The Hoki Poki

*Disclaimer: Yes, I frequently muse about Fast Food - I am simply unable to stray from this topic, as it has had such a profound impact on my life, socially, and emotionally.

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I have been known to say "Ah yes, the Fillet o' Fish; good choice. She is a darkhorse of the McDonald's lineup, and represents a tasty aquatic option, on their otherwise mammal-tastic menu of depression"

Alas, I could not have been more wrong. "Darkhorse", in my worldview implies that not many a'people are aware of said "Darkhorse", and that it is indeed a good choice, or option regardless of its limited appeal.

The Fillet of Fish is clearly not a "Darkhorse", it is in fact, an ocean depleting murder factory, placed on a heavily buttered babybutt-soft bun.

Peruse this electronic document: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/10/science/10fish.html

You see, The Fillet of Fish is in fact a marvel, a legend. It has just gone largely uncredited -until now...

Can I be more satisfied! On a Micro level, The Fillet will leave its victims feeling depressed, and full of shame, staring at their unappealing bodies, wondering why they just ate a fish sandwich alone, in a taxi, at 4am. They will try to make conversation with the taxi driver to alleviate their shame, however he will shun them, as he is not a man who converses with people who eat Fish Sandwiches at 4am.

However, even more impressive, is that on a Macro level, the Fillet of Fish is a damning hell spire up the anus of every environmentalist on earth! The Poor Hoki, tasty and innocent on the ocean floor, is violently shaken from its docile world, off the coast of Australia. It is then ripped into bits (most of which are casually discarded) and formed into a "sandwich", which is then consumed by confused/mindless drunken humans worldwide!

Oh Capitalism, you are giving me an erection!

Wiping out an entire fish species, not for any other reason than to sell woefully processed, and dreadfully unhealthy fish, to an already woefully depressed, and unhealthy public.

Sorry Hoki, but The Fillet of Fish makes me wish I could high-five Satan!

MBW

Levels of Hell

Heaven? Hell? I do not know. No one knows. Who is to say what happens when we pass on? Do we go to heaven, and eat buttered English muffins, on a cloud made of happy? Or is it straight to hell, where we shovel hot bugs into the assholes of people worse than us?

Who knows - and better yet, who cares? Although if we are to assume the "bible" is "correct", and not some crazy fairytale, well then, I am off to Hell (especially since I just masturbated five minutes ago).

...I have been mulling this over recently: I am going to Hell.

Well alright then, I succumb to my fate, to hell with it.



However I have been troubled by the talk of levels. I am interested in these levels. Where did you come up with this jibba-jabba, Mr. Dante? Have you been to Hell, Mr. Dante? Do you know Satan? And if so, is He any good at table tennis?



Well these are all interesting questions, that clearly cannot be answered...Back to the level nonsense (the crux of my worries)...

The levels (perhaps) work thusly; the deeper one descends into Hell, the more objects are inserted into one's body (there is a direct co-relation). A zip lock bag full of hot mustard in the dick-hole, a hot toaster into the anus, and the like...

My word, that certainly sounds ghastly. Not something that I would like to be a part of, no matter how drunk I was, or how much food I was being offered.

However, going on the theory that no two people are alike, it stands to reason that some Hell bound freak would quite fancy a hot device in the rectum.

Therefore, my thinking is that The Levels of Hell, should differ between individuals; no two people shouold have the same levels of Hell. Sick anal fetish man's levels of Hell would not include any anal funtimes. He wants the funtimes, but this is Hell, and he sure as heck isn't going to get what he wants in Hell.



Indiana Jones? Lots of snakes, and not a whip to be found.
The Crocodile Hunter? A shallow pool full of Stingrays, while a man killing rare snakes reads him the definition of "Irony" over and over again.
Hitler? Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows everywhere.
Etc...
My own personal levels of Hell are still up for internal debate. I know that the words "no" and "alcohol" will be prominent throughout, and perhaps, so will "small" "public" "washrooms".
I will indeed rehash this topic in the near future, once I have been able to assess my own misgivings, and create a reasonable outline of my own personal Hell.
Until that point, I will continue to live my meaningless life of petty sins.

MBW

The Buffalo Bills

"The tragedy of life is not that man loses, but that he almost wins"

- Heywood C. Broun

Mr. Broun, you have hit the needle on the head, sir. The needle being the collective soul of all Buffalo Bills fans. Mr. Broun, your quote rings so true, that I am assuming merely reading it, would give any beleaguered Bills enthusiast violent heartburn. (Perhaps the heartburn is derived from the woeful diet of sodium-laced cured meets, and numerous bloat-inducing ales, nonetheless, the burn still presides itself within the heart of the Bill supporter)

Oh Fortuna, how you wreck havoc on the people of Buffalo. Yes, they are blessed with world class wings, at a decent price, however the residents of Buffalo also have, crime, poverty, genital-scarringly cold winters, and the unfortunate distinction of being unofficially known as the "Armpit of America". On top of that heaping mess of misfortune, the once prominent city of Buffalo is home to a team that seems to corrode and break to pieces, in a markedly similar manor to it's once booming steel industry; now drearily known as the "Rust Belt".

Please let them hold a lead. Please let them win a game against a division rival - Oh how they must rue the New Englanders. I would not be surprised if many a Bills fan would gladly pour scalding hot Clam Chowder into the eyes of a Patriots fan; and in many ways it would be justified.

I must say that I am not a diehard fan, however, my worldview causes me to naturally root for the fly to break free of the spiders web, for the gazelle to flee from the lions claws, and for the Bills to actually win a game without depositing hot shit into their beds.

Please Fortuna, bless these Bills. Winter is coming, and a man can only consume so many "pity wings".

MBW

Food, fastly.

Convenience is often times my downfall. I am hungry, and I am not in my house (perhaps, it would not matter if I was indeed at home, for the food that I possess is shameful at best; a mouldy block of cheese, two cans of bargain-priced tuna, and coffee), and therefore I must satisfy my hunger via vendor.
Now, I am not a fastfood coward. I do not particularly care how these animals are murdered and ground up. Are we to assume that (succulent)Cows, (tasty)Chickens and (lip-smacking) Pigs, would be much happier about their own murders if it were done in a "humane" manor. Can I sleep easier in the evening, knowing that Wilbur is slowly being put to sleep, and then mauled apart by rapidly moving steel? No. Who cares? Ninnies, that's who. But I am not a ninnie, I am a hungry man, who is away from his homestead.
So I eat Arby's. Now, I do not know you Mr. Arby, however I would love to sit down and have a chat with you. I would demand that you give me the name of your meat supplier. I need to know how you can procure enough "high-quality" "roast beef" to feed millions of people daily, for under 4 dollars. Whats that you say? The meat is actually 40% discarded military boots? Ah, well that explains why my heart feels itchy, I am currently depressed for no reason, and in 40 minutes I will excrete Beelzebub himself, from my rectum.
Let me wash my depression down, with some "Bacon" "Cheddar" Curly Fries, and sugar water. Now, I must remand myself to my bedroom for hours, as I have suffered injury, due to your food. I am beginning to think that it would have been less detrimental to my well being, to have consumed various "foods" from a dumpster, behind a homeless shelter.

I am ill, and I am unable to escape the reality, that is the complete, and total lack of fire, or grill in your establishment. How are you preparing my roast, since fire is not present? Am I to resign myself to the fact that you are "cooking" "roast" "beef", with a machine that could charge my cellular phone?

My asshole has been penetrated by the spiked ceiling of hell.

MBW

Excuse Me, Loud Planes

Yes, hello there Jet. Good day, large, aggressively loud WW II fighterplane. If I may be so bold as to ask you to shut up.
I am not interested in aviation. For the most part, I am terrified of being in the air, speeding through clouds at 1000 miles per hour. I am sure that you feel happy to know that you are entertaining various people with your acrobatic maneuvers, and death defying fuckery. However, as mentioned, I am not a man of planes. I will watch Top Gun, only when extremely intoxicated, and I have never been able to procure a bomber jacket that sufficiently fits my girth.
It is for these reasons (and many more) that I was NOT in attendance at this years Air Plane Fun-Fun show. However this did not stop you from zooming by my place of residence, blaring your engines like a Nazi.
These sonic booms woke me. They shook me from my dream of Sexual Intercourse, and Freshly Baked Cookies (so you know; my erection was powerful, and happy). No, I was not engaging in Sexual Intercourse with said cookies - they were merely an after-shame treat, which I was getting ready to enjoy when The Red Baron (You), fucked my Vanwinkle.
You owe me a sexual dream, Jet Plane. I will shake my fist at you for at least 4 years due to this, and hopefully you will rue this day. Rue it proper.

MBW