This site is a testament to not only my life but to the insanity of society. Dive into Psycho Carnival and you'll find tragicomic personal stories, wild yet honest rants, a little depravity, videos and a buttload of other goodies.

This site also contains adult like humor and ideas that could make you think. Consider yourself warned!

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Days of Intensity and Leisure

That's right. I'm taking a brief goddamn break from my 5 QUESTIONS series. What's it to ya, buster?

Don't work yourself up in a soapy lather about it, unless you're a hot chick, naked and covered with said lather and you send me photos of ya. I have several more bloggers lined up, with their answers turned in, already, that will be featured after this post. Stay tuned!

Around a week ago, my buddy, Steve and I took a drive to a place called Bon El. Before we got out on the road towards Bon El, Steve was talking the area up as if it were some sort of mecca.

Before he mentioned it, I had never heard of the place.

"Oh, you have to see this place," he said, "It's beautiful."

Now I've known Steve for about, eh, twenty five years. So, we've been friends for awhile. We've been to quite a few outdoorsy places that has some pretty terrific scenic views. Places down in Kentucky, around and in the Red River Gorge, for instance. Red River Gorge is a large part of the Daniel Boone National Forest. The Gorge, a heavily wooded area with dozens of trails, has some fantastic spots, overlooking creeks, wild rock formations, a river and natural rock bridges.

Steve, another friend, his German Shepherd and I camped out on the edge of a cliff during one adventure at The Gorge. The place is a lot of fun with much to see and do. Check out the link above if you're interested.

My point is: If Steve says there is a outdoor spot he thinks is worth checking out, I'm usually on board with the idea.

Steve was driving. He said he knew the way there because he had been there several times before. So, with a drink in one hand and a bag full of sandwiches, we drove to what turned out to be a very secluded spot out in the country, where the hillbillies flourished and the pot plants grown by the residents could easily be smelled. Unfortunately, I did not see any such plants. But I did see hillbillies and loads of trailer trash. Some folks had teeth. Some, not. Some good ol' boys had pick up trucks. Some had the stereotypical broken down cars on blocks. Jeff Foxworthy would have a lot of material for his comedy routine if he ever visited the place.

Not quite as bad as a scene from the movie, "Deliverance" but it wasn't the kind of place you would wish your car would break down.

Which is kinda funny, by the way, because Steve said that there was a slim chance the steering on his car might go out, due to some damaged tie rods, according to what a mechanic was telling him the day before. He told me this about halfway through the drive of the heavily wooded area.
I laughed and said, nervously, "I really don't feel like being gang-raped by hillbillies and forced to squeal like a pig today."

On the way through the curvy, sometimes crumbling road, we stopped very briefly at this metal archway that stood at the beginning of another road. The roundish archway had the letters KKK stretching from left to right and some other wording I couldn't make out. I didn't want to get out of the car to go read it, either. Steve said, "That road leads to where the Klu Klux Klan holds their meetings."

I was slightly shocked and asked, "No shit?"

I thought the KKK had completely disappeared from around here. He agreed that it was fucked up that they were still in existence, especially not that far from home.

He nodded and assured me that the KKK really did have their white-robed, white supremacy loving, minority hating, moronic ceremonies down there at nights. I said, "Let's keep moving, man." I didn't want to take any chances with the Klan, either. To me, they're a bunch of narrow minded, violent nut cases that deserve to have 6 foot burning crosses rammed up their asses.

We quickly moved on.

Some time after that, we reached Bon El. It was, indeed, beautiful. Water ran in wild and curvy paths over a creek bed. Just beyond it, on the same road, was a long, graffiti covered tunnel that had been built during The Great Depression. Over the tunnel was a working, running railroad track. Around the tunnel was solid dirt and rock.

This picture gives you a tiny bit of an idea of what it looked like like. It's not an actual picture of the place. And it really doesn't do it justice in how it looks and feels. The feeling you get from experiencing the scene is one of quiet serenity. You are very much at peace when you go there. There's just something about it.

As we're driving back home, to civilization, Steve asks me what I thought of that beautiful spot in the middle of nowhere. I responded, "It's hard to describe. It's surreal. Very quiet and serene. And beautiful. But I wouldn't want to end up there in the middle of the night." He looked at me, in all seriousness and said that was almost the same description that everyone gave him whenever they spoke of that very specific area.

Even though the trek leading to Bon El was slightly unnerving, I'm pleased we went there. It was cool, man, cool. And I really needed the feeling of peace after what had happened the day before.

I had a traumatic experience the day before, with my eldest cat, Mufasa. She's a fourteen year old, long-haired calico who we treat like our own baby. Hell, we have several professionally photographed pictures of her hanging off our walls. That's how nuts we are about our cats.

Anyway, after giving her a bath, which causes a bit of stress for her, especially when my wife sticks her gloved soapy hand in her crack for a good scrubbing (Mufasa can't lick her poopy butt back there because she's a waddling chubby blob of fur), my wife notices a couple knots in Mufasa's fur around her neck. Knots that she later tries to brush out with a small wire cat comb but she can't. They're too fucking matted.

So... She wants me to cut the knots out with a pair of scissors.

As for the bath, that routine usually goes something like this: The cat, while getting bathed, makes the damnedest noise, between all of the hissing and acting as if she's going to bite off a finger from the one holding her at her front (which would be me) and she seems to be possessed by the devil. But then, I supposed anyone who was getting that treatment would behave the same way.

When it comes to cutting the knots out Mufasa's fur, I'm usually quite careful not to cut into her skin. I thought I had been just as careful this time, but obviously, that wasn't the case. Somehow, I managed to get some of her neck skin between the scissor blades. Then she began bleeding and the wound opened a little more. I was freaking out. My wife was screaming at me. The familiar old panic of my stress disorder seized me and I just stood there, horrified. Moments passed before I became coherent, went to the room next door and pounded my fist on the wall. Then with a little strength and resolve, I rushed back into the bathroom and asked my wife to lay her on the bed and continue petting her. She quickly did as I asked. Then I got the rubbing alcohol and antibiotic cream from the cabinet and applied both of them directly to my cat's wound.

Mufasa continued to bleed for the next ten minutes. My wife and I were sick about it, thinking she might die. I was also having my own deep, troubled thoughts, thoughts of the helplessness I felt when mom passed away. I think that might be why I can't take stress or shocking situations any longer. There's a connection there. While it's happening, it feels like I'm under a spell.

Unfortunately, all the veterinary offices were closed that day. I called our main one and gave them the story of what happened on their answering machine and that I would call again as soon as they opened in the morning. The only hope we had was that the bleeding had finally stopped.

In the end, we took her to the vet's office the next day. We had to leave her to be sedated and stitched up. When we picked Mufasa back up four hours later, our veterinarian made an odd joke about the whole ordeal that I couldn't understand (still can't) and was frankly, stunned by. I guess he noticed the expression on my face and said that he had accidentally done the same thing with his own cat while trying to cut a knot out. He said it's easy to do, especially when they're long-haired and the matted clumps are so thick that you don't know where the hair ends and the skin begins.

The vet had put four stitches into her neck, closing the dime sized wound. Our cat is doing fine now, obviously healing and is quietly purring and sleeping in the chair next to me. The baby has been repaired. All is well now and I am at peace. Hope you are in the same frame of mind.

Take care, everyone.

Monday, June 28, 2010


Gary is my fourth blogger pal to do my 5 QUESTIONS series. He's been a source of comfort and humor for me in our continuous internet interactions. Gary has helped me through some rough times with his words. A true friend, even if I can't see him in real life. Or could that be him I see, peeking around the sofa? Eh, nope- just another big-eyed alien freak, lookin' for corn chips that fell down between the cushions.

Really, though, this guy is considerate, funny, twisted, smart and runs an excellent blog called Klahanie. You need to check out his blog if you haven't already. It's chock full of great writing, fun wordplay, whimsical characters and a lot of heart. Visiting Klahanie is time well spent.

Look to your upper left of this post and you'll see Gary..... as a baby.... not as he is now. If that were him now, I'm not sure that he would be capable of forming sentences.

Now... On with the show. Here are my life changing, all-too-important inquiries and Gary's charming answers in this edition of 5 QUESTIONS. Enjoy. Read. And have a frontal lobotomy- on the house.

Question 1: What is the last furry thing you touched and how did it make you feel?

Well, the last furry thing I touched was the set of dice hanging from my car's rear view mirror. This made me feel like I was going through, yet another 'mid-life crisis', as I cranked up some 'Metallica tunes', rolled down my windows and gave one finger salutes to startled pedestrians.

Question 2: You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. You are "King of The Island". What rules do you put in place?

The rules are simple. Being the 'King of The Island', all the women folk are forbidden to wear clothes. Each of these naked women must perform sexual worship upon me, their 'Majesty', at my beckoning command. This will be done on a rota system in order to keep it fair. The men folk will be required to do all the hunter gathering, cooking and cleaning. After about a month of this; I will hold an Island meeting. At which point I will state, mostly due to exhaustion from being sucked dry by the naked ladies; that I will no longer be King and we will have a democratically elected Republic.

I realise that all men are equal , but hell, will I have fun for a month!

Question 3: If man evolved from monkeys and apes, why do we still have monkeys and apes?

Actually, it's in reverse. Apes and monkeys evolved from man. The apes and monkeys are the 'superior races'. Lets look at the 'facts'. Man has worshipped such legendary icons as 'Magilla Gorilla', 'Grape Ape', 'Clyde the Orangutan', in the film, 'Every Which Way but Loose', the lovable 'Cheetah the Chimp' in the 'Tarzan movies and of course, the mighty 'King Kong'. And lets not forget that space pioneer, 'Albert the Rhesus monkey'.

Yes indeed, humans idolise and look on in wonder at the superior race that are the monkeys and the apes. Hell, even Michael Jackson had a Chimp named 'Bubbles'. You've heard that song, 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles' ?

So really, you might ask, 'If monkeys and apes evolved from man, why do we still have man?' Maybe we humans are still here to see our wondrous future and what we will one day look like. I've heard a rumour that the monkeys and apes are thinking of making a film. 'Planet of the Humans'.

Question 4: Doesn't expecting the unexpected make the unexpected expected? If so, what does the purple unicorn say?

You expect me to answer this? If you unexpected the expected than the expected would be expected to be unexpected. I have no idea what that means. But then again, if you expected the unexpected response, you probably expected me to give an unexpected expected reply. The purple unicorn says even though it has a point, there is no point in expecting a purple unicorn to lie down in a field and have rampant sex with the first unexpected encounter with a human. This would be the same human who is so thrilled about one day looking like an ape or a monkey; that the human does not realise that said purple unicorn has shoved its horn up his protruding butt.

Question 5: An angry mob of townspeople are intent on dragging you out of your house, flogging you in public and inserting assorted vegetables up your ass. After they set your house on fire, you run out and attempt to convince them that you're innocent. What, exactly, do you tell them?

This is what I tell them. 'The dude you are looking for realised what a bunch of dumb ass judgemental fucks you are. He has headed north to the land of the beaver. To that sacred place of moose and maple syrup. This is a case of mistaken identity. However, if y'all what to flog me in public and insert assorted vegetables up my ass...well yes please and yee hah! I hope y'all got one of them thar really large cucumbers....'

*All out of large cucumbers, I offer baskets of fresh pointy carrots to the outraged villagers for them to use. Somebody has to be the Good Samaritan, after all.

Heh heh. Thanks, Gary, for your participation in this joyous questionnaire.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

5 QUESTIONS For One Crazy Brunette Chick

The third blogger to appear in my 5 QUESTIONS post series is a delicate little flower (NOT!) who goes by several names... One Crazy Brunette Chick. CB. Crazy Brunette. Ashley. No matter what you call her (And I'd be careful while doing that if I were you) you have to admit this woman is hysterical and easily speaks her mind. I admire her directness and telling ya how she feels. She's intelligent, beautiful and very funny. And she only had to buy me a decent cup of coffee to say that.*

*Just kidding on the coffee part, there. Don't kill me, Ashley! Oh shit!

One Crazy Brunette Chick

The Crazy Brunette runs a most excellent blog by the name of.... wait for it.... One Crazy Brunette Chick. If you're not afraid to laugh your ass off at what CB says or read the word FUCK about a gazillion times, then I suggest you check her out. And by check her out, I mean her blog, you perverts. Why can't y'all be well mannered, respectable gentle-persons like me?

Ashley also co-authors a blog with The Wolf called Two Foul-Mouthed Fuckers, a hilarious, raunchy, back and forth, telling-it-like-it-is fest between the two of them.

In these posts, I will ask an established blogger 5 questions that may range from the downright silly to the depraved to the serious. It is up to the highlighted blogger of the particular post to answer the questionnaire however they want. Here's the Q & A I had with Crazy Brunette Chick. Enjoy!

* Have you ever been embarrassed when you have said "Fuck" out in public? If so, what was the occasion and circumstances? If not, have you ever flashed an old geezer just to give him a stroke?

Wait... Really? Like are you dicking me in the ass? Is this a real question? FUCK no I've never been embarrassed when I've said "Fuck" in public. That being said, I have mortified all of my friends, family and co-workers on SEVERAL occasions with my casual and over use of the word "Fuck". Eeeeh, they can suck my happy 'fuck' saying ass.

*Have you ever flashed an old geezer just to give him a stroke?

Why yes, yes I HAVE in face flashed SEVERAL old fucking assholes just to see if I could put them in the hospital. No, I don't flash old people. Surprisingly, I do not like to be the cause of fatal death to little old men.

Once when I was about 16, I was out washing my car in my parents yard (A 1982 Cutlass Supreme... Jealous? I would be too, if I were you!) Yes I was clothed, and wet and YES I happened to be bending over. There was a fucking pervy old guy staring so hard at my cleave that he missed the stop sign and hit a vehicle turning right onto my parents street... That's right, I've always been so fucking hot that I can stop traffic!

BUT, I must confess that in High School I had a serious inclination to flashing pretty much anybody and everybody. No, I shit you not... Truck drivers, school busses, random guys walking down the street... I was more often than not inclined to flash construction workers... they always seemed to be the most appreciative!

* How would you describe the perfect man, while using the same description of a steak? Rare? Tough? Use your own words.

Oooooh... I LOVE this question.

Thick (and YES I mean that in EVERY way you fucks are thinking), Tough and hard enough to take my shit and give it right back to me. Soft and pink in the middle (fuck, one of us has to have feelings!) and lastly he has to be willing to let me smear melted butter all over him and lick it off.

Kiss my ass fuckers, I like butter!

* After "accidentally" running over an annoying asshole, what would be your next step(s)?

I do nothing 'accidentally'. If I hit a dumbfuck asstard, I'd damn well have MEANT to take his ass out. (But you already knew that, and that's why you put quotations around it!) So after I took the son of a bitch out with the Escape, I'd smoke a cigarette, pop a few Xanex and call 'The Royal Family' to help me hide the fucking body.

* Describe the most awesome dream day you would love to have.

You know, I've never really thought about it. I guess it'd be jumping on a plane with my favorite hookers. Shooting over to Vegas, get dressed hotter than you can possibly imagine, and go slut it up in Sin City. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas... Right???

* Think quick. Act quick. Some escapee from an insane asylum is running toward you, with his arms straight out and with a booger on the end of his finger. He also happens to be wanking off, while running as fast as he can. Not only is he a talented multi-tasker that way but he's also singing, "What's Love Got To Do With It" while he heads right for you. What will you do?

Pull out my concealed .38 pistol and shoot that cocksucker right where he'd never be jerking off again. If you think I'm fucking around, I'm not. Daddy taught me to shoot when I was 7. I've only gotten better bitches. In other words... DO NOT FUCK with a Crazy, armed Brunette!

* Bonus question from The Wolf. He felt it was highly important that I ask this... Why do you smell like cabbage?

Wolf! You are an asshole!!!! Damnit, I DO NOT SMELL like cabbage dipshit! I smell like mother fucking sugar plums! We've been over this! I will kill you! I don't care if you are an ex-military bad-ass! I'm an armed and dangerous Crazy Brunette on the rag!

And on that delightfully, uplifting note, our Q & A ends here. Thank you, Ashley, for participating in 5 QUESTIONS.

Anyone with a blog and is a regular or even a semi-regular reader of Psycho Carnival can contact me at this email address- if you wish to have fun with the gang and participate with our 5 Questions series. Anyone fitting the above description and is able to successfully answer my 5 QUESTIONS will be highlighted like the above blogger and links to their blog(s) will be presented.

Friday, June 25, 2010

5 QUESTIONS For Static

My old blog pal, Static, has joyfully agreed to participate in my second edition of my lil' questionnaire series. This guy has a bit of a twisted sense of humor and is intelligent, to boot. If you're smart, you'll check out his blog, Krapsody, when you're done reading the entertaining Q & A fest I've got going on here.

Static's icon or true face or something insane from his site can be found at the top. To this day, I don't know what the man really looks like. It looks to me as if he's been in some sort of accident where he has received electrical shock.

You really should check it out. Hilarious, ironic, top-notch writing can be found at Krapsody.

Now here are the 5 QUESTIONS posed to Static

Q: A group of lepers walk into a bar and make a mess of the place because their goddamn skin won't stop sloughing off and cluttering the floor. Eventually, the piles of dead tissue they leave here and there cause people to slip, fall down and crack their heads wide open on the bar tables and chairs. The bartender says to you, "Could you do something about these lepers? They're bad for business." What, if anything, do you do?

A: My goodness, since it's obvious that this place is beginning to "deteriorate" and business is "dropping off", I think what this scene needs is a buffet fit for a king and a gracious host to take it up a notch. Since it's not a prudent time to quibble over "biting off" more than you can chew, lest someone gets "sore" over such an incident, make no mistakes, just because they have leprosy doesn't mean they are "untouchable". First thing on the agenda is to "dis-arm" the lepers. I'd make quick work of most, tearing them "limb from limb". I'd hit one leper over the head with a tennis racket and make spaghetti. Next up, I'd twist off a head or two and tell someone to go deep for a pass, since everyone knows lepers are always willing to "lend a hand", they'd be more than happy to toss a few noggins in a bucket of hot water and make chowder. Smash a few bottles of pure grain alcohol on some others and "dissolve" them with spirits. Then while another one laughs his "head off" and another "cries his eyes out", I'd make leper sausage with a screen door and a baggie at the other end. Finally, I'd have a "face-off" in the corner with the last leper standing. At this point it should be quite clear that all the lepers are "de-feet-ed". And in usual fashion, I always save "the best part(s)" for last. I shall carry out all of the above while singing, "Lend me your ear and I'll sing you a song...", blindfolded and with one arm tied behind my back.

Q: What inspirational message would you like to share with everyone?

A: I know that I rarely come across as serious, or sympathetic, or inspirational...but given the nature of your question, here's an instance where I feel that it is warranted. First of all, live each day as if it were your last. Savor the moment. Live in the present, not in the past. If you are going through hell, just keep going - faster. And never ever ever look to John Mayer for inspirational messages.

Q: How would you describe a pleasant evening, free of bugged-eyed freaks, annoying mimes and talking hammers?

A: This one is iffy. The psychobabble justification happens to be that social isolation is a bad thing. However, when surrounded by bugged-eyed freaks, annoying mimes, talking hammers and other irksome drivel and flotsam jetsam on a regular isolation, seems to be a welcome retreat.

Such a relaxing vacation might include:
* a month in the Alaskan
* solitary confinement for a
decade, or
* a trip to the nearest star at
roughly 4.22 light years away
Who knows what contentment one may discover within the confines of their own mind that might transform them into bug-eyed freaks hammering mimes with the irksome drivel and flotsam jetsam of madness that solitude can bring...all from one pleasant evening "away from it all".

Q: President Obama and the rest of the world's leaders (puppets manipulated by interested organizations, in some cases, but I digress) travel from wherever they're from, go to your place, and pleadingly ask you for advice on how to make the perfect omelet. What is your response?

A: The perfect omelet in this case, would be made by having all world leaders congregate together. Once I've invited them over, I'd take them all out for a walk within a very large satellite dish somewhere in the middle of the desert. After a while of pontificating on global economics, off shore drilling, and the pros and cons of bottle cap collecting, I would ask them to seat themselves. As they are seated, each guest would experience the gentle placing of an egg under each of their posteriors...after they were comfortable, a series of enormous mallets would crack them each on the top of their heads, shattering eggs and skulls..which would run about the inside of the dish like a river of sulfur and lava. They are then left to cook under the beating rays of the sun. Which should feed endangered vultures (such as the California Condor) for several weeks. This is but one of my recipes for disaster.

Q: What would be your most embarrassing moment in your life so far? Besides with the three legged German Shepherd with the funny hat?

A: Although the three legged German Shepherd with the funny hat shall always be a source of mental discomfort
for me, I'd have to say blogging tops the list. It's the only place I've been so vulnerable. Why, I've opened myself up to readers so much in recent years
that they could, quite literally, take complete advantage of me.

IT's absolutely...horrifying. As a matter of fact, the more I think about it, I
believe blogging has been the biggest mistake of my entire life. How is this possible, I ask myself quite frequently throughout the day. What am I
doing? Oh, my god, what have I become? I..I..I am a monster! I've become so self-absorbed lately. I think, “Gee, I am NOT as big an asshole as they tell me.

I actually do have some self worth,” or I'm not a "big baby" or a "drama queen". Noooo, not in the least. I mean, all I do is bitch bitch bitch. Bitch about everything and then some. That's all my blog has become. Just some repugnant journal, an obtuse diatribe of shameless fuckery, and
my readers are my over involved psychoanalysts. Maybe I should get some goddamn exercise outside, like 30 to 60 minutes at a pace akin to a brisk walk? OH, SURE! Seems like nothing. Ninety minutes on a bike at top gear while grunting in between primally screamed expletives....or hours in a kayak futilely paddling against
rapids with ears bleeding to iPod music seems much better than merely strolling along at a walking pace, or flexing my overly developed finger muscles on a keyboard. That’s not exercise, it's sissycise. A freaking cry for help. FFS just pull the plug already!! I'm like a vegetable who cannot communicate his needs to anyone around him, trapped in this void of unrelenting misfortune and disaffection.
Oh, dear. I seem to have forgotten that the most embarrassing moment for me would be when I begin to ramble. Never mind.

Thanks, Static, for your participation in this post.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

5 QUESTIONS For The Wolf

This is the beginning of a new post series, titled 5 QUESTIONS.

In these posts, I will ask an established blogger 5 questions that may range from the downright silly to the depraved to the serious. It is up to the highlighted blogger of the particular post to answer the questionnaire however they want.

Up first, is a good blog pal of mine named The Wolf. He's the soldier you see off to the right.

This guy is intelligent, tough and funny. Not to mention a little twisted. There's not much of a difference in our senses of humor. After getting to know him through comments and emails back and forth for a lengthy amount of time, I would say he's one of the few people that I know that are sincere, down to earth and show they have a passion for the truth.

The Wolf is the Blog Author of several excellent blogs that deal with post apocalyptic survival and his own personal experiences. I highly recommend them and I visit them every chance I get.

Here are his websites, with links directly to each individual site.

Two Foul Mouthed Fuckers --- The Wolf co-authors this blog with The Crazy Brunette Chick, another blog pal of mine.

And here are the 5 QUESTIONS that I asked The Wolf and his responses.

* What is the appropriate punishment or therapy for pedophiles?

Simple the death penalty. These fucks are known to re-offend, in many cases molesting dozens of innocent kids long before their ever caught. So why the fuck are these assholes lives worth anything. Now when I say death penalty I don't mean lethal injection or something "simple" FUCK THAT these puke pieces of shit should be dragged through the street and drawn and quartered (Like Mel Gibson's character in Braveheart at the end). Then their remains should be hung in public places as a warning to other would be pedophiles............but hey that's just my opinion.

* You have, in your possession, three railroad cars full of napalm, knives, guns, grenades, sex toys, food, water, booze, duct tape (always gotta have duct tape), a queen size waterbed and three of your favorite, hottest actresses, who are currently in heat and in the mood for man meat. Now, what are your plans?

I would usher in the apocalypse

* What is the strangest food/drink/thing you have ever consumed and did it have an effect on you?

I've eaten lots of weird shit, but the one that affected me the most was military rationed lobster. We were on exercise in Wainwright Alberta (Canada) and they decided to treat us by bringing in lobster for a party..........great idea you think WRONG. Generally the farther inland seafood has to go the worse it gets, and since those in charge probably didn't know anything about seafood, most of it arrived three quarters spoiled. I took one fucking bite and green ooze spewed out, I immediately threw up, and what got down my throat gave me the shits for a couple days..........good times had by all.

* What are your thoughts on the war in Afghanistan, the war on drugs and North Korea's general attitude toward the rest of the world? (Yeah, I know. I loaded that question up. I'm a bastard.)

I'm mixed on Afghanistan, being ex-army I've known some good people who died over there, but I know that a lot of them feel it's the right thing to do. I can't speak for American soldiers obviously since I'm Canadian, but most of the guys I talked to about it before I left were looking forward to going and felt confident in their abilities. What I fucking hate is that this could have been totally avoided. If NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) the UN or even the U.S with some allies had gone in immediately after the Soviets pulled out, The terrorists would never have taken control and Afghanistan would be a much better country. It would still be a shit hole in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, but it would be much better off then it is today.......they might have even had a McDonald's by now for all the cool kids to hang out and talk about mud bricks and sheep or whatever the gossip is over there.

The war or drugs is frankly doomed to fail. This is because those fighting it are doing it with one hand tied behind their backs. If they want to stop drugs like cocaine and heroin from getting into the country they have to go in and wipe the cartels and traffickers off the face of the Earth. They have to make it so unprofitable that no one will want to do it. I also think going ape shit on marijuana is ridiculous, it's practically fucking legal here in B.C and theirs no reason why it shouldn't be. Frankly the fucking government is stupid for not regulating and taxing it like they do cigarettes. The extra income could go a long way.

North Korea is one fucked up little country. The reality is there in bad shape, their navy is rusting in harbours, their military is starving and using 30-40 year old equipment, and their air force is ancient and falling apart. This doesn't mean their not capable of doing a lot of damage to South Korea though. They also have been doing their own nuclear and rocket tests for long range missiles. I don't think they'll risk an all out war though, to me this is just what they call "sabre rattling". They want to show the world they don't take shit from no one, but in reality they know their pretty fucked up.......they just don't want us to know.

* A drooling idiot suddenly jumps in front of you while you're on your way to get laid for the first time in a year. He dances, picks a booger from his nose and laughs, cutting the occasional fart now and then. After crossing his eyes and slapping his face cheeks like that retarded, screaming kid in the Home Alone flicks, he lets out a big long belch right in front of your face. The vaporous gas released from this insane person's piehole looks thick and toxic. What is the appropriate action to be taken at this point?

Well since I haven't gotten any in a long fucking time, I'm naturally inclined to be angry and violent. If some fucker did this to me I would ask him in a calm voice "Who's the boss?". If he replies with anything other then the correct answer I would yell at the top of my lungs "TONY DANZA BITCH" and beat his sorry oxygen stealing ass back to whatever fucking bridge or cardboard box he crawled out of. Of course if he answered correctly I would still beat his fucking ass. Are you fucking kidding me that cock jawed shit turbine belched in my general direction and stole precious oxygen from someone more deserving, he's gonna fucking die. Then I would skip to 7-11 buy a big gulp while singing Karma Chameleon by Boy George then go off and get myself some sweet lovin down by the river.

Thanks Wolf for your participation in Psycho Carnival's ongoing questionnaire experiment.

Anyone with a blog and is a regular or even a semi-regular reader of Psycho Carnival can contact me at this email address- if you wish to have fun with the gang and participate with our 5 Questions series. Anyone fitting the above description and is able to successfully answer my 5 Questions will be highlighted like the above blogger and backlinks to their blog(s) will be presented.

A win-win for everybody. I have a boner!

Monday, June 21, 2010

Do What Now?

This post could have also been called "Other Random Things I can't Stand" but I hate this title the best. So... it stays. Make sense? Doesn't need to, really. You're here, at Psycho Carnival. Just like real, ordinary life, it doesn't make a bit of sense at times.

I'm half deaf, if you remember me mentioning that before and when I don't quite hear every word that popped outta someone's jibber mouth, I say the average, normal, "Huh?" or- the ever fancy and imaginative "I didn't hear what you said."

I don't say the weak phrase of "Excuse me?" I'd feel like a girl if I asked someone to repeat themselves with those words. Fuck that, for sure. I would especially feel that way if I asked, "Please?" It makes you out to be a docile, subordinate little princess or fat fuck with a gag ball in your mouth-- whether you're a guy or gal.

But what I don't do and what I think is really rude and beyond ignorant is saying, "Do what now?" This can be interpreted easily as a smart-ass remark more than anything else because one, the person saying this is purposefully confusing you and twisting your intentions around. There is no 'DOING WHAT?'- obviously- because your question, likely, did not involve doing anything. It's really freakin' stupid. And rude. And if you say it around me, I will be highly tempted to knock you out on your ass and rip your jugular vein out with your fingernail clippers.

As you burple up blood from neck and mouth and shit yourself, I''l be sure to ask, "Do what now?"

Another thing bothering me is the ongoing love affair that the media has with youth. It's more prevalent today than ever and I don't get that shit at all. I'd rather hear from grown ups on the street or on TV or anywhere else. Not that youth can't be wise, at times. But, I can bet good money that there are more adults with more wisdom or more interesting things to say than kids. Sorry. I'm just stating a fact. You can twist the idea all around you want. But the truth is the truth.

Reality shows, movies, life sucking human predators that prey upon youth and all the rest with youth-related stuff can put themselves in a big hot air ballon and drift off far far away to Harry Potter Land or in the World of The Latest Youth Oriented Crap- texting, cell phone blathering, bullying online and in school, wearing makeup at too early an age to look grown up-yet make the mistake that men/women will look at you in ways you really do not want them to. And so on.... but you get the picture.

Which brings me to these "little girl beauty pageants" or "little girl tournament type dances" on TV shows. What kind of sick freak want to see these poor, parent-pushed events where young girls look like prostitutes with skimpy clothing and too much make-up? I'll tell you who. Pedophiles. They and weird producers who don't mind making money off fucked up shows like these. The news media is guilty, too. They promote and expose youth in every way imaginable and some in this society, buy into it because we're either just sick and we watch it or we're trying desperately to live our lives through these kids. That last part concerns the parents of these defenseless girls, mostly. The parents are sick, too and should be castrated or given free hysterectomies with a rusty spoon.

Beautiful imagery. I know.

Lastly, I hate myself for leaving off words or letters from words in a sentence. Why can't I proofread what I say properly? Am I insane?

Don't answer that.

Oh, I almost forgot. I have good news. I was able to get it up today. My prick, you know. After months of not having any luck, this magical stuff my doc gave me... Cialis... did the trick. Viagra just made me light-headed. I'm already fucked up enough.

My wife has shown her gratitude by not nagging me to clean the air conditioning filter. She did it, instead. Good woman. A woman's place is cleaning the air conditioner filter, as they always say.

Just kidding. Don't worry about me. The wife won't see this post so I don't have to worry about her cutting my fully functional erect junk cut off, tonight. 3 cheers!

And why is BP acting like they're such saints because they're promising the residents in the Gulf area a paltry sum, once divided, to be spread pretty thinly, when you consider the amount- among the residents in the Gulf region? The damage they have and will continue to cause will go way beyond their payment fund for the residents are going to get in monetary terms. What an insulting joke. I think BP CEO, Tony Hayward, whose yearly salary last year- totaling 4.7 million, should pay out of is own pocket, as well as the predestined fund amount. I also think he should drown in an ocean of oil- along with everyone else who are either profiting from or have helped create this mess.

Own up to your mistakes. I believe you pay for your mistakes in accordance for what damage you do... no matter what happens to you as a consequence.

I have more questions but I have to go put a smile on my face. Do what now?

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Posters That Made Me Laugh

Blame it on writer's block. Blame it on pure laziness. I thought I'd share these gems with you and give you, gentle viewer, perhaps, a much needed laugh for the day. Or, at least, a break from boring old sanity. Just in case you're retarded, click on the pic to enlarge. I doubt if your freakin' eyes are that sharp that you can read the fine print on some of these.

Savor the flavor of the following posters!

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Lightning Strikes Big Butter Jesus

A six story statue, officially known as King of Kings burned to the ground, in Monroe, Ohio, Monday night during a lightning storm. When God's wrathful lightning bolt struck one of its outstretched hands, the Styrofoam and fiberglass made Jesus behemoth quickly caught on fire. All that remains is a part of the statue's metal frame. The amphitheater that sits behind the huge religious statue caught fire, too. This took place not far from where I live.

Ha! Missed me again, didn't you, God?

The statue was built by the Solid Rock Church in 2oo4. You would think that the church would have made the statue out of solid rock, but no, that would make too much sense.

This statue went by many names and nicknames. For one, it was called Big Butter Jesus because of it's off-white buttery color. And if you look closely at the photo, it does look like BBJ is sorta melting beneath the sun. One thing for sure, it sure did melt under the fire.

The King of Kings statue went by the following real (not made up by me) nicknames:

Big Butter Jesus
Drowning Jesus (See photo? See Big Jesus halfway underwater? Get picture?)
Touchdown Jesus (for it outstretched referee-like arms for a possible touchdown)
Quicksand Jesus
Giant Jesus
8-Ball Jesus
Big J
Super Jesus
MC 62-foot Jesus
Swamp Jesus

The lightning fire has sparked a new nickname for the statue- Terminator Jesus

Video of the burning Jesus is at the bottom of the post. Witness God's wrath for yourself! Behold! No mention if marshmallows were brought to the scene to toast over Jesus. If there were, perhaps he could have magically turned them into smores as he became engulfed in flames.

Maybe, as some have suggested, the Supreme Being didn't care for the unflattering names or the appearance of Quicksand Jesus. That's why it got striketh with the celestial, high-tension electrical discharge! The good Lord was pissed!

My brother-in-law thought it ironic and humorous the religious figure wasn't spared the rod (er, bolt) when a nude strip club, Bristol's, sits across the road. You would have thought that place would have felt the wrath of God, first. Eh, well. Maybe God thought that Big Butter Jesus was too glitzy or stupid looking or something. Ya never can tell with him, after all.

Comedian, Heywood Banks created a song about Big Butter Jesus before the lightning struck him. The video shows the fire and before and after shots of the statue. Enjoy!

Also: The Solid Rock Church plans on rebuilding the statue, once it can afford to. They estimate it will cost $225,000 to do it. too bad that money won't be spent on something worthwhile, like the poor and homeless.

Smoke Trick

Look what this magician, Tom Mullica, can do. Not only is the trick amazing but the fact that he is still alive and in good health- is amazing.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

A Little Piece of "Paradise"

Written about five years ago for another website, this is an excerpt from a sci-fi/erotic/humor story I created. Definitely NOT for anyone 18 and younger. It's pretty extreme, twisted and graphic to some people. Most people have told me they like the entire story, for one reason or another, and it has received an 8.5 rating out of 10 from the original site I wrote it for.

Remember... You were warned.

This is the excerpt from Chapter 2 of "Paradise"

Zahkra asked, "What happened?"

David explained, "Me and my buddies were driving all around, to the north of here…." Pausing, David glanced over and noticed Ulla's nipples poking through her halter top. Ulla winked at him. Embarrassed and stimulated, David felt his penis begin to swell. He continued, "At least I think we were north of here. Anyway, I kind of got separated from them and eventually came this way. I've been riding all day. Got lost and ran out of gas. I figured they would have found me by now."

Zahkra offered, "Well, David, we can take you back to our place. It's not far from here. We'll get your vehicle hitched to the back of the truck and take you there, get your tank filled and have you on your way again. Or we can drive you back to town, but first, you look like you could eat something."

Zahkra grinned, knowing exactly what the young rider could eat first.

As David pondered what he should do, Ulla nonchalantly walked behind David, casually pulled a small tranquilizer gun from the back of her shorts and shot him in the ass. The three mischievous HydraSians then commenced to hitch the ATV to the back of the truck. Completing that task, they loaded their captive in the truck cab and made the journey back to Sanctuary. Mission accomplished.

The captive, strapped and bound in the bed, was a twenty-something male with a burr haircut. His short stature and thin body made him appear even more helpless than he already was. His name was David and he was slowly regaining consciousness. The girls had stripped off his clothes earlier. His legs were pulled apart with tethers tied to opposing rails. Now, they were enjoying rubbing flavored oils on his chest, genitals and buttocks. The oils produced the added benefit of creating a warm sensation on skin when applied liberally, in which they were.

"Oh, I think he likes it," observed Fayne, as David's penis stiffened.

Zahkra brought over a needled syringe and announced, full of glee, "He will especially appreciate this."

Ulla pulled David's penis over to the side as Zahkra pierced the base of his penis with the needle. David winced. His eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes, fully aware of his surroundings. He demanded to know where he was and why they were doing what they were doing to him. All the normal questions one would ask in such a situation. When David glanced over at the tray of peculiar devices and instruments to his right, he begged to be released.

Zahkra put the syringe back in the tray and while taking off her robe, showing off her size 36D breasts, she began explaining everything she thought he should know, for the time being.

"David, you are a guest in our home. As a guest in our home, you will follow our rules. Noncompliance to our demands will be rewarded with pain and possible death. The chemicals I have just injected into your body will better enable you to comply. One ingredient of this compound will cause your scrotum to bloat considerably and force fifty times the sperm production you would normally create. Another delightful chemical will make your handsome cock erect for 4 to 5 hours. Yet another, will keep your heart rate stable and prohibit it from bursting in your chest as we do what pleases us with your body."

David shouted, angrily, "Just let me go! My friends are looking for me!'

Zahkra assured her "guest", saying, "I've checked the surveillance monitors. Your friends have left. And you are…. Fresh Meat."

If you wish and are over 18, you may read the story, "Paradise" in it's entirety at this link. Or, if you'd prefer, I can email it to you.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Power Madness and Public Pools

I thought I'd take a break from the oil spill series for a bit to talk about other, somewhat lighter subjects. Too much bad news and describing negative events tend to drop me in an emotional hole after awhile. But, I'll be back with my third installment, later. Promise.

A couple days ago, my wife and I went to the public pool. It's like some nasty nut house. You got your screaming, splashing monkeys (kids, to some), your ball throwing, sometimes-hitting-you-in-the-face teenagers and old fuckers wearing a collection of straps for a bathing suit, showing off their ugly skin splotches in all their glory.

I think some older folks dress this way, on purpose, just to make people sick. Who wants to see some old wrinkly, dried up fart showing off his gorilla back and gigantic boulder-like moles on his belly. And I won't even go on about the saggy man titties. I try not to look but it's like looking at a car wreck. It's just so damned hideous, you have to catch a glimpse, even it means your retinas are burned out by the overwhelming, powerful grotesqueness of such a freakish thong-wearing monster.

Goddamn, put something more on, please. In fact, I suggest hopping into a big burlap bag next time you want to show yourself in public. I'm trying to keep my food down, you bastards!

Not that I'm any prize. I have stretch marks on my stomach now from when I've lost weight the last year or so. If you want, you can trace them with your tongue. No, on second thought. Don't do that! I would giggle and cave your skull in with my fist.

And as far as caring what people wear, I don't care that much, except when you go to great extremes to be noticed. Then it becomes a weird, needy psychological malady on that person's part and I feel something must be pointed out. Like, get some mental help or stop doing that or both.

Getting back to our public pool outing...

Our main reason for going there was to get a tan and for me, to help with the non-catch skin condition on my hands I've described in an earlier post. We need to get tanner so we don't fry like bacon on our upcoming cruise to the Caribbeans. In regards to my eczema, I figured the chlorine and whatever other chemicals in the pool would help me with my hands and fingers- to help soften my skin and get the dead parts off. Sure enough, some of the old dead skin was starting to separate or shed from my new skin from being in the pool. I felt like a snake.

And no, I didn't shed and leave any skin in the pool for some numb nuts to come up for air and suddenly gulp my dead skin sheddings.

If anyone had seen the palms of my hands that day, when we got out of the pool, they likely would have screamed, pointed at me and declared, "Leper! Leper! This freak with leprosy must be destroyed at once!"

Then I, in turn, like Shrek, would begin a rampant, angry chase against the villagers and stab them with their pitchforks.... or something.

I'm just delighted as heck (sarcasm) that no members of the pool staff noticed I was wearing shorts (a big no-no), instead of swim trunks. There's a big sign at the front entrance of the pool about what you can and can't wear. They say you can't wear shorts, for one thing. No mention of thongs and straps around creases or bulges on the old, ugly or attention needy, of course.

As I was aimlessly walking around the pool, unable to swim because of the frantically mobile kiddies thrashing about, I began thinking about the old saying, Absolute power corrupts absolutely and suddenly thought of that phrase in several different perspectives.

For one, if you had the super abilities of a super hero, would your powers eventually lead you to doing more for yourself than others? Perhaps subtly pushing you to use your power(s) against someone? I would think that human nature and primal instincts might eventually take over and have some negative aspects on you- even if you believe and have convinced yourself that scenario wouldn't happen.

I, myself, think that wouldn't happen to me, but, humans (myself, included, unfortunately) can be unpredictable. Anyone with a speck of common sense can see that and have likely experienced that.

Having too much of anything is bad for humans and their race, in general. Too much money. Too many vices. Too much time wasted. Too much hate. And yes, too much love- if that love takes away from your own self worth or respect and places its powerful drive and purpose solely on that other person, group or organization.

In summary, I believe power can be a dangerous drug or influence for us, humans. We don't have the discipline or wisdom to use it the right way or in a potentially lethal circumstance most of the time. Our ever-advancing technology and intelligence (oh, really?) surpasses our more positive virtues with more frequency than the other way around.

No peeing in the community pool, kids!
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