• Telepathy, clairvoyance, and other random thoughts #4

    A word of advice for Super Mario: Princess Peach is a thankless moron.  Look, every time Mario goes into a castle and gets past Bowser, she is always in another castle.  And then, when you finally save her in the ninth castle, she only kisses you on the cheek.  She doesn’t thank you with a blow job or a “thank you anal,” and instead she gives you a quick peck and gets kidnapped again.  Apparently this broad can’t walk across the street without being abducted by a large mythical reptile.  At the very least, Princess Peach and Daisy should put on some sort of lesbian sex show for Mario. That’s the very least those two can do for him.

    I don’t have a problem with Paula Deen saying the world nigger. My problem is that she won’t say it in Harlem.  Come on, should we be shocked that she uses that word?  The way she says “y’all” and you’re shocked she wanted a plantation-style wedding? 

    The Defense of Marriage Act went down faster than Kim Kardashian on a black guy.  The homosexual agenda moves forward, doesn’t it?  Soon I can marry that possum I steal glances from in the woods.  I know that possum wants it from me.  I see that possum making the moves on me.  Thank you, homosexual agenda. I’m going to bang a rodent.

    Your life is like a can of root beer.  You drink that beautiful cold root beer and you notice it tastes odd.  The root beer isn’t sugar free.  You are a diabetic.  Your hands shake, you flop on the ground, and you start to foam at the mouth.  Your wife debates if she should call 911. After all, you’re an asshole and mean to the kids.  Ten minutes later your wife’s conscience gets the better of her finally and she calls for an ambulance.  You arrive at a hospital and now you’re having cardiac arrest.  Your wife hasn’t been turned on like this in years.  Finally they pronounce you dead after 15 minutes of trying to resuscitating you.  The doctor pronounces you dead.  The curvy, young, big-breasted black female nurse is trying to clean you off.  She says “Doctor, he just died… this is so hot.”  The male doctor gropes the nurse and has sex with her over your freshly dead corpse.  The doctor and nurse are weird necrophiliacs and now you are the victim of interracial necrophilia.  All I’m saying is make sure your root beer is sugar free.

    I just listened to a clip of the Glenn Beck show (he’s still alive), and he and Rand Paul were talking about how gay marriage is going to usher in polygamy.  Look, if a guy wants to have four wives, I really don’t care.  If a woman wants four husbands, I still don’t care.  What I care about is trying to pin polygamy on gay marriage.  You can’t blame homosexuals for polygamy.  Blame them for razors made specifically to shave a guy’s chest, feelings, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, rhinestones, and trance music.  Man-scaping and lesbians with bizarre haircuts. That’s about as pernicious as the “homosexual agenda” gets.

    Yes, I like your breasts.  Doy.  For a nerd like myself, your breasts are worth all of life’s harassments. If it weren’t for your tatas I’d probably never get out of the house and try to live life.  Motivate me and flash me.  No joke here, just a general announcement.

    Ever watch a woman do math in her head?  It’s absolutely hysterical.  I’m not talking about calculus.  I am talking about the math she does in order for her to fuck a guy she finds attractive.  Isn’t that bizarre.  That guy is ready to bang her and she’s going through a long laundry list of reasons why she should get it on with that guy.  The list usually goes like this:

    ~  He opened a door for me.

    ~  He liked my shoes and complimented them.

    ~  Last week, he and I had this conversation about peaches.  I like Georgia peaches and the other week I was with my girlfriend Sally.  I was like “Sally, aren’t the Georgia Peaches the greatest thing in the world.”  She was like “I guess they’re OK.”  What a bitch, right?  I was like “Sally, come on.  Why are you such a sourpuss.”  And Sally goes “My boyfriend dumped me because I gained 10 pounds.”  Her ex-boyfriend Carl was such an asshole.  (A conversation that goes nowhere and you just lost 10-20 minutes of your life because this broad has no one to talk to. Meanwhile you’re just staring at her tits or her legs)

    ~  He just listened to be ramble on — he was so sweet when he said Carl was a cocksucker.  Aww.  He listened to me.

    ~   He said I was beautiful.

    ~   He made a joke about my ex.

    ~   OK, I’ll blow him now.

    That’s the usual bizarre list a woman has in her head to bang someone.  Guys, what is the list we have in our heads?

    ~  I have an erection.

    That’s the list for men ladies.  Yes, we are pigs and I fully cop to that.  Don’t be jealous because we can just have sex on demand.  We don’t have to write a20 page paper in our minds to get it on.  We just get it on, period.  Are men sluts without much discernment?  Yes.  Is it a double standard if women are as promiscuous as men?  Yes.  Do I want to bang you?  Yes.  Why?  Because it’s time to get it on!


    I will be appearing at the Winking Moose for three nights in Osh Kosh, Maine  and at the Bellview Inn for two nights at Long Island, New York.  Twitter me at @soclosetodeathcomedian.

    Good night!

    (I decided to give myself fake plugs at the end of these little “stand up comic” columns just as an actual comic would.  Make me laugh too.) 

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