So this is it. I've had it with our whole mess.
Al Sharpton claiming racism every other time Alfonso Soriano gets thrown out at second base.
The five-going-on-six-year Operation Iraqi Freedom, a war that has gone on so long, if George Bush Jr. was eighteen again he'd be calling his dad to find a way NOT to serve.
High-priced American athletes like Latrell Sprewell-who turned down a multiseason NBA contract because "I can't feed my family on 9.5 million dollars a year."
Really? What's your family eating, Latrell-Ferrari Testarossas? Mercedes SUVs?
Asshole after asshole after asshole gets ahold of the microphone and the media's attention in this country and promptly informs the world that we are not a nation of readers.
The drugs we ingest alone contain enough warnings about taking a single series of pills that if we BOTHERED to read the bottles-we'd be operating on orange juice and chicken soup for every ailment in the future. These are the most common side effects of America's favorite new prescription drugs:
Disorientation, apathy, anxiety, hostility, blurred vision, temporary blindness, nausea, vomiting, tremors, anal leakage, coma and death.
Now, granted-death would suck. 'Cause there's no pill you can get to counteract the problem. And even if there was-how are you gonna speed dial your doctor from the afterworld?
But all those other ones? All ya gotta do is get more pills. Maybe it's just me, but-if my ass is leaking? I don't care if liquid gold is flowing out-I'm not taking another pill. I'm filing a lawsuit.
Millions of Americans are so desperate to be drugged they sign up to be saddled with addictions-that's how lazy they are. Why spend the money with a therapist figuring out what your problem is when you can just pop a little pill and feel different? They'd rather spend the day doped up and wearing a diaper than confronting the fact that-most of the time-life just kinda sucks.
Even the threat of a heart attack, blurred vision and temporarily going blind hasn't stopped millions of American men from taking Viagra and its sister pills-which proves that men would rather walk around with a cane, a Seeing Eye dog and a four-hour erection than ever hope to read a book again.
American ingenuity invents new diseases and the new pills required to treat them on a week-to-week basis.
Restless leg syndrome-this is a new disease where you find that your foot or leg-even both legs-will not stop bouncing up and down or otherwise rhythmically moving-especially at night. There are three ways to solve the problem:
1. Buy a set of drums.
2. Join a band.
3. Skip Steps 1 and 2 and take Ropinirole.
The only problem is, Ropinirole apparently has a number of side effects-one of which is an uncontrollable urge to gamble.
Any possibility the Indians are putting some of their newfound casino wealth into prescription drug research? Let's check the labs for free passes to Huey Lewis's next show at Mohegan Sun.
A few years back, doctors announced the "discovery" of a new disease called SAD-seasonal affective disorder. Victims claim the symptoms begin sometime in September and often last until March or April and include depression, despair, misery and guilt combined with a desire to oversleep or extreme napping as well as overeating.
I'm sad to say that-in THIS doctor's estimation-SAD is not a disease. It's called WINTER, asshole. It happens every year right after the leaves fall off the goddam trees.
And you are not a victim-you are a fat, human sloth who wants to suck down boxes of Twinkies and wash them through your cellulite-enflatulated system with a two-liter bottle of Orange Crush and you feel guilty because you slept for nine hours last night but just had a forty-five-minute nap while you were watching Ellen cry about a dog she gave to her makeup specialist who somehow ended up in Paris Hilton's backyard with twenty-seven other Chihuahuas and only half a Snickers bar for all of them to share.
Here's my prescription: get off the fucking couch and buy a set of skis. Or skates. Better yet-buy both. And don't eat the yellow snow.
Case closed.
The car companies are developing corn-fueled cars AND larger seats for fatter-assed Americans at exactly the same time. I say we ignore the irony and indecision implicit in that arrangement and instead plod on with cars that have larger seats that are in fact just comfier versions of toilet seats so you can drive, eat and shit almost simultaneously-the engine built to run on methane which will be produced by the farts you emit as you drive and gorge your way across the country. Fart-fueled automobiles. Short trip over to see Ma? Down a cup of peanuts and some soda. Headed down south to watch spring training? Swallow three hot dogs, put a case of canned pork and beans in the backseat and away we go. Now if we could just come up with a kidney that turns urine back into beer as it passes through your penis, we'd be all set.
I'm tired of the denial. I'm tired of the fat the loud the lazy and the stupid.
We've drugged the fat we've stapled their stomachs we've reinvented the vacuum cleaner so we could attach it to their huge asses and suck out all the fat but still-still-they insist on eating.
Well, eat up.
That's right.
Eat.
Eat as much as you want. I'll explain why in a little bit.
They just announced a study that proves Botox may enter the face, but it settles into the brain stem-not only freezing elements of your visage but some of your thought patterns as well-which explains those pregnant smiling pauses you see every time Sharon Stone gets interviewed on the red carpet.
Botox it up, baby. Shoot your whole goddam body full of that freeze-dried frozen goat sperm.
Steroids-I want the steroid testing to stop. Immediately. The Mitchell Report, the FBI's Roger Clemens Investigation, the Federal Court Trial Of One Barry Bleeping Bonds-end it all and end it now.
I want the biggest baddest baseball players and football maniacs and biking teams this planet has ever seen.
We've had the wrong attitude going on since day one with this stuff. You wanna prosecute athletes for using performance-enhancing drugs? Hey-how about you?
Viagra, Ropinirole, Botox, Advil, NyQuil DayQuil Budweiser Pot Cocaine Emergen-C Xanax Prozac-you name it, someone in this country is taking it right now to improve their sex life, semen count, leg strength, nasal condition, anger management, bowel movements, piss volume or tit size. And you wanna bust a guy for taking some human growth hormone laced with extra ball juice before he rides in the third leg of the Tour de France? Hey-you want me to ride a bike through the French countryside for half a month I'm gonna need a shitload of drugs-HGH and an extra couple bags of testosterone being the least of it. I couldn't ride from one end of Manhattan to the other on a bike without a backpack full of coffee, two bottles of morphine and a crystal meth dealer riding in a rescue car alongside.
I don't wanna hear any arguments about how many more home runs Mickey Mantle or Babe Ruth would have hit if they had used steroids-they were both drunks. Ruth on steroids? He would've gone through 2 three livers and most of the hot dogs in the Western Hemisphere before his heart exploded while he was fucking an elephant in the Bronx Zoo on the night of his twenty-seventh birthday. Mantle had 536 home runs when he retired at age thirty-seven. If he had been able to shoot the juice? He would have hit 538. Before he was old enough to vote. Then his head would have blown apart. Ever seen pictures of the guy with his shirt off at that age? Steroids would have turned him into a walking time bomb.
I want all Americans on steroids-starting now. The athletes the assholes the fat fucks-everyone.
I wanna see baseballs hit 800 feet.
I wanna see footballs tossed 100 yards.
I want heavyweight boxers who weigh 400 pounds and can punch their way through brick fucking buildings.
You don't think the Chinese are already creating a race of giants to eventually dominate the Olympics and from there the world? What-you think Yao Ming is just some crazy freak of nature? No way-Yao Ming is the warning shot fired across the hull. We live in the greatest country in the world with access to the biggest and the best and the brightest-but we ain't gonna be number one for long if we don't start putting the pedal to the medal.
Once we get the biggest athletes possible-we monitor the carnage and violence and bone-crunching power they are capable of-and how long before their heart valves turn to cheese-and then we start creating a crew of supersized police and soldiers-meat-eating, man-beating machines we unleash on the rest of the universe.
Meanwhile, the fat people we've been feeding steroids to on the side have now become the fattest animals alive-hippopotami with human hands who wear an old Aerosmith T-shirt on each foot as a sock-we top them off with a couple tons of Twinkies before stuffing them into a specially rigged air force bomber and then-we fly over enemy territory and just drop them out of the sky-it's what I like to call my Fat Fucks Crush Skinny Evil Pricks Program.
I want Ritalin-rattled geeks galore stuck in video game centers all over the country so addled for action that they can't stop inventing new ways to blow shit up at the lightning-fast press of multiplastic buttons.
I want stun guns jam-chocked with Botox we all get for free so that whenever a politician tries to sell us a long line of bullshit we can semi-assassinate him or her-freezing them in place for a solid five minutes. When they melt-they get a do-over until they start to bullshit again and the whole process begins once more.
If models and actresses insist on continuing not to eat-I'm taking the Twinkies away from the Fat Fucks during the prebombing raid flight overseas and replacing them with a steady parade of posers.
Who's hungry for Kate Moss?
I want a new state added to America-The State Of Denial. We clear a bunch of land somewhere out in the middle-Oklahoma or Nebraska or Idaho-and we fill it with cigarettes and alcohol and heroin and cocaine and every other drug imaginable. You move there you get to smoke, snort, swallow, suck and otherwise involve any substance you like into your system. You can drive drunk you can drive high you can do whatever the fuck you want within state borders. You die? Good riddance. You don't die-that's okay too. 'Cause the profit from every dime bag and dollop you buy there goes right into the coffers to pay for medical assistance for the rest of us.
And the governor from The Great State Of Denial will be none other than deposed senator Larry Craig, infamous for the press conference he organized to announce "I am not gay and I never have been gay."
Here's a future clue, Larry: if you have to hold a press conference to announce you don't like having sex with other men? It's too little too late. You might as well take the time to announce just what type of place, guy and cock it is that makes you horny. Although we have a pretty good idea the place is a Minneapolis airport men's room and the guy is whoever might be sitting in the next stall over. And trotting out your postmenopausal, middle-aged wife was not a particularly good idea either. She looked like she was two knitting needles and one honest confession away from donning a handmade midlife lesbian sweater.
Bobby Brown is moving into downtown Denial City, by the way. He says Whitney Houston turned him on to hard drugs.
Uh-huh.
And David Guest made Liza Minnelli into a heavy drinker. 2
No more hypocrites and high-toned hype.
And here's another thing-you decide to climb up a snowy mountain on a personal "quest" to achieve some asinine physical goal and you get stuck in a blizzard? We ain't comin' to get you no more. No helicopters no search parties no news coverage no cell phone contact. You climb up, you climb down. Otherwise-see ya. It's called thinning the herd. We invented houses and cars and cable TV so you could stay warm and move around and WATCH bad weather on TV. You decide to go out in that weather? Yer on yer own.
Two guys in California decide to tandem skydive out of a plane using a single chute that doesn't support their weight? I don't call that a tragedy. I call it a test-two less morons to avoid on my way to work.
And I'm sick of hearing about my carbon footprint from Al Goddam Gore. He's gonna lecture me about how many pounds of tree pulp it takes to make the paper box they pack my Filet 'O Fish in?
I don't think so, Al.
How many South African gold miners had to fork their foraged nuggets over to illegal ganglords to make the Oscar, the Emmy and the Nobel Peace Prize Al has hanging on the mantel in his dining room where he must be eating at least four or five organic, free-range chickens a day, based on the size of his current carbon ASSprint. The seats in his house must be made of lead.
I don't wanna hear another word from Rush Limbaugh unless he's gonna explain how to successfully combine illegal Viagra prescriptions, heavy antidepressants and a successful round of golf into the very same afternoon. If he has any news about playing eighteen holes with a hard-on, a big smile and the same Titleist you started with-gimme a ring.
The only Hasselhoff I ever wanna see again is The Drunk Hasselhoff. I'm all for safe driving and a long, healthy life and he does have children to set an example for, but if he's not gonna break out on a bourbon and blow bender once or twice a year and end up on digital video eating a cheeseburger off the floor-what good is he? I don't wanna Hassle The Hoff-but, c'mon, Dave-give the people what they want every once in a while.
Fuck waterboarding-who needs it? You wanna torture terrorists and tyrants we catch in whatever corner we uncover?
