Despite the fact that I discovered the magic wonders of Xtranormal.com and am personally responsible for starting a revolution at my office, I was the third of four circle-jerk of lunacy bloggers (where you at [B]utterfuly [S]uicide?) to create my own video. And by “my own” I mean taking the script to one of the greatest movies ever and applying it to weird, cat-bear Hello-Kitty-like creatures…
Now, while my video is a total movie rip-off, these ungrateful cocksmokers who didn’t thank me for leading them towards the path of enlightenment (aka xtranormal.com) have created their own original masterpieces:
Lately my precious, incredibly beautiful and dangerously intelligent daughter and I have been testing out the pool on warmer days to check if the water has thawed enough for us to enjoy a good swim. This process involves me dipping one of my limbs into the water to determine whether my entire body would be able to withstand the blistering temperature.
Ultimately, the decision comes down to this: can my balls take it?
Now, my balls are as tough as the next man’s, but if there is one thing I totally wuss out on is chilling my grapefruits like if they were warm beers in desperate need of a cooldown. I can wet my feet and legs up to my knees, or I can splash icy cold water on my head, arms, and upper torso – but just as my balls retract as deep as they can into my scrotum, I completely shy away from the absolute terror that is the sensation of cold water surrounding my nutsack.
There is only one way I have managed to overcome the dread of exposing my beloved testicles to the harsh conditions of the frozen tundra – and that is by combining the shock of cold balls with the rest of my body by diving in entirely so as to spread the impact and divert attention away from my coinpurse. I’ve done this in the freezing fucking waters of mountain-side caves in Hawaii, the gonad-shattering waterfall pool somewhere in the upper Salt River and the occasional cold pools here and there.
I wasn’t able to do that, however, at an awesome little lake in the otherwise forsaken desolate wasteland that is Yuma this past weekend, as I made the careless mistake of taking a couple steps into the beach. That was enough to frighten the piss out of my balls (almost literally). I had past the point of no return. There would be no shock-absorbing plunge. For the rest of the day I sat my ass on a chair placed right on the edge of the tide, drinking beer, eating barbecued chicken and pork, only wetting up to my ankles at any point.
Although I would’ve liked to go for a swim in an all-natural, man-made lake, I couldn’t help but to do the Tiger fist-pump knowing that I had protected the family jewels from the elements once more. Fuck cold balls.
Fun Comment Challenge: Can you count how many different terms I used to describe my hairy twins (including that one)?
Whoever said white people have it easy clearly haven’t seen this video. If anyone can truly claim “it’s a hard-knock life,” it’s dudes like these (with names like Cody, Dillon, Cameron and Tucker):
White People Problems
On a serious note: I would drink the blood of 17 virgins while chanting “I’m a Little Teacup” in Latin for the chance of trading just 30% of these white people problems with mine.
I rattled off a good rant on the comment section of Chicken Effed Bacon’s latest post, so I thought I would rip it from there and turn it into a post on my own blog. That’s how lazy I am nowadays when it comes to blogging. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s just that I don’t have the time or motivation to do it.
Anyways, just to provide some background info, in the post Jeley describes the devastating deliciousity of his monthly bacon shipments. Then my jealous bitching commences:
#3 by El Gammy on March 16th, 2009 – 4:35 pm
When I first heard the news that you joined the Bacon of the Month Club, I thought – indirectly – your experiences would bring us closer together.
But after reading yet another post about you gluttonizing on bacon, I feel we’ve drifted apart. Yes Jeley, you and I are Pangaea. And a 2nd yes… I just used “gluttonizing” in a sentence.
#4 by Jason on March 16th, 2009 – 9:16 pm
I’m a selfish dick…I’ve reconciled that.
It’s Bacon of the Month Club not Provide a Soup Kitchen for Bacon Lovers Club. Git yer pwn!
#5 by El Gammy on March 17th, 2009 – 8:33 am
Get my own? In the words of the great Dave Chappelle: “I’m broke Nigga, I’m broke!!”
If you’re offended by my use of “the N-word,” don’t be: I’m a beaner. Minorities get free passes when it comes to racial slurs. You goddamn crackers. See?
#6 by El Gammy on March 17th, 2009 – 8:46 am
Also, I just realized that “crackers” is the weakest of all the racial slurs for any race. There has GOT to be a better racial slur for white folks than “crackers.” In fact, I’m not even sure “crackers” should be considered a racial slur.
I just looked up why “cracker” is considered a pejorative term for white folks. Apparently, it’s because white slave owners would “crack” the whip on their slaves if they got out of line or just for the hell of it, hence the term “cracker.” That makes “cracker” ever the more bullshit racial slur, because the term is empowering white folks rather than degrading them like a good, wholesome racial slur should.
I’m gonna do some research and inner soul-searching to come up with a better racist term for white devils. In the meantime, I guess it’ll default to honkey. Just cuz honkey sounds weak and lame… which is more fitting to bastards WHO WON’T SHARE THEIR FUCKING BACON!!
No offense, Jeley. Just suffering from BDD (bacon deficit disorder).
Suns fans, lend me your ears! A GoDaddy.com search revealed today that both TradeAmare.com and TradeAmareforAlJefferson.com are, in fact, available:
If you care about the Suns (I don’t know why you would, I’m having a hard time figuring out why anyone in their right mind would support this joke of a “team” right now), you will buy one or both of those domains, set up a site, start a petition, constantly nag Steve Kerr and incite the entire Phoenix Suns fanbase – yes, all 8 of us – to the point where management has no choice but to trade the Designated Hitter (aka Amare Stoudemire).
By the way, around this neck of the woods, Amare is known as the Designated Hitter because – if you haven’t figured it out yet – he only plays offense and just watches on defense. Along with AK47 for Kirilenko, that has got to be the most fitting nickname in sports.
So there you go Suns fans: know your role, get that domain, and start a riot. “Why don’t I do it” you ask? First of all, you have no right to be asking me any questions, but if you must know it’s because I’ve got a rare bone marrow disease that only lets me go so far with an idea but never lets me see it through. It’s complicated – you wouldn’t understand. Just know that I’ve already done more than my part to make this happen. The rest is up to you (so we’re probably fucked). Good luck!
There is only one way I have managed to overcome the dread of exposing my beloved testicles to the harsh conditions of the frozen tundra – and that is by combining the shock of cold balls with the rest of my body by diving in entirely so as to spread the impact and divert attention away from my coinpurse. I’ve done this in the freezing fucking waters of mountain-side caves in Hawaii, the gonad-shattering waterfall pool somewhere in the upper Salt River and the occasional cold pools here and there.
