Monthly Archives: December 2010

Carrots are Good.

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Carrots are so god damn good for you.

For those of you who don’t know about carrots (or as I like to call them – Snowman Dicks), they are like bananas except orange and better. They got vitamin A. They got vitamin B. They got so much vitamin C. Literally, Carrots and the songstress Vitamin C dated on and off in high school and he took her virginity (both old fashioned and fanny-style) with his snowman dick. Carrots got Vitamin C in his honda. Carrots got Vitamin C under the bleachers. Carrots got Vitamin C in the La-Z-Boy while ya moms slept on the couch. And you know that Vitamin C song? The only one that’s worth a shit? The one about graduation? Well, Sharon told me that Vanessa told her that Vitamin C said that she really wrote that song about Carrots to bring closure to the turbulent relationship. See, apparently senior year Vitamin went totally PSYCHO on Carrots and threw all his Friends dvds into one of Keith’s bonfires. You remember Keith’s epic bonfires. OMG so fun. So Anyway, Vitamin wrote that song to apologize to Carrots and the cast of Friends. Like when she sings,

As we go on, we remember
All the times we had together
And as our lives change, from whatever
We will still be, friends forever

the friends she is talking about are Ross, Chandaleer, Joey, Monica, Rach, Pheobs, and most importantly Carrots.  Sharon said Vanessa said that they still talk from time to time but just as friends.

Carrots also improve your eyesight and make you horny when you eat them. Like Sex and the City horny. You know how people always say that people are “fucking like rabbits?” Well thats because rabbits eat carrots all day long and get horny as fuck. Plus, carrots go with everything. They are the sluts of the food community. They’re all like “I really do have strong feelings for peas, but I’m afraid of commitment, so I just fuck anything with two ears and smile.”

Here is a little instructional video outlining some ways to use snowman dicks. We’re headed down the Carrot Highway, motherfuckers. Speed limit strictly enforced.

Now, we here at LouBegaCalledHeWantsHisFedoraBack.com both took a lot of film classes in our community college days so we feel it necessary to provide a bona-fide critique of this clip. For educational purposes. And for carrots.

First off, Nigel is just about the coolest mother fucker in the world. I would munch on that dude’s big fat carrot dick until every last cow came home. I’m such a slut for a well dressed, articulate black man.

Cassidy is cute as all-get-out but seems a little desperate. Frankly it’s a turn off, which should say a lot because I’ve been eating carrots all day and would slide my linus into just about anything with a spinal chord at this point. You can tell that she is absolutely obseeeeessed with Nigel. It’s obvious. She’s wearing a matching outfit and everything. Pathetic. Well guess what bitch? Nigel wouldn’t waste his time on you. You’re garbage as far as Nigel is concerned. Even if you were the last two people on Earf and had had nothing to eat but carrots for weeks, Nigel would still rather stick that big ole orange Godsend of a pen15 into a hollowed out cantelope filled with cottage cheese rather than that musty old batcave underneath Wayne Manor.

Also, Tom Gorman is a really, really, really, talented musician…but a total cunt. The only reason anybody gives a shit about him is because he wrote a song about carrots and everybody likes carrots. Why don’t you get the fuck off carrot’s coat tails and make something of yourself, cunt. And nice vest by the way.

Behind the Blog: Lou Bega Called

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One of the fantastic features of our web blogsite is that we are able to see terms used in search engines that lead people to our web cyber-blogsite. Just like how the government does! This is can be a fun way to see how people utilize the interspaceweb.

We’ve seen thousands and thousands of folks googlin’ “Lou Bega Called” and other stuff. Maybe you weren’t sure how to spell fedora.  Or maybe you’re dyslexic. Or maybe you’re gay.  The point is these results are boring as fuuuuck.

Sometimes we get some interesting results though. For instance, these are the three most recent phrases that folks have honest-to-goodness typed into Google and discovered LouBegaCalled:

“Old Aunt Fucking Two Guys” and “Two Straight Hunks Fucking” and ”Her football pads”

What this means is that someone was scouring the vastness of Cyberpornville, U.S.A;  they aimlessly stumbled upon LouBegaCalled; then decided that it sounded momentarily more interesting than masturbating. Or maybe they thought they were about to watch Lou Bega Porn. Either way, we are honored for this cyberweb spacenet interblogsite is to be used as a precursor to batin’…..that’s why we started this darn thing in the first place!

It’s also lovely to see that we have some readers who are obviously big fans of the film Necessary Roughness with Scott Bakula and Sinbad. During a typical Tuesday after-lunch screening of the film, this person obviously wanted to know more about ladies playing football, so they searched “her football pads.” So to that person, you’re welcome. You thought you were just gonna get a bunch of silly pictures of the inferior sex dressed up in uniforms playing a man’s sport or sexist articles that refer to the mothers of our children as “the inferior sex.” Well, you thought wrong, fuckstick. What you got was a mind-balling courtesy of the LouBegaCalledHeWantsHisFedoraBack staff. And we believe in the bottom of our hearts that women are something special. Like a rabbit. Or a bejewled goblet. So once again, you’re welcome.

The moral of the story is this: if you ever forget the name of our American Online interwebspace cybernet blogsite, you can simply google “Old Aunt Fucking Two Guys” and find us. All roads lead to home. Kind of.

How I Found God

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Do you feel a deep yearning deep down in your deep bones to connect with the big guy in the sky? Do you feel empty and incomplete inside and out? Don’t know how to get full again? We’ll I’m here to tell you- there is hope out there.

You know, I used to be just like you, with that big, Jesus-sized hole in my heart. Well guess what, big shot, you can’t fill that hole with booze or dope or huge mountains of cocaine or hookers or $100,000 bracelets or any of that stuff. Only Jesus. Let the Holy Ghost fill you up to the tippity top. And trust me, I know from experience, guy. I’m not one of those uptight holier-than-thou squares. Heck no. I’m cool, bro. I’ve been around.

Brah-man, I’m tellin ya, I used to toke fat doobies of heady shwag out of a bong I made out of a Dr. Thunder can at Dave Matthews concerts like once a year. I wore Kavu Visors. I went to Bonnaarroo one year and did like 3 hits of acid, 2 tabs of lsd, AND a dose, plus I drank like 3 Mich Ultras. Then I plugged a couple beans of ecstasy in my b-hole and went to the Bassnectar show. After the show I had sex with a plastic bag. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. So, I’ve been there, bro. I got to the point where I was shooting up so much pot that I LITERALLY forgot to feed my dog. For like 8 weeks. He’d been dead for a year in the garage before I sobered up, but I couldn’t smell anything due to the all the “Coco B. Ware” I was doing. Snortin’ it. Sniffin’ it. Bumpin’ it. Humpin’ it. Straight to the dome, my man. The Astro-Dome. I got so MESSED that I named my head that. Like, as a nickname. The Astro-Dome.

And that’s not all. I used to have homosexual, premarital, underage sex with all sorts of people. Grannies, trannies, fatties, my dad, hispanics, hobos, veterinarians, proletarians, boyscouts…We could be here all day. The point is, I let temptation and lust control my life. I got my dick pierced.  I had a monthly subscription to EdwardDildoHands.com. Heck, one afternoon I made a Kathy Bates collage out of tabloid pics, stuck my rod through it, then shut it in the bedroom door. I was messed up. But I found my way out. Or should I say, He found me and lead me out. Of the darkness. Like that book.

See, I was using this junk to fill me up. Then I realized, I’m an 86 year old man just full of junk with a dead dog and a sore wee wee. One day I was driving to Smoothie King and I saw it. The sign. I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes. It was a big black sign with all white lettering that read and I quote: “Darryl, you fucking douche, this is Jesus Christ. Ya know, of Nazareth? And I’m not sayin’, but I’m just sayin’, get your shit together. You are acting like an asshole, and noone wants to invite you to Craig’s XXX-Mas shindig. Drugs are for hippies and little faggy choirboys.” I realized then and there that I had to let Jesus into my life. I had to let him take the wheel and drive me to a little town I like to call Happiness. Drugs can’t do it. Sex can’t do it. Money can’t do it. Kathy Bates can’t do it. I realize that now. I love God so much. He is my Prince Charming. He is the one. He is the only thing I want to smoke. His is the only collage I want to put my penis through. He is my man. And if that makes me gay then fine. I’m gay for God, but I’m full now. Full of God’s big ol’ thaaaang. And let me tell you this, brother, it feels good. It feels damn good.

My First Suicide Note

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The following is a copy of my first suicide note from April 24, 2007. That was a really dark time in my life, 2007, like Omar from The Wire dark. But my analyst, Dr. Werner Lipschwitz says that it would be good for me to share my experience. Ya know, for catharsis. And since it’s the holiday season it seemed fitting.

Dear Cruel Cunt World,

When are the Cranberries going to come out with another fucking album already?!? Seriously. I get it, you’re on hiatus and want to pursue side projects. That’s fine. I’m sure that’s some great stuff or whatever but don’t neglect the fans that made you who you are. Fans like me. Jerry from Printing is also into “The Sauce.” Give us the real stuff: The Cranberries. Zombie. Linger. All the hits. Shit’s so awesome.

I mean, it’s 2007. They have cameras on phones now.Let’s get that new-new Cran-Cran. Fa really doe. Gotsta has it.

God. Fuck it. I can’t do this anymore. The Cranberries are never going to make a new album. I’m going to off myself. I’m going to off myself so fucking hard.

Love,

Pudding Dickenson

Obviously this suicide attempt was unsuccessful. But, not to fret, because it wouldn’t be my last. Heck, I eat a bottle of my gandmother’s prescription painkillers that she had for her bad knee every time they leave pickles on my chicken sammich from the Chik-Fil-A, when I said clear as day “if there are any goddamn pickles on my motherfucking chicken sammy, I will cut your fucking dick off, shove it in my mouth,  and then put a loaded shotgun to my forehead.”

Lipschwitz was right on the money. That felt pretty good.

A Drawing I Made in 9th Grade

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What you’ll see here is two 1950′s style robots, one of which is wearing a bowler hat, shooting laser beams at who they think to be Puff Daddy. However it’s Tiger Woods. The all white outfit probably lead them to this conclusion. You would think that the golf club and Nike swoosh hat would have given him away. But you thought wrong. Dead fucking wrong. You see, they didn’t have “golf” or “Nike” back in the 1950′s. This drawing is a commentary on American modernization as we entered the Space Age and the system of racial oppression which supported it.

Tips for Keeping the Passion in Your Relationship: Camping!

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Has your love life lost that special something? That spice? That spark? That ole familiar feeling? We’ve all been there, sister. Tuh-ruuust me. I’m still there. All relationships go through those phases but there are ways to keep the passion in your relationship alive and kickin’ (and hopefully humpin’…look atcha, sittin’ over there witcho sexy azz).

Here’s a tip: Go Camping! Camping can be a great way to get some special alone time between you and your lover. Just you, her, and Mother Nature. And unlike your real mother, Mother Nature doesn’t smoke cigarettes all day with her boyfriend, Jerry, whose only words to you in the last 5 years were “when are you moving out of my new house?” There’s nothing like a rendezvous with the great outdoors to reignite the fires and roast the mallows of your pathetic, flaccid, discolored love life – if you know how. There is so much to do camping, you guys. Seriously. So much. Like a jillion things. AT LEAST. So here’s some suggestions from yours truly on how to make the most of you and the one who is trulys yours’ camping trip.

First of all, women love a hardy woodsman. That Paul Bunyan still melts panties to the floor to this day. You need to prove to your lover that you can provide for her, so it is very important that you do not bring any supplies on your trip.  Any man with a pair of dickbullets can go to a Sam’s Club (well, I mean, only if you have a Sam’s Club Card, but what fucktard doesn’t have a Sam’s Card by now? They got amazing shit in there), and buy a tent, a sweeping bag, a grill, some Maxi Pads, and a Bon Jovi poster. So, again, no supplies. Nature will provide you with everything you need. The two best ways to prove you strength and craftiness is 1) starting a cozy fire and 2) killing a rabbit and rubbing its blood all over your face. Once she sees how manly and resourceful you are she is certain to open the imperial gates to the Clam Palace. STAT. You’ll have that C-chowder dripping from your beard quicker than you can say “Jackie Robinson Erection.”

Okay, so maybe you don’t feel comfortable killing a rabbit, or maybe you’re a pussy baby who can’t start a fire. Still, there are ways to use the wildlife for romantic purposes without killing all the animals. For instance, while your lover is busy searching for kindling, try to find a snake hole. You will know a snake hole because it is usually surrounded by skeletons of dead animals. Once you find it, pop your chode in the hole and wait for the snake to take the bait. You may have to wiggle it around a little. Don’t be afraid to be almost TOO aggresive. Once it strikes, hurry back to your lover and explain that she needs to deepthroat all the way to the roots of your chode-tree in order to get all the venom out. It’s as easy as that. And if you don’t feel comfortable killing the rabbit or having a snake bite your Shlong-adan Milosevic, then you are the biggest pussy in the whole world and probably shouldn’t be camping or even attempting to get someone to fuck you. And you know what?! Sharon’s too good for you, anyway. It’s obvious that you don’t give a SHIT about her.  She’s the greatest girl in the world, and she deserves someone who will treat her with love and unparalled respect. Letting Sharon go was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life and I know that now. And If I could jump in a time machine and win her back, goddamn it I would. You know what? You’re not even worth it , dude. Why don’t you just go jump in a lake. Dickhead. 

Anyways, once the sun goes down is when camping really heats up! Make sure you bring your acoustic so you can woo her with some heady jamz around the fire, bro. You don’t play? Don’t worry about it. All you really need to learn is ”All For You” by Sister Hazel and you’ll be getting such a big helping of that roast beef deluxe that you’ll be begging her for more Horsey sauce.

Once you’re done, it’s time for a little f-u-n to liven things up. Two words: Slug Wars. It’s when you climb in your sleeping bags head first, zip up, and battle like a couple of slimy slugs! So romantic. Slug Wars makes for great foreplay. In fact, the first three lil’ baby fetuses I ever made with my tadpole spermz (all aborted) were the result of Slug Wars. It’s a regular AFROdisiac. I spelled it like that, with the caps and all, to emphasize how well it works on the sisters. Black girls, that is.

And when you get tired of that, climb on in the tent for some shut eye. Wait….Hold on….Whats that rustling of leaves outside the tent? Is it a bear? Oh my god, there’s a fucking bear outside! You could possibly only have a few more minutes to live before that bear tears you limb from limb like Eminem did to Nick Cannon. What better time for some intense fear-sex? Fear-sex is the most passionate kind of sex because you have nothing to lose. And more times than not that rustling noise is just an armadillo or a gust of wind, although sometimes it’s a bear. In which case, he’ll kill you and eat your torso. But these are the risks we take for passion.

If you follow these simple tips, I can guarantee that you will not only having a camping trip to remember for years to come, but it will reupholster the proverbial futon that is your relationship. Go ahead and quote me on that. All that we ask in return for this information is that, you make a video, add some bitchin’ special effects, and send us a copy. Not to do anything gross to or anything. Ew, no way. We just like to see all the happy couples that we’ve helped. We do this for you. Now, you do IT for us.

Concerning Cotton-eye Joe…

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That dude has some serious problems. I’m not one to go talking about people like this, like a gossipy bitch or whatever, but that guy is fuuuuucked up.

He has cotton for eyes. Like in his eye hole.

Forget about his whole oral hygiene problem. That’s peanuts compared to what we’re talking about here. I can call Dr. Fitzhugh right now and we can get him some glow in the dark vampire teeth. Problem solved. But cotton eyes? I. Don’t. THINK. So.

Forget his illiteracy. Reading is pretty hard, I get it. Still trying to make it through the first Harry Potter book myself. Things are getting exciting though, he just got to some weird train station.

Really, it’s the whole cotton-eye thing that I’m worried about. With Joe, I mean. Joey Cottoneyes.

I mean, forget about the meth lab he’s got in the bathroom of his trailer. In his defense, he makes some pretty good shit. And maybe it’s not helping his oral hygiene situation but really, if you think about it, he is just trying to provide a service for his community. Supply and demand. I get it. That’s not his fault. If anything we should give him some slack for being a pawn in the capitalist system. Plus, he makes some really good shit.

And forget about his incestual relationship with his great-grandfather’s corpse. You’d probably do the same in his situation. That situation being- cursed with cotton eyes and having a thicker than average, perfectly trimmed, rhino cock.

And don’t even get me started on this whole “leukemia” kick he’s been on. I mean I get it, but really. Plus, I heard cancer tickles.

You know what, just forget it. It’s not my place to say anything.

What I Want for Christmas

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Motherfuckin’ Beanie Babies.

I want Valentino. I want the Princess Diana. I want Erin. I want Garcia. I want Holiday Teddy. I want B.B. Bear. I want Peace Bear. I want 2K. I want Glory. I want Halo. I want Rolando. I want Bearrison Ford. I want Bearrie Underwood. I want Upton Sinbear. I don’t want that rabbit up at the top though. I already have two of that asshole – Hippity and Hoppity, those are like little fucking baby toys.

These guys are retired and really really rare so you gotta make sure you get me the ones WITH THE TAGS STILL ON. If you come across a Beanie Baby without it’s tag, it probably has the HIV and can’t be trusted with a needle. These aren’t my types of Beanie Babies. Tags ON people.

Everybody gets the Beanie Buzz around the holiday season because they make such great gifts. From little suckling bambinos to old people who are about to die, you can’t go wrong with a Beanie. However, you have to be careful because terrorists and Mexicans are always smuggling fake beanie babies over the border. Because they hate our country and are jealous of all the great things we have. Like authentic HIV-negative TY© Beanie Babies with the tags still on. Here’s a quick video to help you spot counterfeit HIV beanies.

Now you’re sitting there thinking, “what do you even plan on doing with Beanie Babies? They serve no real purpose.” I know you’re sitting there thinking this because I just got these bitchin’ new bi-noc-u-lars for Thanksgiving. No real purpose? Ever positioned two Beanie Babies to make it look they are doing the ole brown town shuffle? You ever take Bearry Seinfeld’s paws and make it look like it’s giving Bearry the Cable Bear a rough two handed blowjizzle? You ever run out of toilet paper and the only thing in the bathroom are your roommate’s cat and the commemorative all-white Cher Bear? Don’t waste my time.

Thank you. And Merry fucking Christmas.

Eyes on the Prize: Heroes of the Civil Rights Movement ep.1

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Winston Zeddemore (born February 19, 1945) is the only black ghostbuster. Ever. Boom.

In 1984, Zeddemore challenged the contemporary Supreme Court interpretation of the 14th Amendment with the groundbreaking case, Zeddmore vs. New York. In this landmark decision, the Courts ruled that any and all job discrimination involving interstate paranormal organizations was unconstitutional. Zeddemore paved the way for blacks in this field. Coincedentally, in his youth, Zeddemore also worked as a groundskeeper for an all-black church baseball league, literally paving the way for blacks on the field.

Zeddemore knew early on that his true calling was ‘bustin. Just as soon as he lost his job and needed that cheddar cheese skrilla to pay rent and a brand new three-piece suit for his kitty cat, he contacted the G-busters. Though Zeddemore had no previous background in paranormal studies, he quickly became both an asset and a good friend to Dr.’s Venkman, Stantz, and Spangler, respectively. His level-headed rationality significantly contributed to the defeat of both sexy demon Zuul “The Gatekeeper” and later the asshole baby rapist Vigo, and that big ol’ marshmallow man. Zeddemore commented on the symbolic victory over the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man:

“There ain’t nothing whiter than a mallow. This wasn’t just a victory for my boys in the G-Busturz. It wasn’t just a victory for the city of New York. This was a victory for the black race. The mallow man IS the white man, who stole our ancestors from the shores of the motherland, put us in shackles, and denied us of our humanity. I realized that as I was blasting that mallow cracker ass with my laser beam. Shiiiiit.”

Winston continues to be a valued, irreplaceable member of the Ghostbusters, breaking down paranormal occupational barriers one at a time and will forever be remembered as a hero of the Civil Rights Movement. God bless America, amen.