Tag Archives: To Catch A Predator

R.L. Stein Book Review

Posted on by

0

We can sum up R.L.’s new magnum opus “Halloween Hell-Fire: Smokin’ In The Boys Room” in one word: GOOSEBUMPS.

Serious. Got some real ass goosebumps on this one. Fa really doe. Lookin’ like geese up in here with hundreds of bumps covering every square inch of our torched bods. Laying eggs and shit. Eating little pieces of bread. Chasing kids. Trying to peck their eyeballs. Our bumps, our bumps, our loosey goosey bumps. Like that Black Eyed Peas song? But we changed the words a little bit? Weird Al style. He should totally use that for one of his epic polka parodies. With his accordion. We saw Weird Al in a Ruby Tuesdays once, munching out on some bacon ched sliders. Shit looked di-vine. He’s not as weird in real life as he pretends to be on the TV. The bizarre tale in R.L.’s latest Goosebumps was way weirder than Al. Believe that.

Stein’s literary masterpiece is a modernist quest to define the self. There ain’t been chops like this from the Stein family since the days of R.L.’s lesbian grandmammy, Gertrude. R.L. explores the human condition like only R.L. can. Shit had me going through the works. The water works. I cried. I screamed. I shivered. I hooted. I hollered. My hair stood on end. I hid my head under my blanket. I nearly jumped clean out of my skin. The only thing I couldn’t do was PUT IT DOWN. LOL. CuZ IT WUz sO GoOoD!!! Talk about a page turner.

The protagonist, Xander Magoo, is everyman. Your average Average Joe. His parents’ working class background makes him the symbol of the proletariat’s hopeless quest to transcend social stratification. Stein uses Xander’s hamster, hopelessly running on it’s wheel, to represent the capitalist charade. Deep Mon.

This Marxist masterpiece follows Magoo as he is flung into the world of bone chilling fright along with his best friend and fountainhead of comic relief Blaine “Earwig” Jewstein. Their adventure begins when they find out that their Chemistry Teacher, Mr. Gorbachev, has been catnapping the neighborhoods’ felines. And by catnapping, I don’t mean taking a quick snooze on the couch after inhaling a can of tuna. I’m talking about kitty abductions! Pussy snatching!

So Xander and Earwig plot out a wicked scheme to catch Mr. Gorbachev red fucking handed on none other than ALL HOLLOWS EVE. WoOoOo! SPoOoOoKY.  So they sneak into Mr. Gorbachev’s house and set up a camera crew so that they can bust him To Catch a Predator style. Dateline NBC Y’all. Chris Hansen eat your heart out.

Long story short, one thing leads to another and they end up in a high speed chase on
their Huffy bikes. Then there’s like…a swamp….And….there’s this whole thing about Mr. Gorbachev keeping his teaching position because of tenure…maybe there was something about a golden amulet? I’ll be honest, I might have just skimmed the last couple chapters. But it really was good! I swear, like the first 30 pages were fucking fire ass fire. It just got late and I had one of those weeks.

Like for instance on Wednesday, I went to Belk’s to get some of these fucking Ralph Lauren ties like James Franco wears and they CANCELLED my Belk’s Rewards Plus Credit Card. What kind of jergoffs do they got running this place? How the heck do these royal jergoffs expect me to buy any Ralph Lauren ties if they cut me off? Like, Ralph is a personal friend of mine and with one fucking phone call I could BURY YOU, Belk’s. Like, he invited me to his nephew’s baptism in Milan and if I gave him the word, he would pull his entire line from your stores so fast that your jergoff heads would twist clean off your little chode bodies.  Don’t think I won’t, Belk’s. I’m not the kind of guy you want to fuck with. All I want is my fucking Belk’s Rewards Plus Credit Card with the 10% discount so I can buy some fucking Ralph Lauren ties so I can look like James Franco. HE IS HANDSOME.

Did you see Pineapple Express? So Funny. Talk about range. Just when you think you’ve got James Franco’s figured out, he comes out of left field with a doozie like this. God damn it, he’s good. Rise of the Planet of the Apes? He was like a super smart monkey scientist that taught them how to read books. Nailed it. Spider-Man 3? He’s was an evil goblin and ripped Toby McGuire’s dick off. Pure gold. He’s like a shape shifter or something the way he goes from role to role. Like a shape shifting mighty morphing changeling chamillionaire or something. God bless.

Sometimes It’s Okay to Let Go and Cry

Posted on by

0

Hey. How are you? We heard about what happened and we just wanted you to know that we’ve been praying for you. To Jesus. Of Nazareth. You’re in our thoughts and if there is anything we can do to help please let us know. And if you ever need anyone to talk to or to like, share your feelings with, just know that we’re right here. You have our number. Just remember, in the long run everything is going to be okay. It may seem bad but this is just a bump in the road. And don’t forget sometimes it’s okay to let go and have a good long cry, you know? Let it all out. It really is good for you. You can’t bottle all that stuff up inside like a Heinz factory worker. Or one day you’ll explode. Like the Heinz factory in 2004 after one of their employees bottled up their emotions and hatred for John “The Ketchup Man” Kerry and planted C-4 in the basement. Can you imagine the confusion of the EMTs while digging bodies out of the rubble? How are they supposed to know whether that’s blood or ketchup? You can’t know. It’s just impossible in that kind of situation.  Unless you brought your own medium curly fry, but then you run the risk of accidently dipping one in ketchup. Grody! But that’s what bottling stuff up does to people.

And I know you feel really alone right know, like no one knows how you feel or could ever possibly want to listen to your bullshit problems and how pathetic your life is. If you think you might need professional help, just someone to talk to, I can give you the number of my analyst, Dr. Lipschwitz. He really is a lifesaver. Saved mine, for sure.  I don’t know how I would have gotten through that whole nightmare with To Catch A Predator without him. I mean seriously, I thought Chad said 31, not 13. I must have just read it wrong. I’ve tog Aixelsyd. See! And the Judge didn’t believe me. And so what if he was 13? I’ve met some 13 year olds dudes that were really mature for their age. Some of them are already taking Algebra 1. At 13! And I wasn’t even going over there to have sex with him anyways. I was just going over there to tell his parents to back off a little. Give the kid some space. He’s a teenage boy, with teenage dreams, and teenage needs. Like Katy Perry.  I was simply going to tell them that their little boy is growing into a man and needs some time by himself. I was going to suggest a vacation. I had some extra cashish lying around from my big Ritz cracker deal, and wanted to send them out of town for a few weeks so I could fuck their little boy. Yeah, that was me. The guy who told Ritz that their crackers could also be used as little edible plates. Put some shit on there, I said. Cheese. Peanut butter. Ham. Salsa. Make these plain ole crackers something to talk about. “Seriously Ritz” I told to them “Let’s give ‘em something to talk about. How about love? Because that’s how they are going to feel about you’re little fucking crackers.” They thought that was worth 4 million dollars. I digress. What I’m sayin’ is, nobody’s fucking perfect. What ever happened to “Love is blind”? Now I’ve got all these court dates, lawyer fees, sexual predator forms to get signed, blue balls, and I’m out a pack of strawberry flavored condoms.

I don’t know why people like that fucking To Catch a Predator show so much anyways. But this isn’t about me. This is about you and your loss. So, do it. Let go. Cry. Cry me a fucking river. Big girls DO cry. Don’t listen to to that slut Madonna. “Don’t cry for me Argentina?” You gotta be jerking me right off. Obviously, Madonna hasn’t been through the shit that we have. Cry for me Argentina. Cry for me til you can’t cry anymore, then cry a little longer. Cry until your tears sweep you to the sea. It’s ok. Nobody’s gonna call you a pussy-baby. Especially not me, Ken from Accounts Receivable. Here for you, buddy. Open up those floodgates and let that river of tears flow out like when I’m all out of Tampax Pearls.  You’ll feel a hundred times better. Trust me. Me and Chad stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night.