8/28/2007

Don't Laugh At Her!



Lauren Caitlin Upton
Miss Teen South Carolina


I know what you're all thinking: "Oh, look at the dumb blonde making a fool of herself! Har de har har!" I, for one, happen to agree with young Lauren. And not just because I want to get inside her evening gown. Which I do.

You see, when I was a young Dyckerson growing up in da hood, we didn't have maps. If we wanted to see the United States of Africa, we had to get in a boat and fly there. Sure, we could have just gone to a library and such, but who can find anything in those places? All the books are numbered with these diddly decimal things that nobody understands. I mean, how am I supposed to know geometry if I can't find a map in the first place??! It's a conundrumstick!

Like the beautiful and talented Miss Upton, I personally believe that we as a nation need to use our maps to educate the people of Asia and Iraq so that we Americans can be smarter. Maps are very important and colorful, like blue for the water and brown for the dirt and such. I know there is a Google map on the computer webs, but some people out there can't afford to do so. We need to educate these people and get them jobs in the Iraq.

I think some people don't like maps because they don't know how to fold them. This can be very hard, especially if it is one of those round maps shaped like a ball. I don't like the ball maps because you have to walk around to the other side to see the countries in the back. I once saw a map that had bumps on it. It was funny because the bumps were exactly where the mountains would be. I wonder if they did that on purpose and such.

In conclusion, I would like to say that I personally believe the people of Africa should be taught geology in school so that we Americans know where to find them. Only then will be all be free to share our maps with the world.

Thank you.

8/25/2007

Bowling With Pinheads

Let me preface this post by saying that I hate bowling. Why, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with inserting my precious feet in a pair of red and white rental shoes that have been previously worn by God knows how many slack jawed rednecks. Or maybe it has something to do with inserting my delicate little fingers in three dark, germ-filled holes, contorting my back into a painful and awkward position, and throwing an oily 16-pound ball down a wooden floor in hopes of knocking down ten pin-like objects.

Now that you know my official stance on bowling, you can imagine my thrill when I found out the company I work for was sponsoring a team outing to the local bowling alley. It's their little way of saying, "We appreciate the extra work you've been putting in, but we don't want to give you any actual money or time off." And because the big event was scheduled during company hours, I had no way of getting out of it.

My team was composed of three blithering idiots (myself excluded, of course). Let's take a moment and meet this all-star lineup:

Salsa Boy - This guy is a class-A douchebag and attention whore. In addition to his passion for Mexican condiments, turns out he's also a hardcore bowler. The day of the outing, Salsa Boy brought his custom-made titanium bowling ball and tote bag into the office and paraded them front of everybody. He was making such an ass of himself, I decided to have a little fun at his expense...so during lunch, I paid a visit to the Piggly Wiggly* across the street. Upon my return, I waited for Salsa Boy to leave his cube for a moment, and then I replaced his prized bowling ball with a delicious cantaloupe. The idiot didn't even realize it until we got to the bowling alley, and let's just say he was not a happy camper.

Smelly Indian Chick - You know the type. Every office has at least one, but if you're in IT, you're bound to have at least three or four. She's really petite and shy, and judging from her pungent aroma, she's not much into personal hygiene. Turns out Indian Chick had never bowled before, which took me a bit by surprise. Seems to me with all the time she saved by not showering, she would have had a chance to bowl a game or two.

Black Guy - He was actually the smartest member of the team. He faked a lower back injury to get out of playing. (You know those colored types - they always find a way to get out of doing things.) Anyway, Black Guy spent the entire afternoon swilling beer and eating greasy onion rings. Fucking bastard, I wish I had thought of that.


We all arrived at the joint at 3pm Friday afternoon. Holy shit, things have changed the last time I set foot in a bowling alley. This place looked like a fucking 70s dance club! Dim lighting, a disco ball, and multicolored chasing lights running between each lane. I think Indian Chick had a seizure, but it was too dark to tell. I was waiting for Vinnie Barbarino to come out in a white suit and juggle bowling pins. Wasting no time, we walked over to the counter to sign in.

"Give us a lane, bitch!" I told the flunkie. They like it when you're firm.

"Umm...ok, lane 13," he replied. "What size shoe?"

"Gimme a 24, you jerkoff. Where's my goddamn scorecard?" I asked.

"There are no scorecards. It's all computerized."

"Computerized??! What the bloody fuck??! I'm a data administrator, I came here to GET AWAY from computers! I want one of them overhead projector deals where I can make naughty shadow puppets on the screen! YOU STUPID SACK OF SHIT!"

I was starting to get annoyed, so I decided to take a sedative before I said something I might regret. We all headed for our lane, took a moment to smell each other's rental footwear, and grabbed our balls.

Salsa Boy decided to show us how it was done. He whipped out his titanium cantaloupe, took three steps forward, and chucked that fucker all the way down the alley...and INTO THE GUTTER. He shook his wrist and muttered something about hurting it. Please. This idiot couldn't hit a bowling pin if it was tethered to his cock.

"Hey Kingpin, you want us to put the bumpers up??" I asked with a chortle. He just grunted and sat down next to his ball.

Next up was the clueless Indian Chick. She was bowling with a 6-pound kiddie ball with a picture of Scrappy Doo on the side of it. "I do not know what to do...I require assistance please," she said in a language that sounded sort of like English.

"JUST THROW THE FUCKING BALL, POCAHONTAS! I WANNA GET OUT OF THIS FILTHY SHIT HOLE!" I explained to her calmly. As you can see, the sedative was beginning to kick in.

So she fondled her ball for a moment, and then with both hands, she swung it between her legs and thrust it down the lane. Pathetic. So pathetic, in fact, that the bitch got a fucking STRIKE! I shit you not, she knocked down EVERY GODDAMN PIN on her first roll. "Did I do goodly?" she asked.

Salsa Boy was livid. You could almost see the fumes rising from his head and enveloping the disco ball suspended from the ceiling above. I tried like hell to keep from laughing my ass off. Black Guy almost choked on an onion ring.

I was up next. I tried to aim for the center, but it was so fucking dark in there, I could barely see the damn pins. I had to look at the computer to see if I knocked down anything. Turns out I got a 7-10 split. I hadn't seen a split that wide since my night with Ms. Babble in the back seat of the DyckMobile. And much like that fateful night, my attempt to finish the job was unsuccessful.

So we continued this juvenile activity for another two hours. Indian Chick got another strike...then a spare...then another spare...then another strike...and so on and so on. I swear that little bitch must've been on the juice. Salsa Boy gave up after the 5th frame and spent the rest of the time playing Pac Man in the game room. Black Guy ate too many onion rings and ended up with a case of the squirts. I didn't clear a single frame in the whole fucking game. Did I mention how much I hate bowling??

Next month I hope we try something more relaxing. Like skydiving.



* The Piggly Wiggly across the street is actually a Wal-Mart, but Piggly Wiggly sounds funnier.

8/21/2007

Make a Run for the Border

The next person who utilizes the phrase "That's how I roll" in my presence will have their tongue ripped out by yours truly. Following the tonguectomy, I will then remove that person's eyeballs with a melonballer and play marbles with them on the floor of a filthy Exxon men's room. I will then disembowel that person and shove his or her entrails inside a meat grinder, which I will then feed to a snake. Once the person has been completely disemboweled, I shall remove the bones and dissolve them in acid. I will then pour the acid/bone mixture into a toilet, consume three (3) Taco Bell beef & bean burritos, and defecate into said toilet until my rectum is sufficiently emptied. The remaining skin, hair, nails, and muscle tissue will be sealed in a crate, shipped to the Middle East, and blown up via car bomb by Iraqi terrorists.

Furthermore, the next person who utilizes the phrase "At the end of the day" in my vicinity will have the pleasure of being decapitated with a plastic butter knife. I will then take the severed head, bore three holes in the skullcap, and use it to bowl three games at my local AMF Bowling Center. Once I am finished bowling with the severed head, I will deposit it in a trash receptacle along with five empty beer bottles and a half-eaten plate of bowling alley nachos. I shall then return to the site of the corpse, carefully remove the limbs with a circular saw, and drive them to a coal mine in Utah. I shall then place the limbs deep inside the mine, exit the mine, and set off a series of explosive devices to trigger a cave-in. After the limbs are trapped and buried, I will rent an asphalt mixer, toss the remaining torso inside, and pave my driveway with it.

Lastly, the next person who utilizes the phrase "You don't want to go there" in my general area will be blown to smithereens by a series of fully functioning Civil War cannons. I shall then collect the pieces, reassemble them with J. B. Weld, and set them ablaze in my back yard. Meanwhile, I will record the inferno on my video camera, remove the cassette, and toss it on the fire as well. Once the ashes have cooled, I will vacuum them up with my Hoover Deluxe, pour them into a large pitcher of stale urine, and place it on a shelf in my freezer. Once the urine and ashes have frozen, I will put the pitcher on my kitchen counter and smash it repeatedly with a ball peen hammer. I will then place the ball peen hammer into his or her grandmother's vagina and rape her with it. If his or her grandmother happens to be deceased, I will hire two Mexicans to dig up her corpse, remove the maggots, and rape her with a leaf blower.

I think I've made my point.

8/18/2007

Cock - A - Dyckie - Doo

AP (Dyckersonville) - BREAKING NEWS. The blogging community has been rocked by allegations that Mightonimous "Mighty" Dyckerson has been involved in the illegal sport of cockfighting. According to an indictment handed down today by whoever it is that hands down indictments, Mr. Dyckerson not only funded, but also participated in the activity on his sprawling .5-acre townhome in the suburbs of Dyckersonville. It is unclear how these charges will affect Mr. Dyckerson's blogging career if found guilty, but with witnesses coming out of the woodwork, his future looks grim.

"As a hor, I've seen plenty of cocks in my time, but none as ornery as the ones Dyckerson parades in and out of his house. He has cocks cumming there all hours of the day and night." says next door neighbor Lindy Danielle Lindystar.

"Dyckerson and his filthy cocks disgust me. Big cocks, little cocks, fat cocks, skinny cocks. You name it, he's had them...and the noises coming from his house are horrendous," says former Hooters waitress ADW.

"I don't know about the fighting, but Dyckerson has the biggest cock I have ever seen," says Christie McFatty, estranged wife of missing Portland coal miner J.J. McFatty.

"One of Dyckerson's prize cocks impregnated me. I think it was a black cock, but I was too drunk to remember," says happy homemaker and former blogger Ms. Babble.

In addition to the cockfighting charges, Mighty Dyckerson may face additional animal cruelty charges. Several witnesses have come forward with damning testimonies.

"I watched Dyckerson beat his cock every night. He would beat that poor thing for hours at a time. I offered to help him once, but his cock just spit upon my ample bosom," says longtime love interest Jenny!

"I never saw him beat his cock, but he did spank his monkey quite often. Once he even flogged his dolphin," says RevRee, his live-in maid.

Attorneys for Mighty Dyckerson have released the following statement:

"Our client Mr. Dyckerson comes from a long line of cock lovers and is understandably distraught by these heinous charges. Mr. Dyckerson maintains his innocence, and is therefore unwilling to negotiate a plea agreement with prosecutors. Mr. Dyckerson is looking forward to clearing his good name in the courtroom."

Finally, Mighty Dyckerson has the following personal statement to the witnesses:

"Thanks a lot, you RAT FINK BITCHES! Make sure you lock your doors tonight, 'cause me and my cocks will be waiting for you! FUCK YOU ALL!!!"

Dyckerson is free on a $100,000 bond and is scheduled to appear in court in October 2009. If convicted of all charges, he could face up to 300 years in a federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison.

8/15/2007

"Extracurricular Activities"

Check out this shit from the local news:


A former area cheerleading coach has been charged with taking indecent liberties with a minor. Tammie Fleming, 37, was arrested last Wednesday.
Powhatan authorities say she worked at Dominion Cheer and Tumble on Sommerville Court in Midlothian as a cheerleading coach when she had an intimate relationship with a 17-year old student. Authorities say the relationship between Fleming and the boy had been ongoing for several months. A parent told us the gym owners weren't ready to talk and wanted to first consult an attorney. Fleming is free on bond after an appearance in Powhatan Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court last week. She'll be back before a judge next month.


I love stories like this. A 17-year-old punk, scoring with a hot 37-year-old CHEERLEADING COACH! Sounds like there was some "cheering and tumbling" going on in the back room after class, if you know what I'm saying!! But really, what did poor Tammie do that was so wrong? Give some pimply faced dork the greatest sex of his adolescent - probably his ENTIRE - life??! What, you don't believe me?? Take a look at this MILF!!!



Are you fucking KIDDING ME?? That's the hottest mug shot I have ever seen in my life, and that's coming from a guy who has seen a lot of mug shots. Even posed for a few. If I were that kid, I'd give her something to cheer about! I'd shake her pompoms and make her do the splits!!

Seriously, who is the victim here? Do you honestly think that 17-year-old is traumatized by this? Do you think he's laying in bed curled up in the fetal position, sucking his thumb and crying his eyes out?? HELL NO! This guy is a goddamn HERO!!! And smart too...geez, he's a GENIUS!!! Do you honestly think he was interested in taking CHEERLEADING LESSONS??! BULLSHIT!!!!! This guy was a man with a plan...to score HOT, SWEATY SEX and perhaps learn a thing or two from a woman with some fucking EXPERIENCE IN THE SACK!!! He'll be telling his grandchildren stories about this. Hell, if it were me, I'd be telling EVERYBODY about it!!! Here, look at her picture again:




Where the fuck do these hot bitches come from??! When I was in school, all my teachers were FAT, UGLY, and OLD. And the only female gym teacher I had was a RAGING BULL DYKE. One more time:



Good God almighty, I would bang this chick until my dick fell off! Then I'd reattach it with some duct tape and bang her some more!!! What do you think they did exactly? I bet she likes it rough. I'm guessing she tied him up, then put on some dance music and performed for him in her old high school cheerleader outfit. Or maybe he put on a dog collar and ate whipped cream off her POON. The world may never know.

I don't know how she got busted, but I'd bet Ms. Babble's children the boy didn't turn her in. More likely he made copies of their sex tape for all of his new friends, and one of them uploaded it to YouSplooge. Regardless, if there is ANY JUSTICE IN THIS WORLD, this woman will get off. (Actually, "getting off" is what got her in trouble to begin with. HA HA.) If anyone should be charged, it should be the DUMBASS HUSBAND for not keeping his trophy wife sexually satisfied. Rest assured if Tammie was my wife, she'd never leave the bed!!!

Of course if she does end up doing time for this, I will be there to pay her conjugal visits...FIVE TIMES A DAY. And if she needs a place to stay, Mighty Dyckerson's Halfway Whorehouse will be open for business!! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to bake a cake with a file in it...


8/12/2007

Merv Griffin's Final Jeopardy!

I was never a big fan of Merv. There, I said it. I know it's generally considered in bad taste to say something mean about someone right after they've croaked - even if they were a complete SHIT BISCUIT - but Dyckerson has never been known to follow the rules of good taste. For example, see May 2006 post entitled Screw the Handicrapped.

But let's get back to why I hate Merv Griffin. He always struck me as a BLOATED, NO-TALENT BAG OF GAS. In all the footage I have ever seen of him, he was always wearing something silk, with a martini in one hand and a butt in the other. Basically a fat Hugh Hefner, without all the whores. I don't think the man ever worked an honest day in his life. He certainly never broke a sweat. Although I have to hand it to him. He was incredibly average, yet he somehow managed to parlay that into millions of dollars. That is my dream, and I shall achieve it someday if I ever get my invention patented. It's a combination toilet and crepe maker - I call it "The Creper."

There I go getting sidetracked again. Back to Merv. Remember the talk show he used to have? Neither do I. It was syndicated, but I don't think it ever aired in my market. In fact, I don't know ANYBODY who lives in a city that carried the Merv Griffin Show. Sometimes I wonder if the fucking show actually aired at all. Maybe Merv just interviewed celebrities in his house, like that episode of "Seinfeld" where Kramer buys the old Merv Griffin set and starts calling everybody niggers. I can't imagine the torture it must have been to be interviewed by that SCHMOOZING OLD WINDBAG. I've had conversations with BAGS OF RICE that were more interesting.

Then there was Merv the game show creator. In case you didn't know, Merv was the genius behind "Wheel of Fortune" and "Jeopardy," two of the most UNORIGINAL half-hours of television ever conceived. "Wheel of Fortune" is fucking HANGMAN, people! And "Jeopardy" is only the FIVE THOUSANDTH game show to ever use the Q-&-A format. The whole "answer in the form of a question" thing was just a GODDAMN GIMMICK to set it apart from the rest. And that part wasn't even Merv's idea! IT WAS HIS WIFE'S!! Yet somehow Merv Griffin is lauded as a game show pioneer.

While Merv wasn't stealing game show ideas, he liked to play piano. Good for him. As much FREE TIME as that bastard had for the last 25 years, he should have been a virtuoso at EVERY MUSICAL INSTRUMENT EVER INVENTED. Did you know old Merv wrote the "Jeopardy" theme? What a masterpiece. Three notes repeated over and over and over again. In spite of his enormous wealth, the old skinflint couldn't shell out a few bucks for a professional songwriter. I was watching a clip today where he said he wrote the "Jeopardy" theme in 15 minutes. He says this with great pride, mind you. Not only could I write that piece of shit in 15 minutes, but I'd still have 14.5 minutes left to look at pictures of Ms. Babble's illegitimate children. Yet again, somehow Merv Griffin is considered to be a musical genius.

Then there was Merv the singer. It's the same deal with his lameass talk show. Can you name a single Merv Griffin album??! OF COURSE YOU CAN'T!!! His only hit was the horrendous novelty song, "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts"...and HE DIDN'T EVEN WRITE IT!!! If an artist recorded a piece of shit like that today, they'd be laughed out of the music industry - and rightfully so.

Finally, there was Merv the real estate typhoon. Apparently he owned a bunch of hotels and shit...because you know, that's what rich people do. They buy property. It's an easy investment, and requires virtually no knowledge or talent. You pay agents to conduct the transaction, and you hire goons to manage the property. Then you wait for the checks to come in. Obviously not something working stiffs like us can do, but for someone who wipes his ass with portraits of Ben Franklin, it's all in a day's work.

In spite of all that, I'm sorry the old guy croaked. In honor of Merv, I'm going over to Jenny's house and having her examine my prostate. Time to break out the rubber glove, baby!! Daddy's coming home!!!

8/10/2007

Giving Back

It's no secret that Mighty Dyckerson is a lover of all children. My numerous appearances on Dateline NBC should be proof enough of that. But seriously, I think it's time I gave something back to the community that has given me so much. That's why next weekend, I am hosting the First Annual MIGHTY DYCKERSON BACK-TO-SCHOOL SHOPPING SPREE! Yep, I'm going to rent a U-Haul truck, drive it into a shitty neighborhood, fill it up with poor kids, and take them shopping for FREE SCHOOL SUPPLIES! Yes, I know...I'm a terrific guy. But hey, it's the least I can do. Especially since it's not going to cost me a dime. Allow me to explain.

Our first stop will be my company's office. I'll just slip the kids in through the back door and let them steal all the office supplies they can carry. Legal pads, pens, Post-It notes, mouse pads, computers, desks, fax machines - you name it, they got it! And the kids will be learning valuable pilfering skills that they can take back with them to the hood!!!

Once the kids have all the standard school supplies, we'll be able to concentrate on the other essentials. For example, in order to stay focused in the classroom, children need to be relaxed and alert. That's why I'll be taking all of them to meet SNAKE, my DRUG DEALER! Snake will hook each one of them up with a free sample "grab bag" filled with MARIJUANA, COCAINE, LSD, CRYSTAL METH, and FLINSTONES VITAMINS. Hey, it can't be any worse than the shit schools sell in the cafeteria vending machines!!!

Obviously, it's just as important to look good as it is to feel good...so next I'll be taking the kiddies on a field trip to MIGHTY DYCKERSON'S OLDE SWEAT SHOPPE! Think of it...They'll be able to MAKE THEIR OWN CLOTHING while learning all about the exciting world of business and indstry! Their precious little hands will come within inches of GIANT CUTTING BLADES, FAST-MOVING CONVEYOR BELTS, and SCALDING HOT IRONS! Just like Disneyland, only without the long lines!!!

Next, it's important that kids know how to defend themselves in today's dangerous schools. I wish I could buy each and every one of them a hand gun, but they'll just have to settle for an hour of target practice at the DYCKERSONVILLE FIRING RANGE! Yes, once those little hoodlums squeeze that trigger and hear the deafening sound of gunfire with their unprotected ears, I guarantee they'll be SCARED STRAIGHT! They may be too poor to buy their own guns, but goddammit, they'll sure as hell respect them!!!

A day of firing weapons and making cheap clothing can make you work up a powerful thirst...so I'll be bring all the kids back to my place at Wonderland Ranch for a free round of a concoction I like to call SATAN SODA! You make it with two parts Red Bull and three parts Vodka. Come on, you know kids are going to drink anyway. They may as well do it under the supervision of a RESPONSIBLE ADULT! And don't worry, I won't let them get behind the wheel. That's because we'll be having a SLEEPOVER! I'm sure it will be a THRILLER for all of them. I know it will be for me!!!

Of course, all that booze will set me back a few bucks. That's why I will be accepting monetary donations through my PayPal account effective immediately. So please, give til it hurts. Then give a some more. We all need to do our part to help those poor little bastards!

8/07/2007

Fuck Other Blogs


A couple of weeks ago, I received an unsolicited email from some guy I never heard of. At first, I thought he was trying to sell me V!@GRA to make me P3NI$ get big, but to my disappointment, it turns out he just wanted to interview me for his web site. Normally I don't do interviews unless I'm plugging a movie, but in this case, I made an excretion. I think you're supposed to read the interview and rate the blog, but I'm not sure. I honestly don't give a rat's ass. I'm too pissed off about the RFS Awards.

********************


The RFS (or Really Fucking Stupid) Awards were supposed to be my opportunity to shine. Categories ranged from "Most Likely to Live in a Trailer Park" to "Male Blogger Who Would Look Best in a Speedo." Why I wasn't nominated for the latter category is beyond me. But I did pick up a nomination for "Most Likely to be Arrested." Ladies and germs, I don't think I have to tell you this is the Award I was born to win.

There were a whopping SEVEN NOMINEES in this category (excluding myself). Six of them were complete nobodies and posed no real threat to yours truly. The 7th contender was the jackass known as Mr. Fabulous. I refuse to provide a link to his blog, because he clearly does not need the publicity. He gets a ridiculous amount of traffic considering how fucking ordinary his blog is. I swear to you, this idiot could post a low-resolution photo of his BELLY BUTTON LINT and he'd have 50 comments within two minutes. I don't know where he finds these people, but apparently they have all been BRAINWASHED into thinking he is entertaining. The only award Mr. Fabulous should win is "Most Likely to Cause a Reader to Take His Own Life with a Dull Hacksaw."

Nevertheless, we were both up for the "Most Likely to be Arrested" award...and wouldn't you know it, we TIED. What a SLAP in the FUCKING FACE. Mightonimous Q. Dyckerson doesn't share an award with ANYONE. So Christie, if you're reading this, you better go back and look for hanging chads, because I WILL NOT REST until VICTORY IS MINE and MINE ALONE.

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Last but not least, it's time to do some downsizing. There are several Mighty Blog affiliates who haven't been pulling their weight around here, so I'm taking out the garbage:

First up is Motor City Monk. This asshole updates his blog regularly, but never seems to have the time to comment on mine. I guess he thinks he's too good for The Mighty Blog now. Monk, I hope you get AIDS and die.

Next is Photogguy. I couldn't even tell you how often he updates his blog, because NONE OF HIS POSTS ARE DATED. What the fuck is THAT??! All I know is, he never shows up around here. Photogguy, pack up your lens extender and GET THE HELL OUT.

It's no secret that Randomness and I had a torrid love affair last spring...that is, until she up and DISAPPEARED OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH. Funny, his seems to happen to a lot of the women I seduce. I don't understand it, especially since I wrote her this lovely poem.

Last on the hatchet block is Luck O' The Irish. Much like Randomness, she and I were getting along swimmingly until she decided to go AWOL. What is it with these stupid broads? Don't they know a good thing when it's squirting them in the face??!

Anyway, fuck them all. And let that be a warning to the rest of you. Being a Mighty Blog affiliate isn't a right, it's a PRIVILEGE. And with that privilege comes an OBLIGATION to write QUALITY POSTS in a TIMELY MANNER, and also to LEAVE COMMENTS on the blogs of your FELLOW AFFILIATES. Otherwise, I'll yank your ass outta here faster than Ms. Babble can conceive a child. YOU GOT THAT??!

8/04/2007

Troubled Bridge Over Water


So we had the big Minneapolis Bridge clusterfuck this week. Never a dull moment in the good ol' U S of A, am I right folks?? But seriously, my deepest condolences to the victims and their families. That has to suck major donkey balls. I mean, how unlucky do you have to be to have a bridge collapse from under you while you're driving across it??! You have better odds of winning the state lottery, getting struck by lightning, and winning a different state lottery...ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!

Having said all that, don't you think we're overreacting just a little bit? The bridge collapse was a horrible tragedy. But I think this falls under the category of SHIT HAPPENS. The world is a dangerous place, and we can only do so much to make it safer. Now I'm not saying we shouldn't investigate the accident and print up a nice report and put it in a fancy little three-ring binder and pass it around to the media so they can take pictures of the binder and then get 10-second soundbites from a dipshit P.R. goon and put it on the six o'clock news. But I don't think it's necessary to shut down and reinspect EVERY FUCKING BRIDGE IN THE COUNTRY just because one of them happened to be "structurally deficient." Hell, most of my readers are MENTALLY deficient, but you don't see me killing them off, do you? We're talking about BRIDGES, not cans of tainted pet food. Besides, I'm betting the investigators will probably trace the cause to a pea-sized hole in a hunk of metal that came that way from the factory. That's always the way these things turn out.

Then we have the morons on the news screaming "OUR INFRASTRUCTURE IS CRUMBLING!" Is it me, or does this sound eerily similar to "THE SKY IS FALLING"??? Reporters love to say "infrastructure" because it sounds like they know what they're talking about . Politicians are taking advantage of the incident to press for funding for roads and highways. Then they'll hire private contractors to do the work, who will in turn give the politicians big fat kickbacks. You can't win.

So what's the magic solution? There is no magic solution. Life is short. Don't waste it sitting in gridlock while construction crews spend the next 50 years trying to rebuild our interstate system because we have a few potholes. Instead, TAKE A FUCKING CHANCE every once in a while, you damn pansies. We're all gonna die sometime. Except me. I'm having my scrotum cryogenically frozen.