society built on height and taunting. Call this hyperbole if you like but there has never been anything so horrible to exist.

A quick car ride home (met with blissful silence) and our Vegas excursion was over. I’m still tired from it. But Lord help me…I want to go back.
——
There. This is done. We’ll be back to crazy shit soon, I swear.

Interview with Ben Roethlisberger

Posted: February 5, 2011 by kaostheory in Interview
Tags: , , ,

Lads and ladesses, have we got a treat for you! Through a tremendous amount of lying and a good deal of money that may or may not actually exist, we here at Dan Eats Cat Food, on the eve of one of the shittiest Super Bowls to ever be played, have managed to score an in-depth interview with none other than Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback and unprosecuted rapist, Ben “No’s Not A Word I Understand” Roethlisberger! Are you excited? You should be. Oh, and ladies, you might want to keep your mace handy. Just a helpful little FYI there. Let’s get this started.
——
Dan Eats Cat Food: Hi Ben, thanks for speaking with us today.

Ben Roethlisberger: My pleasure, Chris. Always glad to talk to my fans.

DECF: Uh…huh. There’s about two things very wrong about that, but we’ll skip past it. Anyways, first let me congratulate you on making it to the big game.

BR: Thank you! It’s always a huge thrill to be the best team in football.

DECF: Yes, I’m sure it would be if you win. But you haven’t won yet.

BR: Oh, we’re going to.

DECF: Very confident. Any particular reason why?

BR: Simple. When Ben Roethlisberger sees something he wants, nothing will stop him or get in the way of him having it. Nothing. Not the Green Bay Packers. Not the prayers of football fans. Not even pants.

DECF: That’s classy…

BR: I will say, though, that sometimes it’s a bit boring being the quarterback.

DECF: Really? I would have thought it would be the most difficult and stressful position to play.

BR: Oh not at all. I just have to throw the ball to the open receiver and then my job is done for a minute or so. I’d much rather have been a linebacker. You know, chasing down someone, tackling them. Kind of like hunting your prey almost.

DECF: Are you a big hunter?

BR: You could say that, sure.

DECF: What sort of animal do you hunt? Deer? Elk?

BR: The deadliest game of all, Chris. The deadliest game of all.

DECF: I…my name’s not Chris, actually. But can you explain that?

BR: Probably no, not.

(uncomfortable pause)

DECF: …okay then. So tell us, when you’re not playing football, what do you like doing?

BR: Oh man, all sorts of things. Riding my Harley and getting into accidents. Hitting up nightclubs. Women – I LOVE women. Watching movies.

DECF: Movies, huh? What are some of your favorites?

BR: Hm, let’s see. I love Last House on the Left, A Clockwork Orange, Blue Velvet, Deliverance, The Accused. Oh! And my absolute favorite movie of all time is Irreversible. You know, the one by Gaspar Noe? The one with Monica Bellucci?

DECF: Yes, I know the movie.

BR: Love it. Absolutely love it.

DECF: That…makes perfect sense. Anyways, we should probably address the elephant in the room.

BR: I suppose you do have to do your job.

DECF: Yes, I do. So…did you have sex with those girls?

BR: Oh shit yes.

DECF: I…what?!

BR: Yeah, no, absolutely. I mean, I just wrecked them. Tore them up something bad. See, I have a massive…

DECF: It’s okay! Just…please zip back up. I believe you.

BR: I mean, it’s huge. Just behemoth-level. I’m not Brett Favre here.

DECF: No, you’re very right about that. So you’re not denying having sex with them?

BR: Not at all. I just didn’t rape them.

DECF: How do you figure? They both made pretty persuasive claims that it was nonconsensual.

BR: Yeah, it may have been but what the hell, right? I got laid! High five, bro!

DECF: …I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to touch your hand.

BR: That’s fair.

DECF: How would you respond to allegations by many women’s rights groups that you are fostering a culture of rape apology?

BR: I’ll field this one, Mike. Ever since man first put foot to skin, it’s been the privilege of the quarterback of the football team to have unfettered access to vagina. It’s how it’s always been. We’re all muscled and full of testosterone, our sacks are laden with man fuel, and the ladies are the gas tank. Simply put, getting laid is our god-given right. So if you think of it that way, it’s less “rape” and more along the lines of simply “claiming what was mine”.

DECF: That is literally the worst possible answer you could have given. Literally. There is no way you could have fumbled that question more badly.

BR: HEY. Watch the fumble talk. We have a game tomorrow.

DECF: Oh, that’s right.

BR: Besides, it wasn’t THAT bad an answer.

DECF: Yeah, it really kinda was. So are you surprised that more hasn’t been made of your being a sexual predator?

BR: Are you kidding? I’m stunned! All I have to do is grow a beard, sign a few autographs and win a football game or two and people forget the fact that I put my dick into two unwilling women. I mean, that is just atrocious. What do I have to do to get arrested? Stomp a puppy to death?

DECF: That’s a very good point. Michael Vick was absolutely devastated by the media over dogfighting and is only just now rehabbing his image. You, on the other hand, are still the favored son of your city.

BR: I blame Pittsburgh. That town is just BUILT on rape and racism.

DECF: …that I was not expecting.

BR: Seriously. You know what I call the town with my friends?

DECF: Uh, I’m still trying to get over the fact that you have FRIENDS but…Shittsburgh?

BR: Actually, I like that better.

DECF: So you really hate the city you play for?

BR: God, yes. Look at who they cheer for! They love me and I raped chicks.

DECF: You said you didn’t!

BR: Well, since it’s off the record…

DECF: I never said that it was.

BR: Because it’s off the record, I can admit that.

DECF: What about the fans?

BR: What about them? They worship a TOWEL. Most of them had a tough time making it through second grade.

DECF: Are you just trying to end your career?

BR: Someone has to.

DECF: And we’re out of time. I need to go take a shower. In bleach.

BR: Nice talking to you, Phil!
——
(…you are just bound and determined to get us into serious legal trouble, aren’t you, KT?)

You never know until you try!