You remember the original Dr. Dolittle movie? I'm talking about the 1967 musical masterpiece, not the 1998 atrocity starring the once-great Eddie Murphy. In the movie, and perhaps the book, Dr. Dolittle has to learn the language of the shell fish and to do so he must learn it from the great pink sea snail. The great pink sea snail was a whale sized snail, yet proved to be very elusive causing Dr. Dolittle, his animals, and his boy toy to travel the earth in search of it. Quite an adventure to be sure. It turns out the giant pink sea snail managed to get out of his shell. I'm not sure how or when it happened but I know it did because I just took a shit and the giant pink sea snail slipped out of my ass sans shell. So, be on the look out for that.
1.17.2004
1.16.2004
I was at lunch today and had the two misfortunes of being waited on by the ugliest bitch I've seen still shitting out of a meat asshole and sitting behind a fucker intent on telling the intimate details leading up to his divorce to his lunch partner and any tables in the area.
First, our waiter. Unfortunately, calling this bitch ugly is an insult to the word 'ugly'. This fucking bitch was an abomination. I've taken shits I'd sooner marry than have to look at this serving wench again. She was of modest height with nothing particularly out of the ordinary below the neck. Of course, I'm virtually certain she was covered in tattoos and if ever there was a candidate for pancake tits this bitch was it. It was her head and face which repulsed me so. Her skin was the golden orange hue of someone who regulars a cheap tanning salon. Her face was garnished with a healthy dose of thick hair festering moles which she undoubtedly considers beauty marks. I thought about telling her, "Bitch, they're beauty marks on Cindy Crawford, on you they're carcinoma." Instead of telling her that I just laughed to myself and snorted water out my nose. Her mouth looked like she must have spent the early years of her life sleeping with a football in her mouth. Her two front teeth protruded at a 45 degree angle from her gums and there was enough space between them that she could easily insert some tic-tacs. Her hair appeared normal from the front. Well, it was normal if seeing a woman with a flat top is normal. On the left side of the back of her head was a long rat-tail she had decorated with beads and what looked like lint. The rat-tail was exceptionally nasty given its off center location and it made the whole restaurant feel unclean. She wasn't a terrible waiter from an observational standpoint besides her slow-witted mannerisms like stumbling over words such as entree and appetizer. In the end I don't hate her nearly as much as that fucking ugly ass whore at the Avalon diner. This bitch may have been hideous beyond comparisons but at least she didn't shit on her finger, brush my mouth with it, and call it service.
The fucker sitting behind me was even worse than our waitress because I only saw our waitress a few times during the meal and the fucker behind me whined throughout the meal and his words slithered into my ear and munched on my brain relentlessly. He was telling all the back-story leading up to his divorce. At first I laughed at the fucker's misfortune then he began making me hate. You could tell he still loved his ex-wife and was pretending that everything was all settled and that that part of his life was over but his emotional instability radiated powerfully through the seams in his speech. He was saying shit like: "we really had something special... there was a lot of love between us, well, there still is a lot of love", and, "I thought that wedding in Vegas was going to be something special, she told me she never wanted to be apart", and, "we were really close she just wasn't interested in the same things that I was like telling each other our feelings and always wanting to be close to me, you know?" I wanted to turn around to this asshole, tell him "your wife left you because you're a fucking pussy!", and then spit in his general direction. It was disgusting listening to a grown man pussify himself that way. All the women say they want you to be open with them and share your feelings, but that's bullshit! They have girl friends they can open up with, they want a man around for one thing and one thing only: deep dickin'. Well, deep dickin' and they need someone to nag. This fucking douche bag turned himself into a woman and it's no god damn surprise his wife got rid of him. Plus, how the fuck do you get married in Vegas and then think "yea, this marriage is made in heaven!" Fucking piece of shit. I wonder how such an obviously effeminate dude ever rolled any pussy in the first place? Shit, this "wife" of his is probably just some hooker he knocked up in Vegas and she dumped the kid off on him so she could get back out on the streets.
First, our waiter. Unfortunately, calling this bitch ugly is an insult to the word 'ugly'. This fucking bitch was an abomination. I've taken shits I'd sooner marry than have to look at this serving wench again. She was of modest height with nothing particularly out of the ordinary below the neck. Of course, I'm virtually certain she was covered in tattoos and if ever there was a candidate for pancake tits this bitch was it. It was her head and face which repulsed me so. Her skin was the golden orange hue of someone who regulars a cheap tanning salon. Her face was garnished with a healthy dose of thick hair festering moles which she undoubtedly considers beauty marks. I thought about telling her, "Bitch, they're beauty marks on Cindy Crawford, on you they're carcinoma." Instead of telling her that I just laughed to myself and snorted water out my nose. Her mouth looked like she must have spent the early years of her life sleeping with a football in her mouth. Her two front teeth protruded at a 45 degree angle from her gums and there was enough space between them that she could easily insert some tic-tacs. Her hair appeared normal from the front. Well, it was normal if seeing a woman with a flat top is normal. On the left side of the back of her head was a long rat-tail she had decorated with beads and what looked like lint. The rat-tail was exceptionally nasty given its off center location and it made the whole restaurant feel unclean. She wasn't a terrible waiter from an observational standpoint besides her slow-witted mannerisms like stumbling over words such as entree and appetizer. In the end I don't hate her nearly as much as that fucking ugly ass whore at the Avalon diner. This bitch may have been hideous beyond comparisons but at least she didn't shit on her finger, brush my mouth with it, and call it service.
The fucker sitting behind me was even worse than our waitress because I only saw our waitress a few times during the meal and the fucker behind me whined throughout the meal and his words slithered into my ear and munched on my brain relentlessly. He was telling all the back-story leading up to his divorce. At first I laughed at the fucker's misfortune then he began making me hate. You could tell he still loved his ex-wife and was pretending that everything was all settled and that that part of his life was over but his emotional instability radiated powerfully through the seams in his speech. He was saying shit like: "we really had something special... there was a lot of love between us, well, there still is a lot of love", and, "I thought that wedding in Vegas was going to be something special, she told me she never wanted to be apart", and, "we were really close she just wasn't interested in the same things that I was like telling each other our feelings and always wanting to be close to me, you know?" I wanted to turn around to this asshole, tell him "your wife left you because you're a fucking pussy!", and then spit in his general direction. It was disgusting listening to a grown man pussify himself that way. All the women say they want you to be open with them and share your feelings, but that's bullshit! They have girl friends they can open up with, they want a man around for one thing and one thing only: deep dickin'. Well, deep dickin' and they need someone to nag. This fucking douche bag turned himself into a woman and it's no god damn surprise his wife got rid of him. Plus, how the fuck do you get married in Vegas and then think "yea, this marriage is made in heaven!" Fucking piece of shit. I wonder how such an obviously effeminate dude ever rolled any pussy in the first place? Shit, this "wife" of his is probably just some hooker he knocked up in Vegas and she dumped the kid off on him so she could get back out on the streets.
1.14.2004
Reader Hate, #001
Can you hear me clapping Little Boots? Ooh wee! You got that bomb ass pussy!
Today I received an email so full of hate I decided that it needed to be posted on the Deuce Goose. It's is a reply from Little Boots to an email I sent him concerning the horrific events Lucas and I went through yesterday. Enjoy.
That sounds fantastic. Just so you know, this cold weather is so deep in my hatebox that it’s physically painful to me (both the weather and my hate are painful, that is). It’s fucking 3 degrees here today with a wind chill of about minus 11. As if that weren’t bad enough, it’s going to start snowing tonight. My fucking world is caving in. Why anyone would choose to live up here is a damned mystery to me. New York’s so awesome! Yeah, well it’s not so great when you have to worry about how long your skin can be exposed to outside air before becoming frostbitten. Shit.
That sounds fantastic. Just so you know, this cold weather is so deep in my hatebox that it’s physically painful to me (both the weather and my hate are painful, that is). It’s fucking 3 degrees here today with a wind chill of about minus 11. As if that weren’t bad enough, it’s going to start snowing tonight. My fucking world is caving in. Why anyone would choose to live up here is a damned mystery to me. New York’s so awesome! Yeah, well it’s not so great when you have to worry about how long your skin can be exposed to outside air before becoming frostbitten. Shit.
Can you hear me clapping Little Boots? Ooh wee! You got that bomb ass pussy!
1.12.2004
I just looked at the clock and saw that it's 9:11. 911 is a very important time to remember. A time for everyone to look back at their life and be thankful for what they have. What's so special about 911, you may ask? Because 9-1-1 is the title track to Westside Connection's new CD "Terrorist Threats" their triumphant return to world of gangsta rap and the world at large. This isn't the first time I've mentioned "Terrorist Threats", I mentioned it in the conclusion of yesterday's plotless, rambling rant and I actually transcribed the opening to 9-1-1 on December 21 of 4Q03. I keep mentioning the album because of its deep political, and religious implications. The mesmerizing political messages in the album are sure to put a stranglehold on the coming year's electoral races nationwide. Consider these lyrics:
[Ice Cube]
What the fuck is Ice Cube talkin about
That's how you get these nuts parked in you mouth
Westside ride trick, the same old shit
I don't conversate with pussy I ain't goin get
I don't holla at these hoes that sing like Ashanti
Body like Beyonce, face like Andre (uhhh)
Bitch you kinda strange
But I'm rich so my entre gotta be bombay
If I were Howard Dean I'd be shitting my pants. I expect the mass exodus out of traditional political parties to the Gangsta Nation will alter the face of politics forever. For one, Ice Cube doesn't go to war over crack like Bush in Iraq. A powerful message indeed. Religiously, it's more than likely that Westside Connection is the second coming prophecied in the Bible. Think about it. The first Westside Connection album, "Bow Down", was released in 1996. The group disappeared following the album, only to arrive back on the scene 7 years later. Consider the lyrics of Dub C (W.C.): "Can you see us, naw. 'Cause haters can't see us." I don't know how it could be made any more clear; Westside Connection was killed and resurected seven years later. What about the singles released during their absence, you may ask? Miracles, fool! Then the most compelling evidence of all: there are 3 members of Westside Connection. Ice Cube, W.C., and Mac 10. The only thing separating the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit from the Gangsta', the Killa', and the Dope Dealer is a thin semantic veil.
I pledge allegiance
To the rag of the United Westside Connection
And to the 'W for which it stands
One neighborhood under god
Invincible with luxuries and riches for all.
[Ice Cube]
What the fuck is Ice Cube talkin about
That's how you get these nuts parked in you mouth
Westside ride trick, the same old shit
I don't conversate with pussy I ain't goin get
I don't holla at these hoes that sing like Ashanti
Body like Beyonce, face like Andre (uhhh)
Bitch you kinda strange
But I'm rich so my entre gotta be bombay
If I were Howard Dean I'd be shitting my pants. I expect the mass exodus out of traditional political parties to the Gangsta Nation will alter the face of politics forever. For one, Ice Cube doesn't go to war over crack like Bush in Iraq. A powerful message indeed. Religiously, it's more than likely that Westside Connection is the second coming prophecied in the Bible. Think about it. The first Westside Connection album, "Bow Down", was released in 1996. The group disappeared following the album, only to arrive back on the scene 7 years later. Consider the lyrics of Dub C (W.C.): "Can you see us, naw. 'Cause haters can't see us." I don't know how it could be made any more clear; Westside Connection was killed and resurected seven years later. What about the singles released during their absence, you may ask? Miracles, fool! Then the most compelling evidence of all: there are 3 members of Westside Connection. Ice Cube, W.C., and Mac 10. The only thing separating the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit from the Gangsta', the Killa', and the Dope Dealer is a thin semantic veil.
I pledge allegiance
To the rag of the United Westside Connection
And to the 'W for which it stands
One neighborhood under god
Invincible with luxuries and riches for all.
1.11.2004
The return to normalcy heralded by the death of the holiday season has yielded two significant changes in my lifestyle. One, the number of nights a week I get completely shitcanned is back to an average of two, down from a liver assailing four. Two, the number of mornings I wake up naked has been subsequently culled. I must say that it is quite refreshing to actually go to sleep naturally instead of passing out from liquor poisoning or passing out on sleeping pills which were the only things capable of overcoming my nausea inducing alcoholic shakes on nights I wasn't drinking. Last night was actually the first Saturday in months where I can remember making the concious decision to go to sleep, it wasn't much of a decision given my inebriated state, but it was a decision none the less, synapses were still fucking firing.
I despise the term "In the spirit of the new year" since it conotes birth and growing where I prefer death and decaying (in a holistic sense of course). As a replacement I use the term "celebrating the death of years past". So, in celebrating the death of years past I've decided to make some predicitons for '04:
1) My candidacy for US President will not be taken seriously due to certain ill conceived age restrictions to my even running
2) I will not be assassinated
3) With my stores of luck mana drained, I will be arrested for something alcohol related
5) I will not win the power ball lottery despite my deserving it
6) I will be tossed out of a strip club for harassing a stripper
7) My downward spiral of self loathing and hatred for generally everything will continue unabated, rendering me increasingly anti-social, violent, and self destructive.
8) The porn world will not show me my dream of dudes throwing up in chicks assholes
Grim indeed, no? Of course, had I made predictions last year they would have been identical and since all but 1 of them came true (that being number 6, despite my best efforts) I anticipate I'll be 87.5% correct come this time in '05 unless my new years resolution of not seeing '05 actually holds which puts me right up there with Nostradamus and Miss Cleo. Unfortunately, I know I'm not that fucking lucky. Now, you might be saying, "hey asshole, if things look that shitty then just do everyone a favor and jump off your fucking balcony!" My reply? Fuck you to hell pussy! I'll grant a favor to everyone when everyone starts to realize they're not the only fucking asshole in this shit box of a world, they leave their goddamn crying fucking baby at home instead of taking it to my restaurants and theaters, they stop rubbernecking on the fucking freeway slowing down thousands of other commuters, and they stop looking for a fucking handout when they generally spend their pathetic lives whining instead of doing! And don't think for a fucking second that I won't jump off this balcony, I'd love to do it actually, to prove my indifference. Just like Don Mega, 44 to the dome is my religion! So why do I stick around this bitch? Because maybe all my predicitons will be wrong, and maybe, just maybe everyone will realize that we live in the world wide westside. I'm a fucking convert, Ice Cube's already invited you, all you gots to do is sign up! You might as well bow down and join this westside shit man, 'cause once you get with this you as G as can mother fuckin' be! Bitch, you know the side, world-mother-fuckin-wide.
I despise the term "In the spirit of the new year" since it conotes birth and growing where I prefer death and decaying (in a holistic sense of course). As a replacement I use the term "celebrating the death of years past". So, in celebrating the death of years past I've decided to make some predicitons for '04:
1) My candidacy for US President will not be taken seriously due to certain ill conceived age restrictions to my even running
2) I will not be assassinated
3) With my stores of luck mana drained, I will be arrested for something alcohol related
5) I will not win the power ball lottery despite my deserving it
6) I will be tossed out of a strip club for harassing a stripper
7) My downward spiral of self loathing and hatred for generally everything will continue unabated, rendering me increasingly anti-social, violent, and self destructive.
8) The porn world will not show me my dream of dudes throwing up in chicks assholes
Grim indeed, no? Of course, had I made predictions last year they would have been identical and since all but 1 of them came true (that being number 6, despite my best efforts) I anticipate I'll be 87.5% correct come this time in '05 unless my new years resolution of not seeing '05 actually holds which puts me right up there with Nostradamus and Miss Cleo. Unfortunately, I know I'm not that fucking lucky. Now, you might be saying, "hey asshole, if things look that shitty then just do everyone a favor and jump off your fucking balcony!" My reply? Fuck you to hell pussy! I'll grant a favor to everyone when everyone starts to realize they're not the only fucking asshole in this shit box of a world, they leave their goddamn crying fucking baby at home instead of taking it to my restaurants and theaters, they stop rubbernecking on the fucking freeway slowing down thousands of other commuters, and they stop looking for a fucking handout when they generally spend their pathetic lives whining instead of doing! And don't think for a fucking second that I won't jump off this balcony, I'd love to do it actually, to prove my indifference. Just like Don Mega, 44 to the dome is my religion! So why do I stick around this bitch? Because maybe all my predicitons will be wrong, and maybe, just maybe everyone will realize that we live in the world wide westside. I'm a fucking convert, Ice Cube's already invited you, all you gots to do is sign up! You might as well bow down and join this westside shit man, 'cause once you get with this you as G as can mother fuckin' be! Bitch, you know the side, world-mother-fuckin-wide.
