The tempest of black fog in your head slowly dissipates and you begin to piece together where you are and what’s been going on.
It’s 2:23am and all the furniture in your apartment has been overturned or moved. Mirrors, family photos and curios you once cherished have all been shattered. Cluttered counters are now naked. There’s a hole in the drywall left behind by the coffee mug you dodged just in time. You’re under the kitchen table.
Gasp! Suddenly you remember your $3000 flatscreen TV! Read more
In 1943 legendary jazz drummer Gene Krupa was accused and convicted of some rinky-dink pot possession charge. This marijuana charge stuck with him for the remainder of his life and, to some degree, forever tarnished his reputation.
Now, I want you to watch the following four videos. Let’s assume that Krupa was high as shit on marijuana drugs when Read more
Hi! It’s me again and I’m here with another exciting episode of Jackoff Queries. As you know from the last round, I check my blog stats often and I see a lot of questions from the various hapless wits who ask Google and Yahoo and Ask.com various jackoff-related questions. These poor souls wind up at my site in search of answers, since I once made the grave mistake of satirically naming my blog 400% More Jackoff Magic. I’m not aware of any official body that oversees jackoff issues, so I have a sense of duty to try to address at least a few of the queries that find their way to my office. I would like to stress that my blog is not intended to deal with these issues full-time or on any regular basis. But, this is a humor blog, and I think this is pretty good fodder, in spite of how people are thrusting their jackoff onto me.
With no further ado, the second round of jackoff Q and A.
Q: how to jack off your dog
R: Whatever you do, don’t! What if he mauled you to death? You can’t get into heaven covered in dog spunk, (Leviticus 18:42). Or even worse, what if he mauled you to paralysis, but you were still living? Your parents would come home and you’d be covered in dog spunk and boy would YOU have some questions to answer! Also you don’t want to lose your dog’s respect. Jack off someone else’s dog if you have to, but only with the permission of the owner. And PETA.
From information parsed from variousnewssources, I know this: Mexican drug cartels are murdering cops, civil servants, each other, and innocent families over maintaining power of the drug trade. And maybe even pets! Now, I was always a little surprised that people were getting killed over schwaggy, soil laden, seeds-and-stem, kilo-bricked Mexican marijuana, but now it’s the good stuff too! I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if it isn’t happening, and I’m *nobody’s* uncle, I can assure you of *that*. Mexican murder cartels have begun to wield even more power and exercise greater violence alongside their increased greed.
But we can’t let innocent pets die, or even people, and we need to face the unsavory fact that America is in the midst of an economic crisis in need of swift repair. Every penny you spend domestically will help to strengthen us. So, I present to you the first step towards my rung-climbing aspiration to Pharaoh of California, this national movement to boycott foreign narcotics. Look, if you are a Hollywood socialite, it may seem difficult to take a stand against foreign drugs. You’re busy sleeping most of the day and partying at night. When do you have time to take a stand? But your dealers are hungry for your business. If you re-define your needs, they will be forced to provide that product. That’s the free market. So if you are that kind of Hollywood socialite, especially one with any history of public good-deeding (do-gooding? dood-gooing?) or environmental action, just remember that the best environment you can improve right now, is your own environment. Heck**, why involve a dealer at all? If you have any acreage in the Hollywood Hills you probably have plenty of room to grow coca or opium to sustain your needs and the needs of a few of your closest friends. Even if you live in a small home you could probably farm something. And you don’t have to be a socialite to make a difference. Even if you’re just a regular guy who like to party and occasionally snort a line of coke off of the top of a club urinal, you have the right to demand quality. The customer is always right.
So beginning now, and until further notice, anyone who cannot grow their own narcotics, for example, because they lack the lab equipment to refine cocaine, are because they are on disability, should insist only upon domestically produced, caffeine, tobacco, alcohol, marijuana, psychedelic mushrooms, LSD, MDMA, organic cocaine and heroin, methamphetamine, GHB, oxycodone and angel dust. I think it’s doable, starting small like that. Tell your drug dealers that you will no longer need their services unless they can provide you with quality, US grown and processed narcotics that bear the Made In The USA sticker. Demand that they open their books for review and that their sources are verifiable by the FDA, USDA or whomever for quality control oversight. Tell your drug lords that you want a written assertion that none of the drugs they provide to you originate, or are linked with, any drug cartels outside of the United States. I think they call that a product mission statement, which is a legitimate expectation to have of your vendors. Your suppliers should take a few tips from the good people at Ben and Jerry’s.
We are Americans and we have high standards. We should insist only upon the best, and only upon honest, quality, humanely made products crafted by honest, quality, living-wage-receiving Americans. Let’s get our brethren and sistren out of the unemployment lines and back on the streets, restoring their pride and making them once again the great Americans they always thought they were. This will make our country better, stronger, more unified and will help to prevent the innocent murder of those pets I mentioned in my first paragraph and of the families and cops and civil servants, yadda yadda.
Now is the time for action. Now is the time for change!
My name is Russ of America and I run a humor blog that was once called 400% More Jackoff Magic. You may have heard of me from such blogs as this one. I’ve been doing a little research on my blog statistics recently, (a self-indulgent marketing activity practiced by most bloggers,) and I noticed some trends in the kinds of queries people are entering into search engines. To be more helpful to my visitors, and to potentially encourage them to read more of the crass, puerile, sardonic, pseudo-intellectual humor I’ve written on this site, I thought I might invest a few moments to address some of your interests.
Here are some of the top search queries and my helpful responses.
Who cares? Republican hero George W. Bush smoked the tweeds, Obama smoked, Clinton tried to smoke, but his greens were too harsh to inhale — but still he tried! He tried very hard! Are we seriously spending time with this? Do we really think that Phelps did something wrong? He smoked some grass. The same grass the Rastafarians say Jah Almighty put upon this earth to smoke. This was the same Jah who put those Bob Marley and Grateful Dead blacklight posters on your parents’ wall. Jah wanted us to smoke the shit out of them weeds, and so we did. What the fuck did Phelps do that was so out of the ordinary, anthropologically?
If your parents smoked grass, and if you smoked grass, you have no legitimate complaint against this Michael Phelps kid. Grass appears to be a totally natural part of our culture. If it was good enough for your mother in the 60s, and probably your grandmother in the 80s, then it should be good enough for your 2008 national sports hero. Although contemporary opponents argue that the pot of the 60s wasn’t NEARLY as strong as the pot of the 21st century — but what exactly does that mean? If the pot of today is 20x more powerful as the pot of the 60s, does that mean that you would get 20x more stoned? Or does it mean that you are smoking 1/20 as much as you used to get achieve the equivalent amount of stonedation?
Athletes shouldn’t be our role models. I don’t want jocks teaching children about drugs, sex, alcohol and morality. The only thing I want a jock to teach a child is how to avoid crotch rot and athlete’s foot. But many of my peers across the nation disagree with me and think that athletes make for the best babysitters. Scientists would be a better choice for role models than athletes. And even scientists aren’t the best choice. Kids should have PARENTS as role models, because even SCIENTISTS are smoking weed. And if your scientists are smoking weed, you should probably ask them what’s so special about it, because maybe they’d have a scientific answer involving anthropology. Bruce Parry from the TV program “Going Tribal” knows what I’m talking about. He not only helps white-skinned people understand isolated, indigenous cultures, but he also convinces these cultures that he’s their child, he goes through their coming-of-age rituals and experiments with their psychopharmacopoeia. But for you to be so incredulous when a 20-something year-old America kid smokes pot to the extent that you plan to eviscerate him and strip him of the insane number of Olympic medals he’s achieved, is absolutely ridiculous. Mixed-martial-arts fighter Nick Diaz had to forfeit his loss to Takanori Gomi for his use of marijuana. I’m sorry, but marijuana can’t be considered a performance-enhancing drug unless you’re an artist, funk musician or comedian.
Employers in America have to make a reasonable accommodation for a person’s religious beliefs, no matter how ridiculous. So you could believe in ghosts and angels and employers have to give you some time to worship your ghosts and angels. But as soon as you start smoking pot and taking peyote as sacrament, these sacred rules do not apply, you fucking drug addict.
When I’ve been dating a girl for a while and it develops that she’s been smoking rock cocaine I think that maybe I would really have to think about parting ways with her.
I’d think about it, but it’s tough, you know?
It’s tough when someone you love starts smoking on the base pipe. The base pipe is the worst pipe. Lead pipe is pretty bad pipe, but base pipe is worst pipe.
The Crack Rock ain’t no joke and so I’d probably want to sit her down and talk to her about her problem. I promised my Drug Abuse Resistance Education officer I would at least do that.
Boy, isn’t it a bitch the way the world works? It’s just not fair.
You finally meet someone who’ll put up with you for more than an hour… And she’s gentle and she’s fun to drink lager with and her sweat tastes like honey… and her flatulence smells like vanilla and she knows how to balance a checkbook.
And by the way, she smokes the rock cocaine drugs.
I’d really consider talking to her about maybe stopping or else we might have to part ways.
“I don’t understand why are you breaking up with me?”
“I think it is important to re-evaluate what’s going on between you and me.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“It has come to my attention that you’re doing something that I’m not really cool with.”
“What did I do? What am I doing that you’re not cool with?”
“[sigh. . .] I saw you doing something that is against the law.”
“What? Will you please tell me? What am I doing?”
“I saw you smoke the rock.”
“Whattayathink I’m talking about? Pop Rocks? You’re smoking the rock!!”
“The goddamn crack cocaine rock! The Base Rock! You ever heard people say, ‘What’s the matter with you? Are you smoking the rock?’ Well, they’re talking about you!! People who smoke the rocks of crack cocaine!
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t understand – you’re high on the cocaine rocks!”
“Okay, look, in the interest of advancing this dialogue, I will admit to smoking the rocks. But you do illegal things too!”
“Speeding. Jaywalking. You cheated on your taxes. . .”
“What the fuck are you — YES! Okay, but I’m not on The Rocks! I’m not freebasing the rock cocaine. Right? The government would prefer that I was fucking around a little bit on my taxes than smoking coca drugs. And jaywalking? Jaywalking doesn’t kill babies! Look, you violated a basic trust mechanism. You violated it. We have an agreement — it’s not a WRITTEN agreement, but it’s an implied social contract that there will be no lying, no cheating, no stealing, hurting or killing… and, you DON’T SMOKE COCAINE!”
“When did you become such a fucking square? You smoked pot for fifteen years.”
“Pot and cocaine are two COMPLETELY different beasts. Fifteen years of pot doesn’t even approach a single four-day binge on The Pipe. Does it? In fifteen years of smoking pot I never once broke into someone’s home in order to feed my habit.”
“It was a garage.”
“I didn’t break into a house, I broke into a garage.”
“What the fuck — That’s beside the point. Are you really arguing that there’s a material difference between breaking into a house to steal shit so you can sell it and get high, and breaking into a house?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“It’s the same fucking thing! Look, I’m just saying that by dating you I’d be initiating the beginning of my own downward spiral. Believe me, I wish I could change the rules, but my hands are tied here. Effective immediately this relationship is in dissolution.”
Yeah, if my old lady was sucking that glass dick, believe me, buddy, I’d totally have to take a stand, do the healthy thing and sever the cord, you know?
But goddammit… she knows how to balance a checkbook.