Where’d you get those overalls at? They’re so hillbilly chic. So ironic. So working class. So Rural. So Tom Sawyer-esque. So Alex Mac-ian. So Mario 64-ish. It’s like you’re in that band Dexy’s Midnight Runners. It’s like, come on Eileen, seriously, come on, those are some nice ass overalls. It’s like you’re a farmer who just got done squeezing on some cow’s big fat titty, squirting it’s milk-cum every whichaway. You know, that’s a lifestyle choice I can respect. There is something dignified about working with your hands, squeezing titties all the live long day. That’s real salt of the earth shit. Sometimes it’s refreshing to just get back to the basics. Back to nature. Just hands and titties. Like Henry David Thoreau or Ted Kaczynski. Yep, dem were simpler times. That was before the google and the Jason Mraz and those shoes that light up when you walk around on em. Long before your Screech Powers’, and your Bawitdaba’s, and your 1-800-COLLECT’S. Back then, you would wake up to the smell of hickory-bacon frying in an open skillet and the crack of logs being split out back. I’d get going right near sun up, put on my burlap sack, some overalls, and drink a warm cup of fresh squeezed milk-jizz. We would all get belly full on hickory-bacon and mama’s grit cakes before we headed out into the fields. Best part was, we didn’t have to wear no shoes, if’n we didn’t want to. Worst part was, if we didn’t pick that cotton fast enough or we stopped to take a sip of water, that old overseer would come beat the shit out of us with a horsewhip. I ‘member one time Erasmus May and me decided it was too hot to work, so we goes and sneaks off into the cantaloupe patch and get us a nice fat melon to snack upon. Long story short, they tied us up and beat the shit out of us with a horsewhip.
Jackpot! ChaCHING! Who’s got two middle fingers aimed your direction and is gonna be the next MTV reality star? I’m gonna hit the open road in that Winnebago with the cow skull on the grill and 5 total strangers between the age of 18 and 24: A slut, a religious fanatic, a gay guy, a douchey homophobic jock-strap with gelled hair, and a minority.
My role in the gang will be the recovering drug addict ex-convict that struggles with his tempestuous past. See, my dad used to beat me. My girlfriend used to beat me. My aunt Tess used to burn me with cigarette butts. I was molested by my SCUBA instructor. I used to have a speech impediment. I had tuberculosis. So I started smoking grass. Monkey grass. I smoked so much monkey grass that my Gram-gram kicked me to the curb. I was living in the sewers, eating nothing but half eaten hotdogs and old shoelaces. I was blowing all the cash that I earned from drawing caricatures of tourists at the boardwalk on that stankity-ass sticky-icky monkey weed from Lowe’s Home Improvement. One time I smoked so much monkey grass that the whole left side on my body went paralyzed for like 3 months. I could only talk out of the side of my mouth like Greta Van Susteren and I just laid under a grate in the sewer hoping somebody would drop some hotdog or lose a flip flop. I once starred on the internet porn site “GooseneckCocks.cum” under the pseudonym Solomon Soysausage, in order to make enough money to feed my addiction. I also killed my whole family with gardening sheers I stole from Lowe’s while re-upping on that sweet ape cheeba. But then I sent in my audition tape, got selected, and now I’m ready to turn over a new leaf.
Obviously I’m going to cause lots of drama in the Winni, so that I’ll get lots of screen time and be famous as fuck. I’m going to double stuff cream pie the Slut with the Douchey Jock. She will get pregnant and we won’t know who be dat baby daddy, so we will go halfsies on an abortion, much to the dismay of the religious zealot. To make it up to him, I’m gonna ask if I can say Grace at supper, then use it as an excuse to thank God for allowing abortions. Then I’m going to tell the minority “I’m not racist, some of my best friends are black.” And I’m not going to talk to the gay guy whatsoever. Cuz I don’t want to get cooties. Midway through the season, I’m going to shatter my sobriety by going on a hardcore monkey grass binge until the left side of my body goes completely paralyzed. My castmates will have to push me around in a wheelchair and wipe the drool from my chin.
Once I’m in Road Rulez, I’m going to bungee jump my absolute tits off. I can see it now, there I am dangling by my ankles from an elastic rope, high off adrenaline and monkey junk, with my tits some 4o feet below at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. They’ll probably let me bungee jump off the Goodyear Blimp into a volcano. I’m going to be SO NERVOUS! Cuz I’m afraid of heights and lava. Those are probably like my two biggest fears. My third biggest fear is either Lowe’s running out of monkey dope, or my aunt Tess coming back to life, pulling the garden sheers from her forehead, and chasing me down and burning my butthole with the ashes from a tobacco pipe.
After the season is over and I’m a notorious Road Rules personality, I can just do Real World vs. Road Rule challenges until the end of my days. I’ll do physical challenges like hitting some Real World fuck-stick with a foam noodle and they’ll fall into a swimming pool full of eels. Since that is just a seasonal gig, I can invest my time and money into the technology to upload my consciousness onto the internet. Like TRON. I’m going to wear florescent spandex suits that make my gooseneck cock look stout as a Guinness Draft.
This is an interview I did a few months back after a show in Hutchinson, Kansas. A lady’s nipple pops out and it’s pretty silly.
Dickz and Puzzyholes,
I saw on the History Channel that the world was going to end in the year 2012. There is supposed to be locusts vs. earthquakes vs. volcanic spolsions vs. zombies vs. Chinese robot overlords vs. Freddy vs. Jason vs. gingivitis epidemics vs. Muslims vs The Miami Heat. You name it and it’s gonna be fucking our shit up in 2012. Total Armageddon featuring original songs from Aerosmith.
They say that the End of Days was predicted long ago by Mayan Angelou. And I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never known Mayan Angelou to be wrong about nothing. She’s a smart ass African American queen with a heart that was touched by Midas and an ass like a burlap sack filled with sweet potatoes. She was right about why the caged bird sings and I wouldn’t be surprised if she was right about the End of Days too. Plus, me and History Channel are pretty sure that ancient aliens probably clued her in to the imminent doom.
But I’m not ready to die. I’m only 22 years old. I haven’t even sexed with a black girl yet. There’s so much of Mother Earth that I have yet to see. Here are a few things I would like to do before the end of the world.
1) Right off the bat, before I die I’d really like to have some of that gay sex I’ve been hearing so much about. Like full on. I’ll be bent over some bear’s motorcycle while he pumps it out behind me with his leather pants around his ankles. I’ll pull on his long goatie braid and he’ll spit in my mouth. The ultimate gay experience. With the world about to end and all, all my previous hang-ups over doing that gay sex go right out the window. Don’t gotta worry about getting the HIV-AIDs. Who cares. Don’t gotta worry about my parents finding out and pretending to “still love me” and “support my lifestyle.” Fuck you mom. You old bitch. I won’t have to worry about maintaining my savings accounts either. I can blow all my money on mesh shirts, body glitter, and a disco ball for my apartment. Because that’s what being gay is.
2) Hit up the salad bar at Ruby’s. One more time for old times sake. Get me a big plate of cheese, ham, tomaters, bacon bits, a different kind of cheese, olives, pasta salad, chunky bleu cheese, and some of those brown croutons. No lettuce. With the end of the world and all, I’ve realized what’s really important and what’s not. So I’ve decided to eliminate my least favorite part of the salad: the lettuce.
3) Smoke a little meth. I don’t want to go overboard. I’ve just always wanted to try it, but was too worried about all my teeth falling out and my skin getting wrinkly and covered in sores. Since I don’t have to worry about all that, I’d like to get the full meth experience just once. I’ll drop by Cooter’s trailer and buy some, go find a cozy dumpster to hotbox, hit that shit like Fergie, and then rampage around the city exerting my new found superhuman strength. I’ll flip cars and shit. Jump from rooftop to rooftop. Karate chop little babies in half. Throw a Nerf football farther than John Elway.
4) Take a stinky dump on home plate of Field 4 at my old little league baseball park. Field 4 was where Johnny Scroggins hit that game-winning home run off of me in 5th grade. He would later go on to be cheer captain at Dickenson High. Coincidentally, Field 4 is also where I got my first squeeze-job. Tessy Jenkins had hands like an illegal migrant worker, but up until that point no one had touched my hang-low besides me so I didn’t mind so much.
5) Eat 30 saltines in one minute.
6) Drive Uncle Julius’ pick-up. Always loved that truck and he never would let me get behind the wheel. Imagine the trim I’d catch in that thing. Cruising down the main drag, windows down, Coolio blasting from the tapedeck. “If you got beef, then nigga eat a porkchop.” There’s just somethin’ women like about a pick-up man. Maybe it’s cuz it’s got an 8 foot bed that never has to be made. Maybe it’s cuz most people who drive trucks are racists. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s cuz when the sun goes down and you crank that mug up, there ain’t a person alive that can give you orders or tell you how to live your life; it’s your world now, they’re just living in it.
7) Watch the ENTIRE Lord of the Rings Trilogy in one sitting. Back to back to back. Frodo, Sam Wise, Gandalf the Grey, Aragon, Boromir, Gollum, Gandalf the White, Orlando Bloom. I want to be transported to Middle Earth for that magical journey of friendship with NO INTERRUPTIONS. I’m going to hang a sign on the door to my room that says “NO MOMS ALLOWED! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE CUZ I’M WATCHING MOVIES! UNLESS YOU ARE BRINGING ME A 2 LITER OF PEPSI, THEN YOU CAN COME IN. BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND! AND NO TALKING! JUST BRING THE PEPSI IN, POUR IT IN A CUP WITH ICE, HAND IT TO ME, THEN GET THE H OUT!”
8) Get my abs ripped as shit. I want to look chiseled out of marble. Like a Roman Centurion. Like a white Lenny Kravitz. I know the world is gonna end or whatever but that doesn’t mean I have to look like a big fat moo-cow. I wanna go out looking good. I’m gonna do like at least 100 sit ups a day and keep my self well oiled. I’m hoping that if I keep my abs looking ripped as shit and shiny that I’ll get so much clam sauce. See, as the end draws nearer girls are gonna wanna squirt their juices like crazy. They’ll have nothing to lose. If they see a guy like me, with ripped ass abdominals and well-groomed eyebrows, they’ll wanna bone until we’re both rubbed raw.
9) Laser eye surgery.
10) Tell Nana thank you for all she’s done for me. For the nights as a boy when she rocked me to sleep in her arms. For always having a plate of peanut brittle waiting for me when I came home from school. For teaching me about the healing power of crystals. For showing me how to properly eat out a girl. Couldn’t have done it without you Nana. And that’s the honest to goodness.