Hey again, it's me Cliff Yablonski, and I'm here to update this that there here computer screen Intersite for today because that rancid clown's ass Richard is out fruiting up the town or whatever. All I know is I woke up this morning at 3:30 PM and there was a note on my fridge that said "CLIFF, WAH PLEASE WRITE ABOUT SOMETHING TODAY, OUR COMPUTER SCREEN SITE SUCKS WITHOUT YOU. THERE IS A BOTTLE OF JACK DANIELS IN THE CUPBOARD FOR YOU PLEASE TAKE IT AND THEN HAVE SEX WITH MY GIRLFRIEND BECAUSE YOU'RE MORE OF A MAN THEN I COULD EVER BE CLIFFY. SINCERELY RICH 'PIGNIPPLES' KAYAKA." Then I opened up the cupboard and didn't see any bottles of anything there so I got furious and started throwing around nutmeg and a bag of flour while screaming and kicking over this rusty clown statue I found in an antique store that I refuse to shop at on account of their refusal to let me park my Chrysler in their lobby. Anyway I got flour all over the joint and it wouldn't get off my clothes so I threw a chair through the kitchen window so maybe the wind would blow the flour away, but then it started blowing the shit in my eyes so I ran into the bedroom and shut the door and now I've locked myself in the closet until this whole mess gets sorted out somehow. I'm pretty much hoping the place burns down and I can start over again, because that would be the easiest solution here.
What I'm here to talk about today is some progress that our failing deadbeat gutterfuck educational system is finally making. You know as well as I do that kids today have the intelligence of orange pulp. One time I was driving to the store so I could buy a replacement for my hot glue gun which was stolen from me by the people who I originally stole it from, and I pull up to the stoplight at the corner of Bennington and 14th Street. You know, the light which stays red for about six hours straight. Anyway I know how slow that stupid light is, so I just drive through it because I'm a goddamn veteran war hero and I don't have to stop for shit because I fought the Krauts in World War II and I'll be damned if I don't deserve at least an iota of respect.
This tiny little Jap Chinese Gook Beaner Canuk car comes plowing through the intersection like they own the place and rams right into the side of me! Me, Cliff Yablonski! Well I was pissed at that point because the impact of their piece of shit car almost knocked me out of my happy gin-filled state that I spent the last three hours drinking out of pool table pockets to achieve, so I opened my door and stormed over to their car armed with my trusty Break Rake, which is an invention I made a couple weeks ago. The Break Rake is just like a normal rake except it is broken in half where I hit the Patterson's slobbergut caveman kid over his flat head when I thought he was thinking of trying to steal the bucket of roofing tar I have stored in my garage next to the chicken coop full of rotting tortillas.
Anyway I stormed over to that little plastic car and start yelling at the top of my lungs because I was pissed off as hell and I wasn't going to take it anymore. I looked in the car and it's full of about six, maybe fifteen kids wearing white face paint and black shirts and listening to some music making loud duck fart sounds every half second. So I walked up to the driver, some scrawny little teenage droolfest, and I shout "I've got something to say and I'm only gonna say it once, so you'd better listen up shitnickels!" Then I kicked his head into the dashboard because I couldn't think of anything that I really felt like saying to him. His girlfriend, some guy in the passenger seat, starts screaming so I leaned over to adjust his collarbone through his eye sockets and I tripped over my pants, which had somehow fallen off during the ruckus. I landed on this pile of broken glass and shit and began rolling down the hill. To make a long story short, I'm can no longer legally visit the zoo anymore.
My point is that kids these days have about as much respect and intelligence as a bucket of hair. They dress up like clowns with Downs and play their duck fart music so loud that it causes my pants to fall off and make me roll down hills into petting zoos where my crotch collides with the back of a series of goats. The good news is that school districts are FINALLY beginning to pay attention to me, because some joint in Kansas decided to ban goth clothing, a step in the damn right direction.
Goth style is out at Wichita middle school - At Wichita's Wilbur Middle School, the so-called Goth look is out. Principal Cherie Crain says black lipstick, eye shadow, nail polish and hair dye are banned, along with all-black clothing. Also on the list are such accessories as studded metal bracelets and graphic T-shirts advertising heavy metal bands.
I think this is a damn fine idea and it's way past time we started whipping American kids into shape so we can start competing with the Japanese and build more atomic rocket VCRs than they do so when it's World War III we'll be able to fight back their robot yellow menace from the sands of Lake Meatshores to the plains of something something something. If you're some kind of braindead pumpslug and don't understand why making goths illegal is a great idea, let me go into detail:
1) MEN SHOULD NOT WEAR MAKEUP UNLESS THEY ARE UNDERCOVER ZOMBIES. I was driving through Spillsville in the next county over, and I saw this bar named The Glory Hole, so I stop there because I assumed it was some bar for veterans like myself. I go around to the back of my Chrysler to put on all the medals I won in World War I like the Purple Heart for the time I protected the gas pump from enemy fire by holding up Jake Bradley in front of the refueling station and then taking his awards when he was in the hospital and bitching about not being able to feel his legs. Of course you can't feel your legs you fat shit, they amputated them like days earlier. I tried to steal his legs too but the doctor said they were shipped to another medical camp so I told the doctor that I was about to ship his skull to another medical camp, cash on delivery. He asked what I meant by "cash on delivery" and I had no idea so I pushed over this wheelchair in the lobby and tried lighting what I thought was a circus tent on fire, but later found out it was just a really large dress.
So I walked into this bar and went to order a drink and I look around and there are all these hairy guys wearing leather. I saw this little bald guy, who couldn't have been older than 25, drinking some orange and pink drink and talking like somebody kicked his balls up into his throat. Then I started looking around and noticed that the whole joint was full of men! There wasn't a single broad in the whole place! I asked the bartender (who I started referring to as "Greg" because he looked like a Greg even though his name tag said "Stan") where all the broads were and he just started laughing. Nobody laughs at me! I deserve respect goddammit, I didn't risk a bunch of other people's lives in World War Vietnam just to come home and be laughed at by some joker with a moustache and B-52s t-shirt! I started beating the crap out of the bartender with a canoe oar and I looked over at the stage and there was some guy dressed up like a woman, wearing makeup and a bra and all that shit, singing that lousy song from the movie about the two dropguts who fell off the Titanic and into the Atlantic Lake and got eaten by the Kraken.
I slugged that deadbeat in the balls with the microphone stand and watched him weep technicolor tears of pain into the worn wood floor while I strutted around and tried to tip over a table before realizing it was bolted to the floor. I started hiring cop sirens at that point so I ran into the men's restroom and stepped on a couple guys who where chiropractors trying to adjust each others' backs or some shit, and I climbed out the window. So my point is that I hate parrots and men shouldn't wear lipstick! Case closed!
2) GOTH MUSIC SOUNDS LIKE SOMEBODY PULLING THE SKIN OFF CATS WHILE A GUITAR FALLS DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS. Listen up you pasty pumpkin skulled shitgums: you ain't got crap to whine about, so stop feeling all depressed about you and your life. Okay, yes, you are all skinny little weaklings unable to defend themselves from a light breeze. And yeah, nobody likes you and nobody will ever like you and the closest you'll ever come to finding true love is when some unfortunate female calls you up and asks for somebody else shortly before she realizes she dialed the wrong number and hangs up. And okay, maybe you don't have any friends just because you look like Bela Lugosi after he spent 20 years decomposing under the dirt while a bunch of Japanese business men ejaculated all over his rotting face. And sure, you'll never ever get a job because you dress like a clinically depressed film noir clown. But for Christ's sake - wait, actually your lives are terrible and you have an infinite number of perfectly good reasons to be depressed as all hell, so feel free to mope around and cry your eyes out in the luxury of your own basement. Just don't let me see you bitch and whine or else I'll crush your spine with a nutcracker.
3) GOTH TEENAGERS SHOULD CARRY AROUND LARGE BAGS OF GRASS CLIPPINGS. I've got this bag on my lawnmower that catches grass and sticks and shit when they get spit out, and I've had to use it on my lawn for the past month or so because I was drinking vodka out of a lamp a while back and thought I heard the sound of a diamond ring dropping to the ground, so every time I mow my lawn I go through the grass clippings and look for a ring. I haven't found one yet but I did find one of the Patterson kids' teeth that I must've knocked out when I broke into their house and accidentally thought I was in my house and they were burglars trying to break in and steal all my stuff so they could give it back to the Pattersons. I could tell it was one of their teeth because it was still attached to the jawbone and let me tell you, those kids have chins like Mac Tonight.
I got about 40 bags of grass clippings in my garage just sitting there attracting these yellow bugs that smell like Mexican armpits when you step on them, so these goth kids should be forced to haul this shit around to punish them for being such pansy sissy milk-lapping dregs. When I was a kid my dad made me carry a burlap bag full of chair legs around the town, in a 10-mile circle, because he said it built character. It damn well built character, I'm fucking full of character. And if any of the goths find that diamond ring, they'd better damn well tell me or else the next bag they'll be carrying around will be full of their own intestines. The intestines are those long stringy tube things right? Because I think that's what they're called, I don't know, I'm really drawing a blank now because I've got White-Out all over my goddamn hands and this shit absolutely will not come off.
4) WHERE THE HELL ARE MY PANTS
So I gotta say that the school in Wichita is taking a damn overdue step in the right direction, but we still got to go a lot further before kids these days stop lumbering around like a bunch of dimwit dullards with shiny streamers of drool falling off their chins. And the government better start listening to my ideas because I almost stepped on a landmine / pile of dirt behind the 7-11 once, so I deserve respect. And don't listen to any of that shit those clowns at the Appleton City Zoo might tell you about me, because they're all filthy liars and even if they have closed circuit camera footage of me in the petting zoo, that shit is all forged with computers and lasers and shit and it doesn't mean dick.
This libtard terminator keeps asking for guns that don't exist and I may have to close early out of frustration.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
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