Showing posts with label Local. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Local. Show all posts
Christmas blows!
What the fuck?! You put my stalk in some medieval vice to hold me up and then think I can survive on a cup of water? It’s been a fucking week, buddy. Try looking in the vice sometime and you’ll see the goddamn bowl’s dry.
Maybe you need a fucking botany lesson. Here’s one. I’m a majestic Virginia pine. I grow to be twelve feet tall, and I sure as fuck can’t carry out photosynthesis with a 60 Watt light bulb, you fucking moron!
Oh, how nice to see that while I struggle to convert carbon dioxide into oxygen so you fat fucks can have more air, you’re using an energy saving light bulb. If I had hands I’d be giving you the sarcastic slow clap. Yeah, I saw an inconvenient truth too. The difference is, I understood the point; which is we’re ruining the fucking environment. What do you think you’re doing by ripping me out of the ground and keeping me prisoner here, you hypocritical fuckwad?
If you at least had the foresight to go to a tree dealer who sells pine trees in a barrel of soil, you could return me to the wilderness. But no, you had to be a cheap fuck and go to Wal Mart, the concentration camp of Christmas trees. I saw my brother and sister wither away to nothing in there, and as long as assholes like you try to save a buck, they’re gonna keep chopping off our fucking roots, you cocksucker!
And while I’m at it, what’s this gay-ass tinsel I’m covered with? I look like Liberachi. I’m a respected leader in my community. Do you know what my peers would think if they saw me with all these balls hanging from me, bedazzled out like a cocksmoking parade float?
At first, I prayed God would give me feet so I could step on the cheap-ass presents you got for your dumbass kids, and then escape this Shawshank crapshack. But I have grown weary and now only hope that He may give me the strength so that I may thrust my sharpest pine needles into your bloated, oblivious eyes.
Bleed, motherfucker, bleed! Feel but a shadow of the pain you have brought upon me. That you cannot hear my screams does not mean I am not shouting. If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? Yes. It forms a complete sentence undetectable by human ears. It says, “FUCK YOU, DUDE! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, FUCK YOU!”
Rapture pushed back due to Jesus' haircut
"First off," Jesus, our Lord, said. “I wanted May 21st to be the rapture, I really did. But at the last minute I had a change of heart and finally decided to cut my hair. Problem was Arnie, my regular stylist, was already booked.”
Since putting May 21st in his Blackberry 6 months ago, Jesus has been on a mission to get in shape for his second coming,” “The guy’s an animal,” Moses said. “He spends 3 hours in the gym doing crunches, curls, squats, his lifting technique, by the way, is flawless.”
“Look,” Jesus said while flexing in the mirror, “the world hasn’t seen me in like 2000 years. The last thing I want to hear about is how much I’ve aged. People want to be saved by a God, not a guy with bags under his eyes. Incidentally, the eye cream in heaven is amazing.”
Between his workout regimen, monthly microdermabrasions combined with botox injections and Proactiv, Jesus has really brought his look into the 21st century. “I wasn’t going to go with Birkenstock sandals. They’re way too '80’s. But I was going to hold onto my classic beard and long hair. That is, until I had herbal tea with Ghandi.” “Jesus,” he said to me. “It’s 2011. Times have changed. You can’t be accepted as the savior of mankind if you look like a dirty hippie.”
He was right. Nobody was going to respect a guy who looks like he just stumbled out of a Phish concert. So the first thing I did was shave the beard. Man, that felt good! Razors, by the way, are so much better now. Back in 20 AD, you took your life in your hands every time you shaved your neck. Anyway, when the metamorphosis was complete, I looked in the mirror, and I was shocked. I looked like Scott Stapp from Creed. I knew I had to grow it back because no one’s gonna let a douche into their heart.
So, there I am. It’s May 20th. I’m buff, I’m tan, I’m in command, you know. Then Ghandi’s words hit me, “dirty hippie.” The hair’s been the last obstacle towards a total modern-day Jesus makeover, and I knew it had to go. But I gotta tell you, it was so hard to let go of my long hair. To me, it represented my youth. But my hairline’s not what it used to be, and I didn’t want it to look like I was clinging to something that I had lost. Anyway, long story short, you gotta book with Arnie like 2 weeks in advance. I told him what the deal was so he squeezed me in, but by the time the cut, blow dry and leave in conditioner had taken its effect, I was just exhausted.
While Jesus is reportedly, “happy with the new do,” he acknowledges that timing is just as important as looks. “You gotta make an entrance,” He said. While He considers it “inappropriate” to show up a day late, He has decided to jump on the Mayan calendar bandwagon and end the world then. “It’ll be pretty easy. The magnetic poles are fixing to switch and solar flares are already going to wipe out the U.S. power grid for months then anyway, so I won’t even have to do the whole fire and brimstone thing. So, listen up world, put December 21st 2012 in your smart phone or ipad `cuz this time I mean it. I’m coming back!”
`EPIC` OFFICIALLY LOST ALL MEANING TODAY
Earlier this morning Delaware native, Brian Harris, used the word epic to describe purchasing the last bag of cheetos at his local gas station, putting the final nail in its coffin.
