Monday, January 21, 2013

An Ego Trip Down Glory Lane

Ah, I was in the middle of saving a bunch of children from a landslide when it dawned on me, I have a contractual obligation to answer your questions. I suppose the children can hold their breath a little longer. Hell, I can hold my breath for 5 minutes while being subjected to extreme environments such as Twilight opening nights and Dunkin' Donuts at rush hour.

H'anyway, let me get this over with. The world ceases to spin if I take more than a 3 minute break from saving its ass.

Is it wrong to go to family dinners, get drunk, and boast about how much better I am than everyone else? It isn't my fault if I'm successful and they're all rather pathetic, is it?
submitted by Jewels at According to Jewels via Email

Is it wrong? Absolutely not! What are family gatherings for other than to assert your dominance over the entire dinner table? Families are much like prides, there needs to be a designated lioness to lead the pack. The only way you'll even be considered for the role as alpha female is to flex those muscles and slug those brews. The more alcohol you consume, the more likely you are to drown out the dronings of Uncle Jim's fishing stories. Once you've taken Uncle Jim out of the equation, don't forget to call out the red, bulbous sore that's setting up camp on Sally's upper lip. Then you're clear to move on to the more threatening targets such as Aunt Melinda and her PhD, Charisa and her newly inflated breasts, and Jordan, with his recent robotics degree.

If your adversaries are unsuccessful and pathetic, then rising in rank will be easier than outliving Kirk Douglas.
Prime example

Soap or body wash?
submitted by Anonymous via Email

Neither. I've learned that my body gives off a natural musk that drives people insane. Literally insane. The last passerby that happened to inhale a whiff of my glorious, gland excretions had to be immediately admitted to the nearest asylum. Most days I refuse to leave the house for just this reason.

But, for those days that you're getting your swell on, the next best thing to do is to lather yourself in body spray. Truth be told, I exited the womb cradling a can Axe body spray. I'd suggest half a can per armpit minimum.
I'm glad to see one of the women I've driven insane is getting some work out there.

Is it wrong to steal illegitimate children from under-age teenage mothers to create my own Spartan program to hunt these social disgrace?
submitted by Anonymous via Email

Well, first we have to lay down some ground rules. I've already begun a similar program of my own. My background in all forms of martial arts and fighting techniques makes my illegitimate child army a force to be reckoned with. Though, fortunately for you, I ordinarily use my child army as nothing more than spotters for when I go to the gym... because it takes an army to properly support the weights that I'm able to lift. As for the socially inept, they're all yours to conquer and destroy. I don't usually have too many run-ins with them as once they get one look at my bulging biceps, they have no choice other than to turn a cheek to shield themselves. In other words, to answer your question, you may build a Spartan force, just be sure not to cross my boundaries for I alone will wipe out your army with a simple flick of my wrist while my illegitimate children assassins cheer me on from the sidelines and wait to clear out the grotesque aftermath.

Recently I have decided to begin a search for my Noah. (Y'know the overly romantic dude from The Notebook). I think I may have found him but he lives 500 miles away.

Do you think it is possible A) That a Noah exists and B) To find him so far away (which brings another Nicholas Sparks book to mind, Message in a Bottle)

Being that I'm getting up into the cougar age, it is imperative that I find love soon before I find myself settled down with either an old fart, or a twenty something young buck who just loves his older ladies and is looking for a sugar mamma. 

submitted by The Insomniac's Dream at The Insomniac's Dream via Email

Well, it's hard to believe that there's a man worthy of nearly as much attention as I, but if you think you've found yourself a syrupy sweetheart, then good on you. It's always nice to see the common folk catching a glimpse of the happiness I feel every second of every day.

Although, it has been proven by science that it is impossible for a man to be anywhere near my caliber, I suppose it is true that ordinary people could find attraction in beings that are lesser than I.

Luckily for you, it's the dream of any 20-something year old to take a cougar to bed. As for settling down with him, that should be more than feasible taking into consideration that you'll most likely be putting the bread on the table.
Actually you're both humans. 
I guess romanticism takes the place of common sense.

At what point do you admit defeat?
submitted by WorkingDan at Shameful Promotions via Email

"Defeat" is a word I'm totally unfamiliar with. So, upon looking up its definition, I'm more than comfortable admitting that I'm the worst person to consult. I've never experienced anything remotely similar to defeat. Seeing as I'm being contractually forced to provide an answer, I'll say (solely from my newly learned definition) I'd say never is a point to admit defeat.
On second thought, there are those exceptions to the rule.

Is there any shame in enjoying the smell of your own farts?
submitted by SolarBit via Email

I've never expelled anything short of perfection from my body, so I can be the first to say that enjoying one's own farts is completely acceptable. I find it's best to capture your gas in jars labeled according to your diet. You'll get a firm grasp of what foods cause you the expel the best brand. Truth be told, I've earned over $700 selling my fart jars via eBay. If you pass gas that's nearly as pleasant as mine, I suggest you seize the same opportunity that I've been blessed with.

How many people have you taken to bed?
submitted by Lesley P. via Email

Count the stars in the sky. Multiply the results by the grains of sand on every planet in the universe. Then, minus 2 and you'll get the answer. It's a number that's out of mankind's ability to comprehend.

Alrighty, is that all of them? 1... 2... Yeah, 7. Finally! That took longer than the average 20 seconds it takes me to write a post. Bah, until next time you insignificant peons.

Monday, January 14, 2013

Envy: I Wish I Were You But, With A Bigger T.V.

Having lived most of my life, known only as "the reason Gwyneth Paltrow's head ended up in a box" and "capitalism's dark mistress", it's time to tell it like it is!-- only, I'm doing it for you! Having gotten your questions, scribbled out the answers (in my trademark depressed binge drinking scrawl ) I bestow the ultimate truths about how you're just as deserving as every prick in a Polo shirt and a daddy bought Mustang.

Katy Anders asks: 
How do you handle it? I mean, how do you handle splitting this site with 6 other sins?

      The truth is...I don't. Not "well" anyway. They are all...literally all, better than me...on the surface anyway. Deep down inside, they're all pricks. Regardless, to cope with my inadequacy, I've taken up this nasty habit of cutting myself, you know, secretly...under tables and want not? It's not something I'm proud of--and, and when you usually dine Chuckie Cheese, it can, at times, draw a crowd. Did I mention my incredibly low pain tolerance? Pained screaming and easily scared children never mix. Ever. 

My co-workers are jealous I got a promotion. They insinuate I only got 
the promotion because I sleep with the boss. What is the best way to 
poison those stupid bitches in the secretary pool and not end up 
getting raped in prison by Betty-Lou?

      First and foremost...relax. Preying on co-workers has never turned out well, even in third world countries. You'd most likely end up in prison, as you said, doing unmentionable "rape-like" things with a mannish Betty-Lou and her entourage of androgynous friends. So, for the time being, let's find a less violent solution until a less violent one can't be found, okay?

      Now, dealing with jealous people can be a tricky affair and understand your wanting to poison them. Perhaps, simply sitting your offended cohorts down for a discussion would quell any hard feelings they and you might have. Sometimes a simple, firm, "You bitches need to shut your mouths or I'll sneak into your houses and cut you when you sleep!", is all you need to get your work relationship back on a good footing.

Anonymous asks:
Yesterday, I saw the guy that lives across the street haul a huge 80" t.v. into his house. I know I shouldn't care about it, but, when I saw it, I felt intensely angry. My t.v. is a 25 inch hand me down from 2002 and yet, he (a pensioner) gets to watch that behemoth. Why am I so angry?

      Your anger stems from an incessant need to qualify and understand old people enjoying the fruits of a retirement you are nowhere near (I assume.). This irrational hatred is unhealthy, bitter and overall...fine. Hatred and jealous rage over what someone else has is what sells 80" televisions in the first place! So, don't beat yourself up over something that's keeping millions of people entertained and employed. Revel in it. The pornography industry does it every day.

      My suggestion is to turn the old guy in for dealing drugs. They'll confiscate his belongings and eventually sell them at auction. Then, go to the auction and get that 80" on the cheap! You'll be enjoying big screen porno before you know it.

Chiz asks:
A vacuous black hole has mysteriously appeared in the corner of my 
cubicle. It's grown about twice its former size in 3 days. Should I 
just get it over with and dive into the wormhole and maybe arrive in an 
alternate dimension where I've made intelligent life choices? Or should 
I just try to steal someone else's job?

      Navigating the complexities of interdimensional theoretical physics is never an easy task. Especially if it's sitting in your office...tempting you with it's infinite possibilities. Still, it's better to be safe than sorry and assume that it's not safe to "jump on in". Not without proper testing of course. Plus, I might have a solution that would get you that great job theft a little bit further along.

      Firstly, as a proper precaution, it's best test a wormhole the way cosmetic companies test their wares; on animals. Baring the occasional desk stowed hamster or wall eyed trout office mascot, you probably won't find many. It's inevitable that you will first toss in random office things (staplers, computer monitors, chairs, etc.). Once it's established that those things aren't rejected or return covered in ectoplasmic slime, it's time to move on to the "harder stuff".

      Call over that poor bastard whose job you desperately crave. Show him your newly discovered vortex. As he hovers over it in terrified awe and disbelief...shove the ol' boy in. Cobbling together a "he accidentally fell in, while trying to retrieve his child pornography" story should be easy enough. It's only a matter of time before his vacated job is your new money machine. 

Dan asks:
I seen a guy at McDonald's paying for his Big Mac meal with a $100 bill and he had several others in his wallet. I became jealous because I haven't seen a $100 bill in years, yet alone multiple $100 bills. If I were that guy I would be eating steaks, not Big Macs. So should I rob the guy or do I just accept the fact that I'm not worthy of $100 bills?

      Flaunting your wealth in the face of others isn't a bad thing. It encourages and motivates others to seek the fortune you already have. So, rather than looking at the man as a snobbish prick, see him instead as a teacher. Use the vision of those $100 bills to elevate your worldly purposes to greater heights and see yourself as being worthy of those "dolla' billz" and much, much more.

I suggest, not robbing him, but following him around until he goes to work. Then, rob the guy that pays him in $100 bills.

Asked anonymously via Sinquiry: 
My best friend recently spent a lot of money on a boob job. She looks great and now, every time we hang out, she get's all the attention! Maybe I should get a boob job too, what do you think?

      Having altered my body in several ways, I can tell you that keeping up with your friend's alterations can get costly. I have had so many piercings and tattoos done that I've often forgone rent, simply to out do my friends. Do you know what it got me? Blinding adoration.

I suggest the biggest knockers your double mortgaged house can buy you. Bills can wait...tits won't. 

Asked anonymously via Sinquiry:
I wanna be a famous rapper, rollin' in some phat chedda', know wut I'm sayin'? My boy already got some studio time and gettin' his sh*t play'd on the radio. Even though it'z whack as f*ck! My flow is way better than his bullsh*t. How do I up my game and get some uh that green?

      Oh, the pursuit of fame, what a glorious monster to hunt. Is there a more noble cause than that which might make you more famous than your friends? I think not. Now, being that your friend is obviously not as talented as you, it must mean that he may know something you don't. As a gifted rapper, I can tell you that it's probably people...and maybe bitches...or both. 

      Now, the trick is to get those people to like you better. How would you do that?, you might ask, well, that's pretty easy actually. As everyone knows, rappers, like regular people, love the same three things: money, more money and sex. Convincing people to have sex can be tricky, so, you'll want to invest in a gaggle of prostitutes. They do require payment of some sort. 

      So, simply get more money and spend it on those people currently giving your friend studio time and prostitutes to pleasure said people. How to get more money? Easy. Sell drugs. Done. Before you know it, you'll be loungin in the company of Jay-Z, Lil' Wayne and Snow, sipping champagne that's been cascaded run down a skanky strippers ass crack. 

Monday, January 7, 2013

It's Not Over Until You Eat The Baby

Well, the holidays have just ended, and I hope you're all in the happiest, cheeriest, sugar plum mood imaginable because I'm about to spit in your soup, piss in your cornflakes, and projectile diarrhea into your matzo balls.

That's right, I'm really pissed off, and if there's one thing I hate more than sorting through questions, it's getting hassled by all the other sins to actually answer them.

Pickleope asks:
Dear Wrath,
How do I best vent my frustration on every other person in the world whilst stuck in traffic?
A Road Rage-aholic

Great question. The key is to take everything as personally as possible. Whether they cut you off, or drive faster than you, or make eye contact with you, it's all a sign that they want to "throw down." Don't let those innocent "doe eyes" being thrown by grandma the ignorant lane-merger or the baby in the backseat distract you, because it's just a clever ruse, one that'll quickly fade when you punch both of them in the face. Have no mercy. There are no victims here. That baby knew what he was getting into when he hopped into the car with grandma the asshole driver.

Know thy enemy

Anonymous asks: Every time my boss talks to me, I imagine I am on The Walking Dead and he is a Zombie. I just want to shove this letter opener through his stupid "think outside of the box" skull. Is there something wrong with me?

Yes, you giant walking vagina, complete with big butterfly wing labia that could fly off into a double rainbow, there is something wrong with you. You haven't done it yet. I had a boss once, and he made me so angry I put his head into my desk drawer and slammed his brittle little skull until the bones in my hand shattered. So you've got the right idea. Just DO IT ALREADY.*

*do not do this. At all. Ever. Or so says our legal team, who make me so angry I want to feed them tie first into a woodchipper coated in AIDS

This lady knows what I'm talking about

Geoff from (sent from my iPhone) asks: I really think that Jonathan Swift was onto something in A Modest Proposal. I think everyone's satirical view on the article is misguiding, I really look upon the piece in a literal sense. Am I wrong or is everyone else simply hiding from the truth?

Let me tell you, nothing makes me angrier than misinterpretation of classic literature. For those of you who haven't read it, which let's admit, is all of you (you uncultured swines), it's an essay written in the 18th century that suggests the impoverished Irish should have used their children as food. What some see as "satire" I see clearly as a "10 page recipe book." It's a staple in my house, and I just made a baby stew last week that was simply amazing. I don't know what these fruity English classes are teaching, but Geoff, my friend - you get it.

It tastes so much better when it stops crying

Jeremy from New York asks: This redneck was making fun of my "Visualize World Peace", "Coexist", and "Violence Never Solves Anything" bumperstickers the other day. At the next stop sign, I shot him in his face. I know that's not a question. But that guy just made me so mad, with his intolerance.

Okay, forget Geoff. This guy gets it.

Dan from Chicago asks: I hear that some people can actually see red when they get angry. I haven't achieved this level of anger before. I can get pretty damn angry but I have yet to see red. What am I doing wrong? Grrr this makes me so mad!

Well, Dan, you've got the right idea, but I don't think you want this anger enough. You need to feel it in every fiber of your being, not just in your bones but down to your DNA. Your hands should be fists, and those fists should be shaking like Michael J. Fox on a washing machine. Your blood should be boiling hard enough to send you into cardiac arrest. Your eyes should be so red you burst blood vessels. Only once you've achieved this can you master true, seething, venomous, seeing-red anger.

Hell, I got so angry writing this up I just punched a hole through my chest and resuscitated my own heart, which had stopped from all of that rage. It only made me angrier, so I headbutted a hole in the wall, broke a lamp over my knee, and shook a kitten. I don't even know how a kitten got here or whose kitten it was. Now that's anger.

I'd be angry if I looked like her, too
Anything else just makes you look like this, and this cross-eyed halfwit couldn't scare a social security check out of your senile grandma.

So that's it for me. Until next time, keep sending in those questions, because if you don't, it'll make me angry. And you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

...Well, you wouldn't like me when I'm not angry, but you'd like me significantly less when I am angry. And that's a damn promise.