Getting A Job

So you've finally decided to get off your titanically proportioned ass and become a useful, functioning member of society. Good for you! Fortunately for you, I'm here to walk you through the monumental task of acquiring gainful employment so that you can afford your daily injections of nacho cheese and liquified lard. I have once again compiled a list of helpful tips that, when applied, will ensure success in the world of applying for jobs and going through interviews. Now stop scratching your swollen blue ball sack and sniffing your fingers and pay attention.

          1. Picking your field

Before you can begin doing anything, the very first step is to figure out what you are qualified to do that someone would be willing to pay you for. What are you good at? Knowing you, you're probably only good at picking out the various bacterial cultures living underneath your toe nails or slamming your head against a concrete wall until a thought forms out of the jumbled chaos in your brain or something to that effect. However, aside from being a sideshow attraction, those particular talents aren't in high demand in today's high-paced world, so we'll have to just assume that for whatever reason you know how to do something other than stare blankly at a dead possum hoping that it turns into a three-tier cheese cake and move on. Next you will have to pick up a classifieds section or find an on-line job classifieds site and apply, apply, apply. Remember, there are about 40+ people applying for every position and you have to stand out somehow. I suggest lying and mentioning that you are not a completely useless bottom feeder of a dick breathed cocksucker in your cover letter.

2. Hygiene and appearance

Having covered hygiene in several previous posts, I will forgo this part and focus mainly on appearance, assuming you don't need to be told to wash the dried cum off your hands. Appearance is everything when going in for an interview, so it is imperative that you look the part of a competent worker while at the same time exuding confidence and a sense of professionalism. In order to accomplish this, a good shirt and tie in lieu of the usual Cheeto dust covered Stones t-shirt is essential. Make sure to iron that bastard first, as it has no doubt accumulated a million wrinkles having been trapped in your closet for oh so many years. Slacks and shiny shoes are just as important, so peel off that jizz rag you call pants and try and look like a human being for once in your futile existence.

3. The Interview Itself

It is important to note that being early for an interview is generally considered a good thing – if it's scheduled for 3 pm, show up at 2:55, and so on. Be sure to bring a well-written resume as well. If you show up three hours late with nothing but your dick in your hand, the safe bet is that not only will you not get the job, you will most likely be ejected from the building when the interviewer sticks his dick up your ass, points you out a window and cum blasts you onto the sidewalk. So, you've arrived on time and presented your resume. The next thing to probably happen is the interviewer will ask you a series of questions; what your responsibilities were at your last job, how and why you left and what you have to offer their company. Ideally, your responses should be spoken clearly and with minimal mention of your World Of Warcraft character's accomplishments. End with a firm hand shake and go back to your hovel where you can shed your nice, clean clothes and continue being the slovenly pile of fuckwitted shit you've always been.

4. Getting the Job

Congratulations! Thanks to my sagely advice, you have accomplished the task of becoming employed. Your first day of work looms before you and you have never been more excited. With this job, your life starts anew; new opportunities to be had, new friends to be made and new experiences to be experienced. My final word of advice would be to show up to your first day dressed to the nines and smelling of rose water, just to keep up the illusion you presented at the interview. After about three weeks, you can start showing up wearing your regular clothes and smelling of your usual ungodly stench of ass and caramel waffles as your employer will have noticed how much of a fuck up you truly are and will have already began regretting his decision to hire you, so why bother, as you will be getting fired imminently. Now go out there and flip the best god-damn burger you can!

Well, that's it. I've imparted all the wisdom I have on the subject and if you take it to heart, you will have found a job in no time at all, unless of course I've over estimated my readership and instead of useless piles of putrid maggot shit, you are all actually just common piles of amoeba shit – far less prestigious.

If you're planning on getting up my ass about my recent lack of updates, kindly fuck off. I've been suffering from the flu and have been too busy blowing my nose and not giving a fuck. I'm also thinking about scrapping the daily-updated format an going for every 3 days as I find myself blowing my creative load too early dealing with you mountains of fuck.

Tune in next time when I do something so out of this world that you'll piss out your eyes and shit out you dick!

Some inspiring thoughts

You know what? I was going to give you scum piles some advice on avoiding and overcoming sickness, but fuck that, you know why? Because I would much rather get back to the roots of this blog and why I started it in the first place – because all of you are an infection upon this world and need to be told so. So today, instead of an advice update, I will do one discussing the reasons why you're a piece of shit. You may be reading this thinking “lol he's gonna talk about some scumbags who aren't me and I'm gonna get a laugh” to which I say THAT MEANS YOU AS WELL, you ungodly mountain of ass. To quote the good Dr. Cox “yes you, forever you, a thousand times you.”

            The fact that you continue to live and breathe is an insult to the very fabric of existence. I have not the slightest idea why your two idiot parents decided to conceive you, but it is a decision that they and the rest of the world have regretted ever since the fateful day you slithered out of your mother's snatch, much to the astonishment of the delivery room doctor, who has never before in his medical career seen a baby born with such disfigurements as you and live. Your life is worth less than a broke dick dog's post-coitus cock drippings, you gushing geyser of diarrhea and fail.

            If you for one second even begin to believe that there is a chance in the deepest shit encrusted bowels of hell that you will ever, EVER, be allowed to look at a member of the opposite sex and so much as wink at them without the townsfolk stoning you to death with rocks wrapped in dismembered foreskin for said offense, then let me burst that fucking bubble for you real quick. The chances of you passing on your genes to a willing partner are so astronomical that there is a better chance of Martin Lawrence ever making a good movie that he wrote, directed and starred in. You might as well castrate yourself now and spare the world the horror of your offspring on the off chance that you jerk off in a napkin and somewhere down the line a homeless woman takes it out of the garbage and uses is as a tampon, because that is the only way you will ever propagate.

             There is no conceivable reason for your continued existence other than boosting the ratings of mediocre, repetitive television programming which serves only to show the worst in humankind and dumb you imbeciles down even further. Without you we might actually have something educational on network TV, but there is no reason for them to change the programming format because you monkey fucks keep watching to see which generic church singer is going to get a shitty recording contract this year. You see people dancing and singing in front of judges as entertainment, you consider 3 And A Half Men so hilarious that the drug addled mentally challenged dipshit known as Charlie Sheen makes two million per episode, and you view Fox News as a reliable news source. Rid the world of yourself and improve it vastly, you piss brained dick fuckers.

              There are over 6 billion people in this world and the vast majority of them are starving while you ignorant cunts stuff your ape-like faces with only the greasiest meat bi-products known to meat bi-product manufacturers. Imagine a shit mountain representing the world. Now imagine the topmost coiled dog turd; that's you. You are the topmost turd, but hey, at least you're on top, right? I hope every day that a disgruntled postman walks straight into your house at 4 in the afternoon, ties you to a radiator and proceeds to pillage your mother's asshole with a rusty pipe as you watch on with that ubiquitous spoon of lard sticking out of your mouth, you completely unwarranted insult to humanity.

              Fuck you, fuck your family, fuck anyone who looks like you, fuck anybody who likes you, fuck your dog, fuck your couch, fuck your hair, fuck that stupid little thing you do (you know the one), fuck your job, fuck your friends, fuck your shoes, fuck your preferred mode of transportation, fuck your dumb ass dentist, fuck your favorite musician, fuck your door mat, and finally and most of all, fuck your fucking face you fat fucking fucktarded fuckhole. You are the sole reason why this world should be destroyed by a million angry ferrets hell-bent on reclaiming that which was once theirs.

That was nice. I think I'll do it again sometime. Check back tomorrow, when I write a buncha stuff about a buncha other stuff!

Some ways you could die

Hey fuckbrains and welcome once again to the blog where all of your questions to life's mysteries get as firm and decisive an answer as the cock lodged up your mother's gaping asshole. Today we will discuss death and the ways in which you assorted bunch of maggot witted fuck tools are likely to meet it. Death is serious business, so I will approach the subject in my usual manner – irreverent and withholding any and all fucks. That having been said, let me further add that I don't expect you to seriously reflect on your own mortality after reading this, as you are all nothing more than barely sentient bushels of monkey dicks hung out to dry on a humid summer's day. Moving on.

The first way in which you will likely meet your inevitable demise that comes to mind is one that I hope actually happens every single last one of you bloated cum sponges: having your dick hole fucked by a ravenous, syphilitic razorback gorilla until it grows bored and rips your face off with its teeth and takes an acidic diarrhea shit on the exposed flesh as you cry and piss yourself in agony. You will eventually die of syphilis.

Another rather likely scenario is you tripping and falling into a wood chipper on your way to a Gaga concert and having it jam when you're only halfway through. Oh how you'll shriek and beg for the sweet release of death when you see the bottom half of that stubby little thing you call a body come shooting out of the other side of the machine, shredded beyond any and all recognition. After a short time of torturous pain and regretful reminiscence you will bleed out and slump over the edge of the receiver, at which point the contraption will burp, start up once more and pass the rest of you through onto the nearest lawn. I think I covered this scenario in the first post.

I don't think anyone has ever died of sheer stupidity, but my bet stands firm that you'll be the first. You will, at some point, actually become to god damned brain dead that every cell in your body will audibly say “fuck this” and shut down out of the extraordinary shame that must come from housing and supporting your brain, you extremely late term abortion. How you don't drown in your own saliva is beyond my comprehension.

Dying on the toilet is perhaps the closest you will ever come to a dignified death. I can see it now: you sitting there, passing what could probably be seen by Guinness as the world's least attractive shit, when suddenly your heart seizes up and you fall forward, spraying your rancid fecal matter comprised of onion rings and cheese all over your bathroom, and as the final wet squeak evacuates your dying body your entire family rushes into the room and laughs their asses off at you. This is the best you can hope for.

Car crashes, county fair ride accidents, fire works related deaths – all likely for the majority of you imbeciles. Infact, the next time you see something that might look like fun, you know like showing a lit candle up your ass, do the world a favor and do it. Your very existence on this planet is an insult to sentient being everywhere. I hope to never have to meet or interact with you in any imaginable way. Fuck you and anybody who likes you.

Yes I know I haven't posted in two days, and there is good reason for that, the reason being that I simply do not give a fuck. You should feel privileged that I've decided to share my words with you at all instead of keeping it all to myself and having you live your life like the miserable piece of fetid shit that you are and are destined to forever be.

Tune in tomorrow when I tell you how to overcome sickness!

Who I Am And Why You Should Care

Good afternoon you motherless brain dead fuckwits, and welcome to another edition of Loki Cares, the blog where you go for your daily affirmation of your own worthlessness to humanity and of your unending, record shattering stupidity the extent of which can only be described as inspirational. I have decided to take a short break from pounding the fact that you'll amount to just about fuck all into your allegedly functioning brain and instead talk about myself for a while. As you are no doubt wondering as the latest drool trail dribbles down your chin why I've seen fit to do this, I will answer in the simplest manner your Lilliputian mind will comprehend: I'm an ego driven narcissist bent only on extending my already enormous mental penis to lengths which would make Lance Armstrong give up a quarter of the way into riding the trail that it extends along the side of. If you see any grammatical errors in that last sentence, fuck you and fuck your extended and immediate family you inbred mongrel of a cum stain on the coffee table of your lineage that is your mother's ass. I don't have to make sense, I'm perfect.

It all started when I was born on a bright August morning to the sound of birds heralding my delivery into this cultural sinkhole of a world bursting at the seams with socially inept fucktards and their mentally challenged offspring, littering the planet with each passing generation with progressively worse children. Upon my arrival into the nursery, I noticed that I was absolutely surrounded by drooling and constantly defecating morons who didn't even have the wherewithal to give me a light. I got up and walked out, having decided to never interact with such unpleasantness again, not knowing at the time that for the rest of my life I would never quite escape that nursery, you bunch of barely functioning and seldom coherent piles of monkey dicks.

By the time I was five, I had mastered seventeen languages (two of them not of this Earth) and nineteen forms of martial arts including the deadly art of Kung-Pung-Fuck-You while my so-called peers continued to shit their pants as if it were a hobby. By the time I was nine, I had beaten several professional fighters to a pulp in back-alley cage fights held by unscrupulous Singaporeans and lost my virginity to fourteen Swedish super models at once, so...yay me! My best friend at the time was the only being that I could at all relate to, an extraterrestrial entity composed entirely of knowledge and energy whom I called Ted. Oh the fun we had debating the finer points of quantum mechanics as pertaining to solar gravity fields! Then it turned out Ted was a pedophile and I had to launch him into the Phantom Zone via a single well-placed punch. Y'know, kind of like Superman only cooler, because this was me doing it.

Since the age of ten, my family and I have always celebrated my birthday with a 100 – 1 odds game of three way speed chess between Gary Kasparov, Deep Blue and myself. If you don't know what I'm talking about, please do the world a favor and choke yourself with razor wire until that useless protrusion you call a head pops off of your disgusting, bulbous body. We always had fun, but neither Gary nor Blue take defeat very well and it always ended in a knife fight. Which reminds me; sorry about those stitches back in '01, Gary! We don't get together all that much any more but that's alright, I was never that fond of such meager intellectual masturbation as chess. I much prefer waging intergalactic wars in the far-off reaches of space with the influence of my mind upon extraterrestrial men of power alone.

It's been kind of uneventful since I turned twenty aside from the standard free-for-all female volleyball team fuck fest and the occasional globe circumnavigation. I've been busying myself with a few pet projects, such as sustaining a remote Amazonian tribe through unseen influence. They were discovered by NatGeo in '08, the curious bastards ( http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/05/080530-uncontacted-tribes-photo.html ) and now its only a matter of time before they engineer war and Playstation and all my effort will have been for naught. If you're wondering, I make money by having foreign relations ministers from all around the world send me parcels of good will containing solid bricks of gold which I melt down and make into jaunty hats, and diamonds which I fence and live off the income.

I have climbed the highest mountain, swam the deepest depths, groped the biggest boobie. All these things have I done and more and yet...I suffer. For you see, despite my many learned proficiencies and inherent abilities, I am stuck to this world like flies to an Ethiopian, as it is home after all. I had a small window of opportunity at one time to leave this wretched hive of mental deficiency and insufficient aesthetic quality via alien mothership, but decided that instead of leaving this planet and its “civilization” to rot I would be better served in teaching it to be more like myself and perfect a utopia in which I would rule with a benevolent fist. So I started this blog. The end.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it, you incredibly unnecessary combination of evolutionary mistakes and regretful nights in the back of a '72 Dodge. Through this blog I hope to make the world a better, happier place inhabited by humans of adequate intellect and acceptable body fat percentage. I know this effort may be all in vain, as man is a species that is both frightened and threatened by any change to their daily routine of sleep-cheese-sleep, but I am benevolent enough of a being that I'm willing to sacrifice my precious time and resources if it means having just one of you sewage treatment plants born to fuck with my life raise their IQ by two or more points.

Check back tomorrow, when I tell you how you're going to die! Ooh what fun we shall have!

Dating Tips: Part Two - For Women

If for possess a vagina and for some unfathomable reason can't seem to find somebody to buy you undeserved drinks and dinner to stuff your cellulite laden ass, I honestly can't help you. If there is female genitalia between your legs and not one single male has yet approached you for at the very least a casual encounter, then there is something wrong with you, not him, you shambling mass of year old yeast infection. What I can do for you, however, is tell you whats wrong with you, and if any of those reasons apply to you then you need to seriously re-evaluate your choices in life.

I realize that being female you aren't exactly used to anyone pointing out your flaws and treating you as anything less than a fairy tale fuck princess that shoots joy and universal happiness out her asshole, but I think its time someone told you exactly why you can't get a date and who better to do it than a superior being such as myself. The following being for your own good, I suggest that instead of closing the browser in a fit of indignation as you are about to do, you keep reading and maybe god forbid learn enough to have someone want to accost your stalagmite encrusted, cavern-like twat without the aide of several gallons of 180 proof alcohol. Let's get started, shall we?

First and foremost, you have to have consistency in what kind of man you want. For example, you can't have a man who is funny, adventurous, happy and stable. That man does not exist. Happy people are almost %100 of the time not funny and adventurous people, by definition, aren't stable. You would know that if your brain mass hadn't been replaced with re-runs of the Tyra Banks Show and Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Pick a compatible combination of two traits you want in a man and stick with it. For example: Funny and miserable, stable and boring, or adventurous and prone to life threatening situations. Despite what miss Tyra says, you can't have it all and you're just going to have to accept it.

With the opening issue out of the way, let us now focus on you. When you uncross your legs, do you immediately hear children crying, pigs being slaughtered and men gnashing their teeth? Then its time for vaginal hygiene, you sorry excuse for a biological being. How is it that you can't smell your own rancid, smoking cum receptacle when any time you go swimming at the beach you cause an environmental disaster? Luckily for you, there are products invented just for you. Before going outside, be sure to first put on perfume, deodorant, and having squeezed three tubes of Vagisil inside your corpulent, corrupted cunt, enjoy your night out on the town, you poor, delusional creature.

Do you consistently look like you've just woken up from a three year hibernation and its making every man in your immediate vicinity run in the opposite direction while clawing at their eyes, desperately trying to rip out the impression your horrible visage has left permanently engraved on their poor retinas? Then quit wondering why your mother constantly calls you telling you that you'll never be married, because I've come up with a solution that should please both you and whatever poor, ignorant sap you will have found to keep on a leash and make to stuff your ass with cakes and pudding.

The first thing you'll need to do is visit your local party supply store and buy up as much clown makeup as you can. Next, paint yourself up as a funny (or sad) clown and go hunting for men with a clown fetish, because that is the only conceivable way that you can ever ensure that you won't die alone, you pile of wet, reeking garbage.

So we got vaginal care and makeup covered. What else, what else, what else..ah! Okay. Intellect. Look, if all your conversations begin and end with what shade of shoe you had bought for you by your previous idiot who couldn't differentiate between a girlfriend and a vapid money hole, then you desperately need to visit your local library and read up on ANYTHING. No man likes to sit across a table and listen to this painted up, clown looking, lotion smelling gargoyle blather on about her insatiable craving for anything but cock. Study up on current events and (preferably) sports, and I can guarantee a second date with whatever man child you've picked up at a bar who upon first approaching you looked like he was about to say something about penis pudding.

That's all I can think of at the moment, you precious, delicate flower of feminine radiance and crusty pubic regions, and even that was too much. If a woman can't simply come up to a random man on the street, say “fuck me” and get her way then she was destined to never see a dick outside of a Chippendales show. Yes, it is that easy. That is my last bit of advice for you. I know you think I'm kidding, but I'm really not. Go outside, right now, find a man you find attractive, and offer him some vag. Chances are that unless he's gay, he'll take you up on your offer, you whore.

Check back tomorrow, when I do something completely different!

Dating Tips: Part One - For Men

So you have decided to at long last to put on a pair of pants and leave you cavernous dwelling cluttered to the ceiling with empty pizza boxes and discarded cans of energy drinks. Good for you, you ill begotten son of a triple cunted Naval yard whore! Unfortunately, after spending fourteen minutes on the dating scene, you have discovered that women would much rather shove a raw top round London broil steak up their twats and walk into a den of rabid, AIDS infested wolverines that to let you for one second think that you have a snow ball's chance in hell of sliding your slimy little pig tail of a cock inside them. Well, before you resort to becoming the most prolific rapist in western history, relax and keep on reading, because I have compiled several helpful tips you can put into action in order to spread your venomous seed among the populace. I would much, much rather you didn't infect the planet with little miniature yous and ensure the decline of civilization as we know it, but I did make a commitment to help you poor sniveling shits through this blog and I, being an upstanding member of society unlike you miserable overgrown fucks, will deliver on my commitment.

The first question you must ask yourself is “Would I fuck me?” If the answer to that is yes, then stop reading and go fuck yourself, preferably with a cactus, because this blog isn't for you. Now, back to the matter of this miserably lonely and no doubt suicidal sorry excuse for a piece of fossilized dino shit. If you are still reading, then the answer to the above question was an unqualified no and you, having your ego and confidence expertly crushed by your own opinion of yourself, are now seriously considering making love to a weather worn wood chipper in the public square at noon. Once again, I beseech you to relax a moment. Your salvation is coming in the form of a handy list that you can print out and carry around with you whenever you see it fit to venture out into the sunlight, you round tub of sickly pale flesh and cadaverous odor. 

1. Confidence. Saying that confidence gets a woman's panties wet is like saying the ocean is damp. What does that mean for you? It means that no matter how much you may look up to Quasimodo in hopes of one day to look half as good as he does, if you wear that hump with style and confidence, you will be swimming in a sea of homely to moderately half-way okay looking women with most of their teeth in place in no time at all. Go on and snail trail your way down the avenue with a “haters gonna hate” attitude about you and watch the ladies swoon and fan their faces with their hands. 
   
   
2. Hygiene. This important step was covered in my last post, but I will reiterate as I am well aware of the fact that your attention span is that of a small rodent whose only life experience is exploring the inner walls of a man's lower intestinal tract. Hygiene is an important part of acquiring someone to tolerate your constant, incessant stupidity and the visage that of a gargoyle with a horrible inoperable face tumor. You will need to put soap to water and scrub every inch of your unutterably terrifying body until such time as all smell and the first two dermal layers are gone and forgotten. Moving on.
   
   
3. Social interaction. Having scrubbed yourself free of barnacles and the stench of popcorn shrimp and death, you are now ready to venture out into the world to stake your horrible, unnecessary claim. In order to do this effectively, you will have to approach other human beings (I'm using the term loosely) and interact with them on a socially acceptable level. This means no waddling over to the poor lady at the bar who is trying her very hardest to avoid meaningless cum scrapes like yourself and proudly proclaiming “I CAN MAKE PUDDING WITH MY PENIS!” and staring her in the face with a gigantic shit eating grin on your what-you-would-call a face. That way lies jail time. Instead, introduce yourself ask her how her day was, what kind of music she likes, anything but penis pudding. That comes later if you don't tard yourself out of a date. Which brings me to my next point...
   
   
4. Dating. Assuming the lady you met at the bar was somehow drunk and desperate enough to agree to see you again in the daylight, you will have procured yourself a date. Good job, you mongrel pile of donkey dicks! You are now ready to take her to a public place where people will look at the both of you and think “what in the high holy hell is that poor woman doing with that retarded man child?”. First dates are important. I recommend you take her to as expensive a restaurant as your disability claim check allows you to afford. Once there, order some food, eat WITH A KNIFE AND FORK, walk her home and spend the rest of the night crying and jerking off to magazine cutouts, because both you and I know you're not getting anywhere near that pussy, you disgusting, fetid, bloated parody of a man.
   
   
5. Acceptance. Once you have accepted the fact that no woman will ever lay eyes on you in a manner other than to say “oh my god, what IS that growing out of his head? Oh fuck, that's his face!”, you will be able to live your life as you see fit. Go ahead, continue to skip showers for months on end! Fuck it, who's gonna get close enough to smell you, right? Keep eating Crisco straight from the tub! You haven't seen your microscopically tiny cock in years and it is no doubt encrusted in dick cheese by now, why ruin a good thing? All a woman would do is try and make you into someone you're not: a human fucking being.

And that's it. That's my dating advice to you, you shit stain on the dick of humanity. If after reading those helpful hints you have still not procured a stable and loving relationship, all I can tell you is that you will die miserable and alone in a pool of your own burning, bubbling...I'm repeating myself. Well, that's what will happen if you don't screw your dick on straight, and I stand by it. Now quit being the human equivalent of a mountain of parrot shit and be back here tomorrow, when I discuss dating tips for women.

“Oh my holy hell, I am so god damn fat that my clothes have exploded off of my unsightly blob of a body and I am now reduced to wearing tarps reserved for painting dance halls on my trips to Wal-Mart. What do I do?”

Congratulations! You are reading this post and thereby have taken the first step to bettering your life. Now if you can keep your sinkhole-like maw from yapping for more than a microsecond, I'll tell you what can be done about your self image issues. It's really easy and can be done by just about anyone with a pulse and three and a half brain cells (that's not entirely true, the dead do it ALL THE TIME). You ready? Here it is.

Put down the fork, you globular mass of gelatinous pig excrement! I bet you're the kind of dickless nut juggler to walk into a Burger King and put the franchise holder's offspring through four years of college for the next three generations in one visit you shambling hulk of skin, sweat and nacho cheese. If you can't keep yourself from wolfing down anything wrapped in paper with a corporate logo on it, then I have not the foggiest as to how you keep yourself from breaking your own tire-like neck on a daily basis while engaged in the simple act of waking up. The amount of brain chemistry it takes to look at a piece of bread with a patty consisting of %35 meat, some genetically engineered cheese and dripping with a sauce so secret that the FDA doesn't even want know what it is and saying “I'd rather not put that pile of toxic material into my body” is far less than the amount required to keep one's eyes open until the next involuntary blink, and if you are unfamiliar with that sort of self control then the only option left for you is to eat yourself into a coma and leave some food for the rest of us, as you are now beyond all hope of redemption.

Now I know what you're thinking, “But Loki, its hard to simply put the fork down without any sort of mental preparation”. I hear ya, lard ass. That's why I have decided to put together a list of things you can do to help prepare you mentally for the oh-so-difficult task of not eating twice your body weight in Pringles every three hours. These helpful tips will first and foremost help you to have a clear look at your own gastronomical depravity and force you to either stop eating like a hog on display at a Milwaukee county fair or staple your own mouth shut. Which ever works best.

1. Wash yourself. This is the first and by far the most important step and I will walk you through it. Go on and jam your oozing pus sack of a body into your tub, turn on the water and with your massive bovine rolls hanging over the sides of the porcelain, grab the nearest toilet brush and attempt with all your huffing and puffing might to scrape the dried Cheeto dust from under your tits. Next, with whatever muscle tissue you've acquired in your arms by repeatedly lifting those heavy cans of sugar water to your insatiable mouth, lift your left wrist ABOVE your cake frosting stained lips and with the brush scrub away at your never seen and long forgotten arm pits (that's where, among other places, that horrible stench was coming from in case you were wondering, you disgusting fucking waste of breath). Repeat on the other side. A half hour from entering the tub, your tits and your pits should now be as clean as a dew laden blade of grass on an Irish spring morning. This is as clean as you will get until you lose weight equivalent to that of a medium sized Somali village. The next and final step is to pull your cell phone from your pants (of course you left your pants on you ignorant bitch) and call the fire department to come and pry you from the tub. It isn't customary to tip your firemen, but these men will have put in several hours of work trying to accomplish the nigh impossible, so give them a little something.
   
   
2. Now that you have cleaned yourself, I bet you're feeling far better and lighter than before without the 70 pounds of candy wrappers and taco shell crumbs stuck in between your rolls, but we are far from done yet. The next step is to dress yourself. This will heighten your self esteem, I promise. Put on your tarp and get thee to a Big & Tall store. After you get kicked out for scaring all the other Big & Tall people, head to your nearest fabric factory, where I'm sure that for a price, they will fashion for you a shirt and pants that will fit your planetoid-like self. Be prepared to spend. Once you get home, undress and look at yourself in the mirror. Its normal if you go blind – so does every one else when they see you rolling down the beach. Notice the unsightly piece of shit standing before you, barely qualifying to be called human. Notice how its feet are sticking out from underneath a skirt of stomach fat, legs being long since lost underneath said skirt. Imagine how many Rwandans your putrid corpse could feed! Look upon this and shudder in disgust if you have any self worth left in you after all those Olympic sized swimming pools of mayonnaise you've ingested over the last three weeks. The next step will require the help of several competitor strongmen as you will now need to cover up that retch inducing glob of pale jelly with the clothes you just bought. See? Doesn't that look and feel better? Sure, the buttons look like they're about to fly off at a velocity required to travel through time, and your leg fat is actually seeping through the pant seams, but at least you look like something almost resembling a human being! Good job!
   
   
3. With your self image restored, you are now ready to leave your dilapidated house one inspection visit away from being condemned as unlivable and go out into the world with a new sense of pride, self worth and drive to try and actually burn a calorie. Exit the house and then go back in again. You have burned one calorie. Now go back to stuffing your fat fucking face with cheese and sugar because you have gotten past the point of no return. You are a blob, you understand me? A blob. No amount of diet or activity will ever help you because you lack the self control and for god's sake the self respect to do anything about your ever expanding ass. You will continue to stuff your body full of garbage until they day you die miserable and alone in a pool of your own burning, bubbling shit. Your only option now is to commit suicide quickly as the way you're doing it now is far too slow and consumes far too many resources, you useless waste of life. Why are you even alive? Why SHOULD you be alive? The only step left now is to choke yourself with a turd you have dug up out of the back of your mu-mu as that is the only way this world will get any justice for your existence.
   
   
   After going through these three simple steps, you should now be well on your way to making a world a better place! If that sort of mental prep didn't help, I don't know what to tell you other than I hope that you suffer a fatal brain aneurism before your next outing to Taco Bell. If after all that you are still not ready to put down that fork and maybe god forbid run your biblically proportioned ass around the block a couple of times, then it seems to me that you were destined from birth to be a walking bag of gravy that has not seen its genitalia since that one time you played doctor with the neighbor kid when you were five and I want you to drown in your own vomit after eating a bad slab of ribs with a side of fuck you. 
   
   
   Stay tuned for tomorrow's post in which I will unfuck your miserable, nonexistent love life!
   
   
   
   

Why you are a piece of shit and how I can help.

Let's face it – you're reading this blog for a reason, that reason most likely being that you saw the title and thought to yourself “Hey, I AM a piece of bubbling, rancid shit in society's punch bowl who couldn't be liked by anyone other than my socially inept pet who doesn't know any better if there was an eclair and a Coors Light at the conclusion of the effort! I wonder what wisdom this man, who is clearly far superior to me in every way humanly possible has to offer me regarding this affliction I seem to have been suffering from ever since the day I crawled out of my poor mother's cavernous snatch.”

Well, its your lucky day you worthless Ziplock bag of rat semen, for I have seen it fit to waste my valuable time writing this piece of shit for mongoloids like yourself who just can't seem to find the energy to propel their massive beast-like asses off the now permanently indented couch and do something for their own benefit and for the benefit of society at large.

Why, you may be asking yourself, has this god among men decided to bless us filthy, unwashed masses with his jewels of insight? The reason for that is simple: I have grown immeasurably weary of seeing you sloth-like dull witted masses of alleged humanity slither your ways through this one life we get, thinking only of where your next immensely proportioned meal is coming from and where to acquire the most money with the least effort to afford the calories provided by said meal which, and I have no idea how, still fail to give you biological trash disposals the energy necessary to do anything besides being immobile for prolonged periods of time previously thought only hypothetical by quantum physicists.

No, this is not a blog about working out, nor am I trying to motivate you to get in shape or think positively or whatever other bullshit the bullshit peddlers have been peddling. I am simply trying to make you realize that you are a worthless scumfuck with little to no ultimate potential in life who can either take my advice and stop being a worthless scumfuck or build yourself a space shuttle made entirely out of dicks and fly the good ship SS Cocksucker directly into Dick Planet where you can spend the rest of your life sucking every dick that Dick Planet is composed of and be as content, if not more so, as you would have been on planet Earth doing much the same thing when your welfare ran out.

I would like to dedicate this blog to absolutely no one. It was an effort made entirely by me and anyone who says any different is a lying pile of trailer park grade NASCAR party vomit who should be beaten to death with dismembered elephant cocks, liquefied in a giant blender and force fed to their own mothers until they burst in a confetti of flesh, shit and blood. Then set fire to the whole mess and forget it ever happened. I would like to thank my inflated sense of self worth for giving me the wherewithal to look upon the meat sacs that infect this planet with their perpetual case of stupid and get so tired of sneering that I actually had to write a blog. And finally, I would like to make it known that as you read this, it is entirely possible that at this very moment I am fantasizing about slapping you clear across the face with a sun dried square of thick leather until something clicks in your brain, you come to an epiphany of some sort and quit being a vapid cunt fit for only for shredding and being used as mulch for my front yard or until your eyes come out of their sockets. Whichever comes first. I'm betting on the latter.

Now quit being a bitch and wait for the next post.