Tag: stupid

Jack hardcock: Christian detective (part I)

It’s been a LONG time since I wrote a story. So here’s a goddamn story.

Sorry about all the sacrilegious stuff lately. I’m just working through stuff 

Like I always say: I ain’t promising that this story will be good. 

“Cleveland. Shit,” I uttered to myself. “Still only in Cleveland.”

“What’s that, Jack?” the Chief asked.

“Nothing, Chief,” I replied. “It’s just that I’ve been stuck in this godforsaken city for the last two months.”

“Eh,” the Chief shrugged, “at least it ain’t Cincinnati.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I replied as I lit up a cigarette. “What do you got for me?”

“A triple homicide. Two dead hookers and an anonymous John.”

“So the usual, huh?” I said. 

“Jesus Christ, Jack! Do you want the case or not?! I’ve got two detectives downstairs itching for a case like this and you’re up here bitching like a little bitch!”

“Don’t use that language around me Chief,” I replied. “I was raised Southern Baptist.”

“My mistake, Jack,” the Chief said, “you know me, I always try to be respectful of other people’s belief’s. Except for Seven Day Adventist.”

“Word.”

“So what’s it gonna be Jack? Do you want the case or not?”

I put out my cigarette and grabbed the file. “I guess so Chief,” I said, “Sometimes I wish the Lord would come back and unleash hell on this town. If it ain’t a serial killer, it’s some goddamn junkie robbing his grandmother for his next fix. I swear, you unbelievers will learn the vengeance of God! May this city be cast into Hell!”

The Chief got on his knees and begged for mercy. “Please Jack! Don’t let me burn in hell for all of eternity!” 

“Then accept the Lord Jesus Christ into your heart,” I said, “and pray for the forgiveness of your sins.”

And on February 23rd, 2022, the Chief accepted Salvation through Jesus Christ.

After the Chief’s conversion, I loaded my .38 and asked God to guide my bullets into the bodies of my enemies. “Thank you Lord,” I prayed, “let vengeance be Yours…and mine.”

I kissed the barrel of my gun and entered the mean streets of Cleveland. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil,” I uttered.

I grabbed the first pedestrian I saw on the streets. “Do you recognize this man?” I asked while holding up a picture of one of the victims.

“No,” they replied.

I slapped them across the face with the butt of my gun. “Liar!” I yelled, “Do you know what the Lord does to liars? He mutilates their genitals and they feast on them in heaven! So don’t let the devil catch your tongue! For it’s not the devil you should worry about if that happens! It’s GOD. And you WILL know God’s wrath AND the wrath of my .38!”

After the pedestrian pissed their pants, they confessed the victim’s name: Art McGarth. 

So I let that poor sack of shit go and lit up a cigarette. “Not bad for an honest day’s work,” I thought.

TO BE CONTINUED…

internet ruined everything: season 2 premiere

It’s been a year since I made my first post on this train wreck of a blog.

I’d like to thank myself for writing all of it. Of course, you guys did your part by reading this crap. I didn’t think there would be an audience for pointless blogs where I try to say ‘penis’ as much as possible.

But here we are…on to year 2 of this experiment.

Yeah, this website has gone downhill the last four months. But things will change, I promise! I just graduated from toilet college and I’m about to finish up with this other project (I will elaborate on this later). So no more distractions!

For season 2, I guarantee that there will be more penises, asses, fucks, shits, boobs, vaginas, ballsacks, you name it.

Flash fiction is sort of my bread and butter. And I miss writing it. So just hang with me for a bit. Or don’t! I ain’t your boss. But I promise more of the good stuff 😉

So here’s to Season 2 🍻!

Penis

who wrote the rules?!

I don’t know if I’m just bored sitting in class for the last two weeks, but something’s crawled up my ass and I just feel like arguing with people. On Instagram no less!

This time I’m arguing with stuck up Christians trying to present their arguments as some sort of academic debate because they think atheists are too dumb to understand their beliefs. Now don’t get your panties in a wad, these are just the people who are pissing me off RIGHT NOW. There’s no telling who I’ll argue with next week.

I’m a sophist at heart.

But if there’s one type of person I can’t stand, it’s the stuck up “I’m smarter than you cuz I read academic shit” guy. Fuck those people.

In fact, I say it’s your DUTY to pointlessly argue with these folks. They expect everything to be a structured debate and demand strangers online follow the rules.

But I will not. If I want to “straw man” you, use “non-sequiturs”, create false dichotomies, etc. I am well within my right to do so and there’s nothing you can do about it.

So Who the fuck are you? The “logical fallacies” police?

what is a reel ass dude?

Definitions vary. But in short, it’s any person that rides a fine line between being insane…or criminally stupid…and a total menace to society.

Which leads to a bigger question that I get asked everyday of my life: how does one get inducted into the Internet Ruined Everything’s Hall of Fame of Real Ass Dudes (IREHOFRAD)?

Because this is such an elite club, one must meet the following criteria:

1. Demonstrated clear excellence in insanity or stupidity. But their eccentricities can’t lead them to be perpetually in jail. Remember, being a menace to society is a clear disqualification for being a real ass dude. Serial killers, mass murderers, and Harvey Weinstein will never qualify.

2. That being said, there are bonus points for criminal activity. DUIs, robbery, minor drug trafficking, embezzling, manslaughter, fraud, etc, are perfectly acceptable. Sex and hate crimes, however, are an automatic disqualification. OJ Simpson totally rides the line here.

3. Have outstanding achievements in the fields of entertainment, business, sports, politics, technology, etc, that will stand the test of time REGARDLESS of their insanity, stupidity, and criminal activities. A prime example here is Bobby Knight. The man had no business coaching a college basketball program who nevertheless won three national titles. This is why Knight was the first inductee into the HOF.

Basically to get into the Hall, inductees must exemplify, or outright facilitate, the decline of society’s collective super ego.

Have someone you want to nominate? Let me know in the comments.

On the ballot next year is OJ Simpson, Brett Favre, Lyndon Baines Johnson, and Donald Trump. Only one can get in.

Brett favre: real ass dude

https://news.yahoo.com/defendant-ex-governor-ordered-payments-232005570.html

Brett Farve is perilously close to being added to my real ass dude HOF. All he has to do now is kill someone and he’s automatically in.

Last I checked, Mississippi had just under 3 million people living there. Yet somehow Farve got himself involved in one of its biggest corruption scandals.

Allegedly, he didn’t know that he received embezzled money. But something tells me that it wasn’t because no one told him. It probably didn’t occur to him that what he was doing was unethical.

Hey, we all make our mistakes. But Brett Favre has a history of making mistakes that only real ass dudes make (making ill-advised throws, sending dick pics to reporters, wearing jorts, etc.)

So keep going Brett, you’re almost there. I’m rooting for ya!

good for Zach Wilson 👍

It ain’t a crime to smash cougs. In fact, every man between the age 20-23 should try it.

And ladies over the age of 35, good for you! Go get it!

Now Zach Wilson may never be a HOFer, but he should be celebrated as a trailblazer, or a public spokesperson, for guys like me. I’ve been putting out flyers, knocking on doors, and yelling on street corners for years: older women is where it’s at. And when you go where it’s at, there’s no going back.

Just ask Emmanuel Macron 😟

The first coming (part vi?)

Guys, honestly, I just want to get through this story as quickly and painlessly as possible. I don’t like it anymore than you do.

But we gotta get through it.

Sorry 🤷‍♂️

John’s abnormally large penis continued to dangle in the wind the next morning. “I need full mobility,” he said, “if I wore the loincloth, I would be constricted.”

Alyssa didn’t argue as she was ready to return to civilization. She was concerned for her brother, Geoff, who was usually always by her side.

“We’re running out of water,” Alyssa said while they were trekking through the woods.

“You needn’t worry,” John replied as he was urinating in his canteen. “My kidneys work at 100% efficiency. I piss pure water.”

Alyssa took a swig from the canteen. The water tasted as pure as a cold mountain spring. She couldn’t contain her feelings any longer. “John, we need to talk,” she said.

“Not now. I’m about to strangle a raccoon.”

“John I love you. I know that we met last week, but you’re the man I’ve been waiting for. When we get out of the woods, I want to settle down and spend the rest of my life with you. I think God put us together for a reason. Please…please, I hope you feel the same way.”

“My ass!” John screamed as he started writhing on the forrest floor.

“What’s wrong?!” Alyssa asked.

“My IBS is acting up!”

Alyssa began consoling John as he ceaselessly shat himself. To make matters worse, she noticed two small bear cubs investigating the scene. “Please God, help us!” she prayed.

Without warning, the mother bear snuck up and bit into Alyssa’s hair, flinging her several feet away. John, being an experienced survivalist, started to play dead.

The mother bear sniffed John’s body, and bit a chunk out of his shoulder. As he screamed out, she bit into his arm and started shaking him like a rag doll.

As John passed out from shock, the bear began sniffing his buttcrack. Because he was unconscious, he no longer had control of his faculties. Shit started squirting out of his rectum and onto the startled bear. Frightened by the horrendous stench, the bear and her two cubs fled the scene.

Alyssa was momentarily knocked out from the throw. When she awoke, she saw John’s blood and shit soaked body laying unconscious. “John!” she screamed.

She made a makeshift tourniquet using her shirt which successfully stopped the bleeding.

“John! John! Wake up!” Alyssa yelled as she smacked his face.

“Everything will be alright, Alyssa. I’ve been in this situation many times before,” John said as he came to. “Just do as I say: I don’t think I can walk. You’re gonna have to drag me to safety.”

She began to cry. “I don’t think I’m strong enough!”

Using his one good arm, John grabbed her head. “God never burdens us with more than we can handle,” he assured her, “you can do this.”

She nodded and prayed as tears streamed down her face. Using all her might, Alyssa threw John’s arm around her neck and lifted John’s limp body around her shoulders.

***

“I can’t get cell phone reception out here,” Geoff said as he was floating down river with Ted and Becky.

“That’s because you’re using a Motorola StarTAC. Those things haven’t worked since 1998,” Ted replied.

Becky was sitting restlessly in the middle of the canoe. “I’m sure Alyssa and John are fine. I’m ready to go home. Let the park rangers find them,” she said.

“No!” Ted exclaimed. “I swore an oath to God that I would protect Alyssa’s virginity and I intend to keep that oath!”

“But Alyssa’s not a virgin,” Geoff said.

“How do you know?”

“Because I read her journal and sniff her panty-uhh, I mean-I’m her brother. She tells me these things.”

“Nevertheless,” Ted continued, “if she’s gonna have sex with John outside of marriage, her pastor has to be there to watch it. The Bible says so.”

Becky and Geoff nodded in agreement and continued to watch the river’s edge for signs of John and Alyssa.

“There!” Geoff yelled out.

Several yards ahead was a short topless woman carrying a large naked man around her shoulders. “Praise Jesus and all of his Glory!” Ted cried out.

TO BE CONTINUED…

the 1st coming (part iii)

Look, I’m trying to get to the good stuff (all the nasty sex). But I’m trying to get there organically, alright? Give me a break.

At the campfire, Geoff was playing Nearer, My God, To Thee on his acoustic guitar.

“Maybe you should put that away,” Alyssa told him.

Nine church goers were attending the camping trip in total. Brother Ted walked back to the camp after reliving himself in the river. “Woo! That water’s cold!” he declared.

He sat down at the edge of the fire and took out his Bible. “Being in nature reminds me of the awesome power of God,” Ted said. “But 1 John tells us to hate the world and everything in it. All of it will be destroyed in the Second Coming. None of this matters.” He then grabbed a trash bag and dumped its contents on the ground.

Alyssa tried to get close to John, but it appeared that she had competition. Sister Becky was close to Alyssa’s age. She was the touchy-feely type, laughed at every joke…even when a joke wasn’t being told. Most men responded to her flirty nature, but John was different. Alyssa tried to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“When I returned from Iraq, I successfully underwent conversion therapy,” John told Becky, “I haven’t had those kinds of feelings in nearly 2 years.”

“You’re such a brave man,” Becky responded as she gently touched his arm. Alyssa typically wasn’t the jealous type, but Becky was really trying her.

Everyone began roasting marshmallows and hotdogs but John took out a pork shoulder. He could have easily pulled back the plastic film covering it but used his Bowie knife instead.

“Shouldn’t you cook that before you eat it?” Brother Ted asked. “Nonsense,” John replied as he tore into the meat with his teeth, “God gave our bodies everything we need to digest raw pork.”

***

Alyssa woke up in the middle of the night to relieve herself. She walked a few yards from the camp and squatted behind a tree. While peeing, she heard painful grunts coming a few feet away.

“Who’s there?” she whispered into the dark. But All she heard was more grunting.

When she finished, Alyssa stood up and began wondering towards the direction of the sound. Behind another tree was John, pants around his ankles, squatting in agonizing pain.

“Are you okay?!” she asked him.

“I feel like my guts exploded!” John replied. He was blasting out one fart after another.

“I’ll go get help!”

“No!” John exclaimed, “I can’t let them see me like this! You gotta help me!”

“What can I do?”

“Just stay here with me.”

Alyssa knelt down beside John and held his hand. He started expelling an ungodly amount of diarrhea out of his anus. The stench was almost unbearable. When he finished, he looked up to her with his bloodshot, watery eyes.

“Thank you,” John said. Alyssa gave him a smile.

Afterwards, he stood up and washed his fecal-covered buttcrack in the river. When he finished, he walked back to Alyssa. As he took her by the hand, he said to her, “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

She nodded in return.

The two went back to their tents. As Alyssa climbed into her sleeping bag, she thought about John and thanked God for giving her such an intimate moment with him.

The next morning, groups were pairing up for the canoe trip. Becky approached John to row down river with her. He paused and scratched his forehead. “Uhh, actually I was planning to go with Alyssa,” he told her.

Becky stood up straight. “Alyssa? Really? But I assure you that I’m a much better rower than her,” she said.

“Good! That’s why you should go with Geoff.”

As Geoff was putting on his life jacket, John grabbed him and paired him with Becky. “Good luck!” he told him, and paddled off with his sister.

“Geoff’s not gonna like that,” Alyssa said, “he’s the jealous type.”

“Sorry, but I figured that I owe you an explanation for last night,” John replied.

“None’s necessary, John. You see, I get the bubble guts too.”

“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “I have IBS…Irritable Bowel Syndrome. So you understand why I hope we can keep this a secret.”

“But why John? Why?”

“Because…,” he gave a long pause, “I was laughed at as a child. Everyone called me Mr.Poopypants. I couldn’t walk 10 feet without poop running down the back of my legs. I had to tape up the bottom of my jeans to prevent turds from slipping out and everyday my pants would fill up with poopoo.”

Tears began to well up in John’s eyes. “Everyone thinks that I’m some kind of hero,” he continued, “but in my own mind, I’m always gonna be Mr. Poopypants.”

With his back against her, Alyssa wrapped her arms around John’s body and placed her head just below his neck. “You’re not Mr. Poopypants to me, John. Your secret is safe. But maybe you should stop eating raw pork.”

John placed his left hand top of Alyssa’s that was resting on his chest. “I’m glad I’ve finally met someone like you,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

😐

What happened to the days on TV when a man could walk into a grocery store Benny Hill-style, hand in pocket, and he’s just YANKING his crank furiously underneath his sweatpants? Meanwhile he thinks he’s being so cool about it but everyone refuses to make eye contact with him.

Why can’t we make TV like that anymore?

That’s the worst thing about politics becoming serious entertainment: nothing’s funny anymore.

Every joke is the same tired crap: shitting on transgenderism, “cancel culture” ruining everything, conservatives are brainwashed, blah blah blah….

Remember that terrible painting of Jesus guiding the pen of Donald Trump? Chuckle all you want, but that painting best represents the absurdity of our times and it will almost certainly be in a prestigious museum 500 years from now where smart people will dispassionately evaluate its historical significance.

Nothing can be stupid and pointless for the sake of being stupid and pointless anymore.

Thanks anyway jackass forever, but too little too late.