Decisions..

I have a history of making painstakingly obvious poor decisions. It's etched into my past and then highlighted over and over. No matter how much I try, at the end of the day poor judgement plays it's role in allowing my patterns to continue.

This would bother most people, however I've come to accept it as a concequence of being myself. It's not like I want to be like this; it's just the way it has to be.

More to the point of all this, I've done things that I'm not proud of. Lots of them. All these actions somehow find their way into the mouths and ears of people whom have a direct emotional conflict of interest. It's sort of a curse in a way, because no matter how many times it happens, or how many times it hurts someone, it never stops happening. This post is very depressing so far -  but keep reading.

All of these poor decisions have brought on unsurpassable benefits. Things I never would have imagined would come from a thoughtless decision. Directly or indirectly, every one of them has led me down a bright path. For this reason, I regret nothing. All of my future decisions will continue to be of good intentions and poor judgement, and will continue to shape and mold who I am into someone I strive to be. I will never change my ways, no matter the difficulties I encounter - I know that in the end, this will all work out just fucking dandy.

The lesson from all of this? Well, if you're like me it's pretty obvious. The good comes with the bad which comes with the brutal. It all works out and you're going to piss the world off, but that's just the way it needs to be. If you're more prone to making good decisions, well I'd suggest you start acting on some of those impulses. Throw your judgement out the window, and once in a while do something people criticize you for. Those people just haven't learned yet.

One love.

"Then you'll be stoned in some park, just nodding your head and pinching your arms,when a girl walks along.She's humming your song,with your t-shirt on.That's when you're done, oh that's when you're done."

The above lyrics struck me on the bus today. Every day I fall in love. 

Not in a creepy way, but you might take it that way. I just mean in a strictly situational sense. There's that moment in every day where - for that moment - I'm in love. Not always based on looks either. It could be something they say, or something they do. I've always been a people-watcher, so I'm constantly noticing little things. I guess it makes sense. 

There are times it's the perfect remedy for a shitty day too. It's a little boost, a reminder that there are people out there who can make you feel awesome without even doing anything.

I've been watching Californication a lot lately, and aside from the obvious entertainment such a show brings, I'm into it for deeper reasons too. Somehow I relate to the main character. I don't mean admire either - that's tough not to do - I mean I relate in the sense that I find similarities in situations and reactions. Obviously the script embellishes the true personality such a person would have, but the core traits are there, and I see them. 

It makes me wonder who I'll be in a few years. Given the current patterns, I may very well be that jaded. Not to mention my weakness to the opposite sex. I mean that's a big one too. 

Following up on my last post, I enjoy this newfound self awareness. It's remarkable what kind of changes you can force yourself to make when you realize your flaws.

Till next time.

Contradictions.

So, it's been a while. I won't apologize for it, because fuck you. Much has changed during my hiatus, I've moved to Toronto, and ended up in one of those sea of cubicles.

After work today I went to Winners (because I'm still poor) and I realized some things about myself. It's weird how small interactions with people can trigger massive realizations and epiphanies. As I shopped for my business-douche clothes, I kept getting in the way of one particular guy there. It wasn't intentional, I guess we had similar taste. However he kept glaring whenever we'd cross paths. It didn't bug me really, but it sort of brought my immense hatred for rude people to the front of my mind. I don't like confrontational people. It may seem odd to say if you actually know me, as I've had my fair share of asshole rage moments. The realization of the above contradiction really stuck with me though, and as I stood in line listening to the little asian ladies cooing over shoe polish behind me, I started to realize what a massive walking contradiction I am. 

The more I thought about it, the larger the list grew, and various contradictions within myself came to light. See, my whole life I've struggled with love/hate relationships. Girlfriends, career paths, food, cities I've lived in, self image, porn. It all kind of makes sense now though, and really, it just makes for an unpredictable life. I have absolutely no idea what direction I'll end up in. For example, I love my new job, however part of me would rather see myself working with my hands, in some garage somewhere making average money and living an average life. Another other part wants the business-douche within to rise up and take over, granting me access to cocaine addictions, BMW's, and slutty secretaries. Family-Mike wants kids, a stable relationship, and a white picket fence around my dick. It's actually amusing how torn I am over almost every aspect of my life. In the past, it was a negative thing. I despised my indecisiveness. Now, I'm pretty cool with it. 

Following the same lines, you may have noticed that this really isn't my typical writing style. You know, referring to feelings and serious life shit. But that's another confliction I've always had. My personality itself is almost split, between comical carefree crass Mike, and the more serious side I have. I actually started another blog to allow that part of me to come out in my writing. Don't bother looking, it's deleted. I've decided to write whatever the hell I feel like. No themes or standards to hold myself to, just pure unadulterated Mike Ross. 

Exciting, no?

An interesting, exciting new method of stress relief.

Agressive Urination (aka "Infurination")

Most people aim for the upper region of the bowl. It's a proven fact. It's quiet, discreet, and politically correct. However, when you're really stressed, nothing feels better than an agressive piss. Shoot for the water. Bounce it off the rim so it sprays all over the walls. If you're really stressed, and not in a public bathroom, yell at the pee. Make it your bitch.Take out all of that internal rage with the power of your urethra. A good, well excecuted angry pee, can satisfy even the most stressed out person. Don't have a penis? Worry not! If you're a girl, "touch your toes and see where it goes!".

GODDAMN that felt good!

Pretty sure...

I'd fuck anything with a vagina and a British accent.

Reflection time

Today, I became disgusted with myself.

Not because I forced myself to open all the windows in the work van after letting out a silent (but very deadly) fart, and not because I laughed when a girl crossing the street tripped on the curb and fell into a snowbank. No, these are acceptable flaws I've found within myself.

I am disgusted because today I ordered an extra large Tim Hortons coffee. To add to this, I also verbally confirmed my order, when asked "are you sure you want an extra large?". It was no accident. I actually felt I needed half a gallon of coffee. It was $2.00. *For those unaware, Tim Hortons has increased the size of it's "Extra Large" coffee from 20 oz. to 24 oz.*

I know right?

As I drove along, gulping down my porno-sized coffee, I suddenly realized how much of a fucking douchebag I was. There is absolutely zero need for that much coffee. Ever. In fact, even a large (the old large, current medium) is pushing it. This is coming from an avid coffee enthusiast, who at times, would drink in excess of five large coffees a day. Those days are long gone - primarily due to the effects it had on my digestive system - but I still love(d) my coffee.

As I finished off the last few sips, I started thinking about all the excessive shit I consume. WE consume, as a nation. It made me feel sick just thinking about it. At that point, the girl fell into the curb and I laughed for a good solid 5 minutes, and then lost my train of thought.

This concludes my blog post.

I'm an asshole.

That's right. I'm an asshole.

I've been told this 4 separate times in the past week, and you know, I'm actually starting to believe it. It's kind of like if people kept telling you that you were a cat, you'd eventually start believing it. First you'd start kneading the bed before you slept, and the next thing you know, you'd be swatting at your friends for attention, chasing small dangly mouse-like toys, and talking in the third person (it's safe to assume that because of their narcissistic nature, if able to speak, cats would speak in the third person.)


Here's an example:

*DISCLAIMER* Since blogging about this situation could potentially land me in some trouble, I've decided to omit/edit certain details to protect the identity of those involved, and to disguise the actual activity... poorly


Baking a cake with Sally 

SO me and my pal Sally decided that we should get together, and do some good old fashioned baking. I go over, we chill for a bit, pound back a bottle of wine, and throw down... some ingredients on the kitchen counter. I start to preheat the oven, and things get rolling. Next thing you know, we're in full on baking mode. Now, Sally makes some pretty weird faces when she's baking, and quite frankly they scare the shit out of me. So, when Sally noticed that I could not make eye contact with her, she inquired why. Being the honest, open person I am, and also being slightly intoxicated, I informed her that she looked *MILDLY* retarded. Bam. I'm an asshole, and me and Sally don't bake anymore.

Clean, wholesome baking. 

But here's the thing - I'm actually okay with being an "asshole". You see, people tend to group a whole bunch of qualities together to form the stereotype of an asshole. Qualities that, on their own, aren't actually that bad at all. I mean, yeah I may lack a situational buffer in my honesty, but what can ya do. In my four situations, I was called an asshole, or the accusation of being an asshole was inferred, exclusively because of the accusers perceptions and obvious psychological ailments. Truthfully, in all situations, I was just being an honest guy.

Thoughts on life

Let me begin by saying in no way am I an expert on life, or even a remotely good source of life advice. This one is going to be a bit philosophical, even "deep" if you want to go that far. Just a warning.

Life is like a spiralling roller coaster with a Boeing jet engine strapped to the back and a blind deaf quadriplegic at the helm. Nothing stops this monstrous fuckrocket from moving, despite how unfair you proclaim it to be.

This time last year, I lived a completely different life. Literally everything has changed in one short year, and I've come full circle in my outlook and overall mentality. January 2011, I had a full-time, well paying job, steady girlfriend, secure financial situation, and a thriving social life. Life was good, I would even call it spanky. Spanky is a good word. It sits in between fantastic and un-fucking real.

Suddenly, without any warning, during the summer shit got real. In a matter of 3 months I went from living a peaceful, promising life, with my free time consumed with exciting events and activities, to finding my nights consisting of sitting in my boxers on a shitty ikea futon 200kms from home in a mediocre apartment watching re-runs of friends and eating salad bowls of raisin bran.

This sad, comical life continued for several months, before one night I took a look at myself, covered in bran flakes giggling at Ross' uncomfortable quips, and I realised three things:

1. If left alone, this comical life would continue into my forty's.

2. The cold hard cock of life was dry fucking the shit out of me.

3. There are serious repercussions to eating obscene amounts of bran.

At that moment, I decided to turn shit around. It worked, surprisingly.

Now, here's where shit gets real. I'm sure you've heard people tell you "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." I'm here to tell you that's a fucking lie. Making lemonade will do nothing for you. Nobody even likes lemonade anymore, unless it's got vodka in it. You've gotta go further with it.

Lets see if you can make sense of the following metaphor:

Here's what you've gotta do. Take those lemons that life gives you, grind them up, and make them into muffins. Put some poppyseeds on them too (I had a lemon muffin with poppyseeds on it once and I literally figuratively blacked out in a fit of joy). Take the muffins, make a nice decorative basket for them, and take them with you to your car. Drive to the closest forest. Take the muffin basket, and swiftly punt it directly at the forest critters. Get back in your car, and back over a raccoon, just for effect.

What am I getting at here? It's really quite simple. One hour after reading this post, on your way to get a lemon poppyseed muffin, you could be struck by a dump truck. Clean out of nowhere, BAM. Dead. You could alternatively eat the muffin, choke on it, and die. You could be in the lineup at starbucks, in the middle of ordering your lemon poppyseed muffin, and drop dead from a brain aneurysm.

Point being, there's nothing you can do about life's curve balls. You can't change things out of your control, and giving any bit of a fuck about them is a waste of time. If life drops a giant rapist grizzly bear with a lust for sodomy in your way, you take a detour. Go around the fucking bear.

GO AROUND THE FUCKING BEAR.

At any given point, our time can end. Stop wasting time worrying about the small stuff, and stop letting the big stuff hold you back.

I'm done.

Buenos Dias

Happy New Year.

I realize my postings have been rather sporadic, I haven't had very much to write about, and when I do have something to write about, I'm too busy living it. Ya dig?

I promise I'll try to try harder this year.

YOU listen to ME damnit.

Guess what? I'm absolutely hammered.

I was bored, and perusing facebook like I always do, and I came across a Cracked.com article where some asian chick pretended to be drunk and write an article. I then thought, "I CAN DO THIS BETTER". So here I am, an hour later, completely trashed, and writing an already better article.

What is this article about you ask? EVERYTHING IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD CONDENSED INTO WORDS.

REASON NUMBER ONE: Cats still bother me.

I'm allergic to them. They're also rude motherfuckers who care only about themselves. No creature on this earth is as selfish and deserving of a punt across the room as the feline. Theres this one cat, it's really long. They call it "long cat". Fuck that cat. Cat in the Hat? He's a mischievous prick who fools children into letting him squat in their house while their reckless parents are at another one of their swinger parties. The cheshire cat? He's just trippin balls all the time, always trying to fuck with cinderella or whoever that broad is. Garfield? He's a lazy prick out to fuck the world. He hates everyone, even Odie, who's loveable and adorable.

Point being, is cats are awful creatures.

CHAPTER TWO: I'm eating Cheetos again.

This shit is like CRACK. My fingers are orange, and I continuously need to wipe them on the pile of papertowels beside me, but I'm in heaven. So cheesy and puffy. Also, did you know paper towels are not actually paper, nor towels? NEITHER DID I!

THIRD: What is the definition of being an alcoholic?

I think, that when you're missing teeth and lying beside the RBC, urinating in the envelope dispenser at the ATM and asking people what time Jesus will arrive, you're an alcoholic. That in itself is a very difficult word to spell. I kind of wish I was a travellin' man. Pack up my VW bus and hit the road, travellin' around. People could write a book about me and my travels. I bet I'd end up with syphillis though. Nobody really wants syphillis. I mean, unless you're on a quest to acquire all of the STD's and syphillis is your last one. But who does that? Not me. No sir.

44444444: How difficult is it to make Shepherds Pie?

I'm hungry right now, and I've got an itchin for shepherds pie. I can't even spell shepherds. I need to spell check it. Anyways, I know I need potatoes, and corn, and ground beef. It can't be too difficult. Maybe I'll try in a bit.

I wish I could add pictures, but google won't cooperate.

I'm done. Totally beat that asian chick.

Clusterfuck boredom pineapple cat explosion.

I haven't posted in a while. I'm sure you're all aware of this, and are probably twitching with anticipation, checking the blog every hour, and breaking down into a sobbing mess in a dark corner when you discover I still haven't posted. It's okay, I do the same thing.

I could tell you I haven't posted because I've been busy saving kittens from burning trees, or that I've been having sex with women non-stop for the past two weeks, but the truth is, I've been bored.

Yup, just bored. See, boredom restricts my creative abilities and renders me as useless as a toaster in a knife fight. I'm not remotely interesting. I'm even less interesting when I'm bored.

Then I thought to myself, "Mike, why not bore the readers with tales of your boredom", and then I thought to myself "by golly, you're a fucking genius". True story.

Here's a list of some things that I do when I'm bored, to counteract the boredom.

1. Watch videos of cats.

Cats are highly entertaining. I hate them, with a passion, mostly because they're fucking useless and are selfish furry motherfuckers, but also because they think they're the shit. They jump, all nimbly bimbly, from tree to tree, and they drink milk, and love life. I find it hilarious when they meet the cold hard cock of reality, and it launches them from a cannon, or puts them in the middle of a pack of friendly, bouncing, hyperactive puppies. Cat videos I enjoy are not of the "cute cat eating pineapple" type, they're of the "cute cat gets hit with pineapple".

"GREAT shot Carl! Got that fucker good." 

2. Look at pictures of cats.

Much like the above, I enjoy looking at pictures of unhappy cats placed in situations that their owners believe are cute. Then they put a funny caption on the picture using "lolspeak" or as I like to call it, "future-english". In these pictures the cats are normally very displeased. Like if someone put a pineapple on a cat because they thought it was cute.

Like this.

3. Eat Pineapple.

Pineapple is fucking delicious. I eat it even when i'm not bored.

That's part one. I'm bored of this now, maybe i'll continue it later, but this gets me off the hook for not posting. I bid you adue, and am off to buy some pineapple.

Written while listening to this.

Oh Hey...

Forgot to do my little "Yay two months!".

So, um.. "Yay two months!". I'm 6 days late (heard that one before).

Here's the statz for the past two whole months.

lolz @ nokia

Glad people from all over the world accidentally found themselves here. Makes me feel all important and shit. 

In closing, here is a dog wearing a silly hat.

Smokin'

So I quit smoking. Two days ago to be exact and it sucks, just like I remember it. I'm irritable, but not as bad as  I was last time I quit. This time I bought one of those "E-Cigarettes" all the kids are talking about these days, and it's helping quite a bit. I got the "low" nicotine stuff with it, so I still feel like I did when I was on the patch, except I don't want to kill everything yet. Here are some observations I've made since quitting:

When you quit smoking you regain your full sense of smell and taste shortly after. Today that change started, and I kept a list of things I ate today that tasted different. Here are my top 4:

Coffee

Used to taste like: A euphoric blend of "BAM" and "ZAP" mixed with awesomesauce and topped off with some bland flavouring. Hints of joy can be tasted by the more experienced connoisseur.

Now tastes like: Someone shit in my cup. Hints of tree bark and musty carpet can be tasted by anyone. Tried to drink it three times today, almost threw up over the last one. Holy fucking bold taste. Freight train of columbian sweat all up in my mouth.

Apple Jacks

Used to taste like: Bland apples and milk. A perfectly balanced sensation delivered to my taste buds.

Now tastes like: Artificial apple flavoured ringlets of cheerios that fell on the floor, then dipped in pig shit. No wonder it's "Limited Edition". IT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A MASCOT.

Milk

Used to taste like: Bland.

Now tastes like: Bland... with a pinch of AWESOME. This shit is like crack. No homo though.

Tim Horton's Plain Bagel (toasted) With Herb and Garlic Cream Cheese

Used to taste like: Heaven on a bagel. Especially when they toast it lightly enough so it's crispy but still soft on the inside.

Now tastes like: Heaven. On steroids. With Jesus playing the electric guitar and two slutty angels going down on each other on the cloud stage.

I have also determined that weight gain associated with quitting smoking is a myth. The gain is not from nicotine withdrawal, but rather people discovering shit tastes different and then going on binges to discover what food really tastes like.

On top of these most noteworthy changes in my taste, I've also regained my sense of smell. This was not an asset today as my dog and I took a road-trip to Kitchener, and she had brutal gas.

Here are 3 random things that have (or haven't) changed in my day to day life after quitting smoking for 48 hours:

Hulk Boners


Remember a few posts back when I mentioned how awesome it is to have a penis? Remember when I noted that it can be used as a towel rack? Today, I lifted a towel. With my dick. I expect this ability to become easier in the next few weeks, but essentially I can now hand myself a towel... using myself.

It's truly incredible what Google will find for you. 

I Still Can't Run


Today I took my dog to the dog park. We tried to run. I cannot run, and I fear I never will be able to. This may not be a result of smoking, but rather poor genetics, as us Ross' suffer from "flat foot" syndrome, which makes us look like retards special people when we run.

We also tend to wear inappropriate bright coloured shorts while doing so

I Have More Energy


I'm unsure how this is a benefit, as I had trouble using up the energy I already had while smoking. However seeing as I should be studying for a Statistics test tomorrow and am instead writing a blog post, with the intent to resume studying after I'm finished, clearly this is not a good thing.

Dance Rave anyone?

That's all I've got. 

Written while listening to this.

Today I feel like:

Four Reasons I Would Be An Unfit Parent

I was in Wal-Mart today, buyin' lightbulbs, and there was this kid in front of me tugging on his mom's skirt (not hard enough unfortunately, she was a 6/drunk 8) about some toy thing in the checkout line. It dawned on me at that moment, that I would be a terrible parent. I'm not sure why this struck me then, because nothing actually happened, but I spent the rest of the day pondering it. I also pondered other things, like what would happen if I ate a bottle of alka seltzer tablets and drank a bottle of coke. I think I'm gonna try that.

Anyways, here are 4 reasons I would be an awful parent:

Reason Number One: I wouldn't feed them.

Life is tough. There comes a time when everyone has to fend for themselves, when the nuturing shelter of your family no longer reaches you. This time would come quickly for my offspring. I figure the sooner the better, right? Plus it'd be hilarious to watch a 4 year old hunt squirrels with a crossbow in the backyard.

You're food. 

Reason Number Two: I'd spend their college money on cars. 

I have an addiciton. I spend too much money on cars. It could be worse, the reason could be "I'd spend their college money on mail-order Russian brides and they'd have 15 mothers/sex slaves". Try explaining THAT to their teachers. Anyways, I'd probably save up the money for their education, but eventually I'd have to let them know that their future was spent building an AWESOME ride. For me. Kind of goes back to the whole "fend for yourself" thing, except they'd spend half their lives assuming they'd have a future. SURPRISE! Mc Donald's for life bitch.

You could have been a doctor, but daddy needed a Supra. 

Reason Number Three: I'd get bored of them. 

Kids are boring. They eat, they sleep, they poop, they take your money. You can't play fetch with them, or train them to listen to you without argument. I have a short attention span. I feel like by the time they outgrew their cuteness, I'd be ready to move on. Start fresh. Problem is, you're stuck with them. I'd likely come up with some ingenious plot to get rid of them though.

Relax, asian baby Mike, in 27 hours you'll be in Shanghai. Here's $50 for a cab.

Reason Number Four: I'd forget about them.

Yeah these are all kind of the same, but deal with it. I'm a forgetful fella, and frankly I feel like at times I'd forget I even have a child. You know, I'd be at Wal-Mart watching some kid tug on his semi-hot mom's skirt, wishing he'd pull a little harder, and... wait... do I have a kid? 

Meh.

That's all I've got

Written while listening to this

Guff

Guff is the new "gruff" which was the new "grrr".

So, I'm going to take this time to fill everyone in on what's been going on in my life. Seeing as most of my recent posts have been of the "article" variety, I feel a change is due.

I'm going to be a foster daddy. A single parent. I'm fostering a dog. Initially, this was going to be a lab cross that was previously living on an immigrant camp and only understood spanish. While I was looking forward to the shenanigans of owning a strange dog that didn't speak english, turns out he got taken in by a lab rescue group or some shit. Better that way I guess. Anyways, my new foster child is an 8 month old black lab pup with no tail. Poor thing woulda been euthanized this Friday. I feel there will be a love triangle between myself, this dog, and Atticus. Time will tell. Stay tuned.

In other news, I have returned to my roots of spending the winter being an anti-social car geek. I rented a shop (read: small ass storage unit), and while its crowded, it does the trick.

Fuck this post isn't funny at all is it? God I've become that boring blogger person. Ummm.. Quick save...

Yeah i've got nothing. Deal with it. No pictures either.

I didn't even listen to anything while writing this. What have I become?

Movember

Yeah, I'm doing it. Not just so I can offer moustache rides to strangers (NEVER accept a moustache ride from strangers, kids) but because a close family friend has been diagnosed with prostate cancer recently, and I know personally I've never been checked because I don't want two fingers shoved up my ass. BUT, this is a real threat to our man-junk fellas, so I encourage you to willingly request to be probed in your rectum ASAP, as I will be doing the same. I'll update here as my man-stache develops.

Plus, I'll get mad play from the bitches. 

OH, and yeah, i'm doing this legit. Made an account and everything. They wouldn't let me use "iammikeross'prostate" though. Lame.

Please donate!

An obscure number of reasons why having a penis is amazing - Part One

Here are some things I think make having a penis better than not having a penis, in no particular order. I also will refer to it using a different slang word each time.

4. You get to piss in any direction you want.

This one's my favorite. If you have a vagina, you have to squat, and it sprays out like when you put your finger over the hose. It's incredibly hilarious, but highly inefficient. If you have a dick, you can piss any direction you want, and it's a solid, strong stream of superiority. I have literally pissed in an upward (and slightly forward) direction. Try that with your vagina (please film it). Also, you can write things in snow, and pee on your buddy's shoe while you're at adjacent urinals. THAT'S ANOTHER THING! Urinals. Specifically, urinal cakes. People without a purple-headed-yogurt-slinger don't ever get to experience the joys of urinal cakes.

Delicious, and you can erode them with your pee.

17. You can put it in stuff.

Anything you like, to be specific. The beauty about having a one-eyed snake is that you can put it wherever you want. It hangs, it swings, and it's flexible. Meaning if you ever have an urge to put it into a random household appliance, you can fucking do it. Try doing that with your clitoris, ladies (also film this). From a practical, every day perspective, this isn't much of a benefit, however having the satisfaction of looking at a toaster and knowing that you can stick your shaft in it, is absolutely priceless.

Sorry honey, it's just burning off my pubic hair from this morning's "random insertion hour"

68. You fuck with it. 

Cocks fuck vaginas. It's never the other way around. The simple fact that one is going inside the other, means that the vagina is always getting fucked. This will never be disputed, and there are no arguments. Why? Cause me and my pork sword fucking said so.

There's not really any pictures that support this point, so instead here's a fat spiderman. 

11. You can do the helicopter.

That's right, if you have a wang you can spin it 'round and 'round. Like a helicopter. This is more than entertainment, it's male ritual. A celebration of the glory of having a bologna pony. Rumor also has it, if you wanna impress a chick, do the helicopter-dick (that was one word).

119. It's a portable towel rack.

This one comes in handy all the time. Have you ever gotten out of the shower, and not had anywhere to put your towel while you brush your teeth? Why not leave it on you ask? Because I've got a portable towel rack, right here. All I've gotta do is think about Zooey Deschanel, and bam - my man-muscle is ready to hold that towel! Try doing that with your vagina (please film it). I don't have a picture for this, google images fails to provide me with a related picture, and frankly I'm sort of grateful.


That's all I've got for now.

Written while listening to this

lol.

When you take a closer look at cereal mascots... Part Two

Moving along, let's take a gander at three more of our childhood icons...

Count Chocula (Violent Psychopath)

Vlah! I am levitating these marshmallows while I wait for my next victim at the nursing home! 

Count Chocula is a dangerous motherfucker. It's no wonder his cereal has been discontinued. At first glance, he seems like a harmless, delusional misshapen poor soul, just looking to find acceptance and love from your children. Why wouldn't you trust him? I mean, nobody has ever made this mistake right?

Uhh... Right. 

Aside from his obvious predatory tendencies, this guy actually believes he's a vampire. How far he goes, we still are unsure of, but rumors have it he sharpened his tooth so he could drain cartons of chocolate milk with ease. His next step? Jugular veins. Keep an eye out for this guy.


Lucky the Leprechaun (Paranoid Schizophrenic) 

They be over the crest of the hill! Hope those kids like bear traps!

Lucky is our first (and only) non-violent, harmless cereal mascot. The reasons for this could be a number of things that I make up, but I'll be honest here and admit it's because I like lucky charms. This dude is still fucked in the head though. Those commercials you saw? The ones where the kids were chasing him? Yeah that never happened. They're the delusions of a homeless man living under a bridge in Chicago, with a bunch of brightly coloured pieces of dried bird shit and... actually, that's an awesome addition to the Cereal show I've been working on (see the second post I've ever made)... anyways, harmless as can be, but he smells like a septic tank.


Sugar Bear (Stoner Kleptomaniac)

What you don't see is the joint in his left hand and the Rolex hidden in the cereal.

 Arguably just as harmless as Lucky (but he isn't because I said so) this bear literally spends his days getting ripped off bong hits and breaking into a "cereal" factory to loot god knows what, and cure his munchies. Is this really a cereal factory? Well the official answer is nobody knows, but my answer is no, in fact it's a secret weapons facility in Soviet Russia, and the C.I.A recruited this klepto stoner bear to steal documents in exchange for an xbox and unlimited Doritos. Also, he rapes kids.


That's it for part two!

Written while listening to this.