5 Ways I'm Going to Profit from the Oil Spill

Everyone's crying about these oil-covered birds. Boo-goddam-hoo. I hate goddam birds. All they do is make noise and take dumps all over the place; they're like little Apocs with wings. Back where I'm from in Kentucky, we've got these goddam crows the size of two crows. I hate them. Everyday this week I seen those oil-covered birds on TV, and every goddam time I thought How can I make money off this oil spill? I have some ideas.

1. I'll get naked and pour motor oil all over my body. Four minutes later, I'll go out on the street, preferably during some busy time like "morning" or "late afternoon," and I'll sit there staring like a goddam oil-covered bird. As soon as someone comes up I'll say, "Give me some money, dude, this oil isn't going to wash itself off." Later on, I'll send a bill to BP. They'll be so busy paying out money over the next few decades they won't even notice. I'm hoping this method also helps me pick up chicks. "If you like those goddam oil-covered birds so much, then why don't you do me?"

2. Short BP stock. I don't goddam know how to goddam do that, so fuck that idea. Fuck it with motor oil.

3. Dress up like Jesus. Tell people on the street that I'm going down to the Gulf to fix the goddam devil oil spill. Collect money from people as I go. When I reach the Gulf, I'll sidestep Anderson Cooper and Bobby Jindal and walk on the goddam water. Then, when I get to the oil I'll slip. Then, I'll sue BP. I'll also turn water into gin sours.

4. Flood my apartment with oil. File a police report and tell those goddam dirty pigs that some rough looking "teenagers" did it and as they were running away they were talking about seeing the oil spill on the news. Sue BP and Mike Judge.

5. Forget the whole goddam thing, get drunk, and go to the strip club.

Don't forget to send me money. I need the good life. My fishing business is ruined.

I was so impressed with myself I thought I'd mention it

On the most recent episode of the Moon Masters, I talked about how great I am and how impressed I am by my own writing. I have to say I agree. I am great. I'm the greatest man who ever lived, and I've gotten some recognition from the one person whose opinion I trust and care about: me. Sometimes, I sit around on my pile of disposable income, watching me some TV, eating chicken out of a bucket, and thinking about how great I am. So, we all know who the greatest person is. Now, who's the best nation? Donation. That's right. You see the link, fools. This fine content doesn't come free. I deserve the good life and you can make it happen.

Why doesn't everyone just speak English?

I've been watching lots of anime and reading lots of manga recently. It got me to thinking a bit. Why doesn't everybody just speak English? If everyone just spoke English, then I wouldn't need subtitles. And, if everyone spoke English, then I could ask more people for donations, and the good life would be right in reach. Seriously, I need money. Money's the international language for allowing me to live the good life. I don't want to have to learn the Japanese for "Hey, brother, can you spare a wad of cash so I can live the good life?" So Mick Aloha's advice, and you know you want to take it, is if you hear someone speaking some heathen language, just step up and say, "Hey, buddy, speak English. It's okay. And, send Mick Aloha money. The end."

Over at the Moon Masters site, another place where you can donate, someone was saying that I don't talk about gin sours on this blog. I don't talk about air, either, but I still breathe it. You haven't seen me write word one over here about dead hookers, but if you looked in my trunk you'd...well, let's just say I drink gin sours like water and water like Coca Cola. Hmmm, a coke's sounding pretty good about now. Some fries wouldn't be too bad, either.

Send me money.

Thank you, and good day.