I Could Not Be More Offended if You Actually Raped My Grandmother With A Pair Of Salad Tongs

There is a very good reason no one reads this site. It's not because I don't want them to. Of course, I would like the whole world to read my precious words and hang on every filthy syllable. Why, you bastards should be begging for more of my horrifying and angry wit that could force God himself to open the heavens above just so he could vomit without getting any on his shoes. I would like to be hearing screams for more allusions to the odor of Rosie O'Donnell's used tampons (which oddly enough, smells incredibly similar to the inside of my car when I'm doing 90 down the Jersey Turnpike). Or descriptions of the dead cat that's been lodged in my chimney chute for weeks, and what rotting body parts fell from it today. But you don't beg. You don't plead. You don't threaten bodily harm if I don't give you more dick humor. 

Why is this?

Because I'm just not that fucking funny. It's ok, really. I've come to accept this and I'm at peace with it. I'm really just more of an angry prick. And this blog here, it's less of a vehicle for my humor and more an out-patient therapy mechanism on which I release (all over it's face!) my pent-up aggression from not getting laid.

So by now you (read: no one) are probably looking at the title of this post and asking "Why are you so offended, G?" Well I'll tell you why. Today someone called me a "funny guy." It's not important who, at this point, but I'll tell you this, good sir... You are a filthy fucking liar and I won't stand for it! If one person calls me funny, then, all of the sudden, there are expectations. And if there are expectations, I will most certainly not meet them. It's in my DNA. I come from a long line of failures and I'm quite proud of it. 

BUT, if there are no expectations, and then you chuckle during my lengthy explanation of why SPAM is the superior spiced meat alternative (FUCK YOU SPURKEY), then I've succeeded. But if you go on to tell others about how funny that weird bearded guy who sleeps under the desks in the research department is, well those people will have expectations. And when I randomly scream "KILL WHITEY" in their faces, not only will they think I'm functionally retarded, but they'll think you're a total dickbag too, for laughing at retarded guy. 

So you can call me lots of things... Crazy, racist, lunatic, rapist, cripple-fucker, Burt Langcaster, etc... BUT DON'T CALL ME FUCKING FUNNY!

Love,

G