S The Coach

I’m not a gay-lesbian or whatever but I would totally let Nick Saban plow my ass. I mean really plow my ass. Plow it like Brother Hesychia during the Fall Harvest Season. Plow it hard and deep to aerate the soil. Bring those fresh nutrients to the surface so i can cultivate his big fat corn cob dick. Then I’m going to shuck the healthy husk until the kernals pop in my mouth hole with that buttery sensation dribblin’ down my chin.
I want the 2-time BCS National Championship winner to pull my carrot stick up from the roots and nibble like a baby hare until it’s drenched in man ranch (manch).

How to Make Your Band Successful

So you’re in a band and you’re looking for something to make your group stand out to venues, radio DJs, record companies, and hot ass fucksluts ready to drop trou and do the slip-slip-squirt in the alleyway next to your parents’ apartment. I know, I know. I been there, kid. Shit, I’m still there in a lot of ways. I know how you feel and I’m here to help. I’ve had plenty of experience in this field over the years with all my bands: Houis Louise and the Nouveaus, Buster Himen, Dickey Salt and the Dick Salt All-Stars, The Mermen with Salty Dicks, Shrunken Salty Slug Dick, Pumpkintits Horrorhouse, Moose Cock, and Oasis. Here’s a few little suggestions to help you hit it big.

1) Get a cool band name. This is a must. The name provides the first impression. First impressions are EV-ER-Y-thing.  It can make or break that shit. Here’s a tip: don’t name your band “The Something.” And when I said “Something” right then, I did not literally mean “Something.” I just meant like, whatever you put in there. Not like “The Whatever”, you know what I mean. The point is, you could insert anything in there and it still won’t work. And I’m not referring to “The Anything.” You know what, never mind. You’re making this way more complicated than it has to be. All I’m saying is that band names which are nouns preceded by the article adjective “the” just don’t work. It’s a proven fact. Never have, never will. If you’re band falls into this category get ready for a life of gaining weight, working at Guitar City, and DJing middle school dances. If you’re looking for an eye-poppin’ badass name, I suggest using the Gerund Phrase Technique (GPT). It’s simple and easy to use. A gerund phrase will begin with a gerund, an ing word, and might include other modifiers and/or objects. Gerund phrases always function as nouns, so they will be subjects, subject compliments, objects in the sentence, or in this case a band name. I suggest something vague, morbid, or ironic and as always, alliteration is Tittyville, U.S.A. Read these examples to give you an idea:

Fisting the Dragon Pussy

Snorkeling in Sand

Bowling for Soup

Cock-Gagging for Cocaine

Smelling The Pit

Making Satan a Sandwich

Wearing My Dad’s Face

Pretty good right? Right. Prepositional phrases usually work pretty well too….This just in, I just found out on the Google.com that there is a band named “The Gerunds.” I’m sure they think they are being very cute and clever, but this doesn’t count as GPT. At All. I’m not sure who they are or where they are from but I will guarantee you this: The Gerunds will never amount to a god damn pile of mother fucking peanuts. You hear me?!  I am willing to bet two of my hard-earned twenty dollar bills that not one member of The Gerunds would even know how to get it up for one of these dirty truck sluts.

2) Get a girl in the band. This has proven successful for musicians such as No Doubt, Talking Heads, Fleetwood Mac, Ray Stevens, The White Stripes,

Not really sure which one the girl was. The one on the left?This ambiguity makes for maximum appeal.

The Cranberries, Smashing Pumpkins, and Prince. Some supple fox will really improve your band’s appeal. Cuz you see, sexual predators listen to music too. This is a highly untapped demographic ripe for the plucking, shucking, and/or ear fucking. Just don’t be surprised if you get a lot of balding men slushing around under their trench coats in darkened corners. Here’s the one real problem with adding a girl to the mix: girls aren’t very good at music. On occasion you may find one that can sing okay but those are rare. Like, rarer than a meteor shower. I mean, how many times does a Wynona or a Dusty “Beaver” Springfield come around? Once every meteor shower, that’s how many times. A good solution to this problem is to let the girl play bass or tambourine. These “instruments” require very little talent and as long as those tits are perky and as long as she ain’t no plumper, it doesn’t matter what the fuck she is doing. You definitely don’t want her to play guitar. Girls are too busy going to the mall, eating ice cream, and having their periods to learn the chords and scales necessary to play guitar. Also, be careful not to have too many girls in the band or the band will be awful. I strongly suggest no more than one. Two maybe, if it is necessary to have a tambourine and a bass.

3) Unplug the bass. Nobody is paying attention to anything the bass is doing. Save yourself the electricity. Why run up your girlfriend’s parents’ bill? Plus bassists are typically thickheaded dickheads. Thick, dick, heads. Furthermore, bass is hardly a real instrument. It’s just a low guitar with 4 strings (Or +5 strings if the bassist is particularly pretentious). It’s like, if you don’t want to take the time to learn the chords and play guitar, then get the fuck off everybody else’s coattails and get the fuck out of the band, you piece. of. shit. The only reason to even have a bass in the band is if you’ve got some girl that isn’t good enough to play anything else.

4) Shoot heroin into your eyeball. There’s lots of blood vessels in your eyeball. And it will make you’re music better.

5) Have a few hits then two words: Go Country, ya’ll. Take that sound that your fans have grown to know and love and add a lil’ twang to it. Start singing about small town America, cold beer, creek beds, and what it’s like to be in love. Sing about your truck. Sing about your mama. Pull out your Alabama Black Snake and show it to a relative. Then sing a song about it. Wear a cowboy hat. Put on some all white jeans and a plaid shirt. Throw up on yourself in the parking lot of the ‘Dega Superspeedway. Strum an acoustic guitar. Make a music video that is just shots of nature and you making out with a pretty blonde wearing cut off jean shorts in the woods. If the pretty blonde just happens to be your bassist then it’s a win-win. My advice: do a duet with Shania Twain. People will flip. Make a music video for it, and see if you can get Shania to eat out the bass player. Preferably in the woods, or somewhere in nature. I’m telling you, everything gets better when you gone country. Look at them boots!

What I Want to Be When I Grow Up….

I want to be the first black astronaut. Or as I will call myself, the Choconaut. Just imagine, the earthy tones of my caramel skin floating in that all white spacesuit, staring down at the Earf, looking out for you and yours. My NASA umbilical chord, pumping my big-ass black lungs with the freshest of oxygen to combat my big-ass black asthma. My 45 inch fudgey dong-snake pressing against the inside of the spacesuit, screaming to get out, suffocating like child in a car with the windows rolled up during the throes of an Alabama summer. “Mama! Mama! Please!” it cries on the edge of consciousness with it’s bare skin stuck to the molten car seat as tears and snot and sweat amalgamate into noxious brew, all while I, the world’s first choca-teer, stands atop the moon like only two men before me.

But my boys can’t catch me playing some pussy-baby game like golf up there on the moon like those vanilla muhfuckas in the 60′s. We gon’ have to have a hoop set-up or something. Just let me know, so I can clean my Jordan’s. With that low ass gravity, I’ll be doing dunks from half court like a black Aaron Carter. I’m gonna be the Tiger Woods of space travel, except if that cunt had tried to take half of MY Jupiter dollars just for gettin’ my slip-slip-quirt on with’ a few extra-terrestrial  porn stars, I’d of hired someone to kill that bitch along time ago. Nahmean?

And if I do meet some extraterrestrial lifeforms, I’ma be ready to make some new best budz-4-EVER. And if it’s a space lady alien and she’s got 3+ bubbies/yum-yums, don’t expect me back at Earf for a while. I’ll be too busy giving that space ass some Ezra-Pounding. And you best believe if they’ve got squidfaces, I’m going to beat the shit out of those motherfuckers. Big Willy Style. Steal one of their spaceships, fly into the heart of mothership with my Jewish scientist partner, and drop the Dookiebomb. I don’t play with squidfaces.

A black man in the blackest place in the universe looking for black holes and junk. Sheeeeeeit. Sign me up. First. Black. Astronaut. Point blank and period. Smashin’ all types of female alien redbones, while fuckin’ up squidfaces and smokin’ on some intergalactic hash and titties. I could get used to this.