On giant chickens and saving the world

I've had two great ideas recently. Actually, since I'm Mick Aloha, I've had about a million great ideas recently, but I'll share only a couple of them with you. If I shared all of them, your head would explode in a bad way.

Sometimes, I think about what I would do if I was in the Thunderdome and had to fight some fool to survive. I think, "What if I was in there with Darth Maul? What would I do?" I know what I'd do. I'd kick off the business ends of his double-bladed light saber and then put him in the figure-four. But, this isn't about that whoosy. This is about a giant chicken.

I love chicken. I mean, I love to eat chicken. Boxes are good. Buckets are better. But, what if I was in the Thunderdome and I had to fight a human-sized chicken? What would I do?

I think chickens, no matter how big they are, love chicken feed. So, I've decided to carry me around some chicken feed in my pockets wherever I go. I'll have to make room in my pockets among all of that disposable income, but I figure I can work something out. Anyway, I'll toss the chicken feed on the ground and wait for the giant chicken to peck. Then, I'll kick his legs out from under him, kick him in the beak, and then fry him up and serve him with mashed potatoes. Some KFC's sounding pretty good right about now.

My other idea is a way for you to survive and me to make money. Have you ever heard of the Plutonian Super Measles? Well, you should have. It's the most deadly...well, I was going to say virus, but it's not really a virus since it's alien. Pretty much what happens is this thing gets into you, messes around a bit, and then your cock falls off. That's right. The Plutonian Super Measles is a cock-killer, just like Drew Barrymore. Zing!

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Mick Aloha, I have all of this extra cash and I don't want to get the Plutonian Super Measles because I like my cock right where it is. What can I do?" I'm glad you asked. Well, you're in luck, as I, Mick Aloha, have developed a cure for the Plutonian Cock-killing Super Measles. For three easy payments of just $29.99 you can have this cure. Now, when it arrives and it looks like a half-eaten Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, don't worry. It's a medical disguise to trick the Plutonian Cock-killing Super Measles. Just eat what's left of it and your cock will stay right where it is, unless you're watching porn, in which case it might move a bit. I'm not responsible for that.

But wait! There's more! If you send me three easy payments of $29.99 in the next five minutes, you also get, absolutely free, a cock sticker that reads "Mick Aloha saved my cock and all I got was this lousy sticker." What a deal! That sticker's made in Germany, and you know those god damn krauts make good shit. So come on, don't delay, send me money and save your cock.

If you're a lady, I'm sorry, I can't help you. The effects of the Plutonian Cock-killing Super Measles on women are unknown. If you send me your picture, preferably in a bikini or naked, I'll get right to work on it, though.

Joe the Plumber sucks

Everyone's talking about Joe the Plumber, but they should be talking about Mick the I.T. Guy. I have needs, too. Why is there so much attention on some rich plumber who already has the good life? Give me the good life, then talk about taxes. What about Mike the Fisherman? How about Apoc the Slacker? What about Slingblade the Blade Slinger? Has anyone considered HHH the Video Game Sales Representative, Student, and Pornographer? Does anyone care about the MMD, the Bollywood Star? How about the Evil King Macrocranios the Evil King? Give us some attention, fools.

Lots of people are talking about the economy, but what they should be talking about is my disposable income. That's what runs the economy. Warren Buffett+Bill Gates=chicken feed. Mick Aloha=important. Instead of following Wall Street, they should be following Mick Street. Did Aloha go to KFC today? Yes. Did he get himself a bucket and mashed potatoes? Correct. Okay then, the market's going up! Buy, buy, buy!

Speaking of donating to Mick Aloha to give me the good life, I know times are hard, but I don't care. Send me money, fools. It's the only way to save yourselves (and me).

Dear Madonna: I'll make out with you, but that's pretty much it

Dear Madonna,

I seen on TV today that you're getting a divorce. I just want to let you know that I'll make out with you, but that's pretty much it. I know you're wondering how you can make out with Mick Aloha and then take it no further, but don't worry. If it starts to go further, I'll run away. See, I'm always looking for escape routes, Madonna, so it won't be a problem.

I don't know what you ever saw in Guy Ritchie, anyway. I seen two of his movies, and I didn't understand a god damn word anyone said. I couldn't even understand Brad Pitt, and he's a god damn American. Speaking of Brad Pitt, he and Angelina "Rode Hard" Aloha like to adopt babies from places no one wants to go, just like you. Maybe you could work your way into that relationship. Maybe they could make you their pet. Who knows? The possibilities are endless. Hmmm, Brangelina. How about Brangelinadonna? Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it, Madonna?

I also don't know what Guy Ritchie ever saw in you. Sure, you're dirty as hell, but that only goes so far. Eventually, you have to talk to each other. I bet your fake British accent drove him crazy. I bet he was all "Gorblimey! This 'ere sheila be trying to speak like a Brit. Pip pip! Tut tut! It's me bloody tea time!"

So, Madonna, take solace in the fact that you can now make out with me. I have to protect #1, and that's me, so nothing below the belt, thank you very much. Pip pip.

My interview with Sarah Palin, dude

Well, it took me nearly a month, but I finally got an exclusive interview with Sarah Palin. Instead of providing full video or audio, I'm instead going to just show snippets of transcript. I don't know why, but that seems to be how the networks roll, dude, and I roll as they roll when it comes to journalism, except I'm awesome and they suck big donkey balls.

MA: Hello, thanks for joining me today.

SP: Thank you, Mick Aloha, you're awesome and I think I might be in love with you.

MA: I seen that, dude. So, please tell everyone your name, Sarah Palin.

SP: What do you mean, Mick?

MA: I mean, what's your name?

SP: Ah, name. Well, Mick, that's a very good question. Names are very important. Heck, hockey moms have to use names just like big wigs down in Washington. Shoot, when Vladamir Putin starts rearing his ugly head, no one's going to say "Hey, look at that giant head that belongs to the guy that we have no word to identify," oh, heck no, they're going to use his name. There are lots of names. George. That's a name. Fred. Louise. Louisa.

MA: Okay, but what's your name, Sarah Palin?

SP: Name? Well, let me tell you, as governor of Alaska, the great state of Alaska, there's an important, and very big and large, yes, there's a very large and enormous responsibility to use names.

MA: Goddam it. You use too many adjectives. Whenever someone asks you a question, you just spit out adjectives.

SP: That a very big, nasty lie.

MA: So, what's your favorite color?

SP: What do you mean?

MA: I mean choose a color.

SP: Oh, heck, I like all of them. I'd have to say all of them. You know, I'm just a regular old hockey mom from the great state of Alaska.

MA: Regular? I heard you're a millionaire.

SP: Oh, well, that's, you know, there, that's, uh, well, see, hockey mom, you know, there, executive.

MA: What makes you think you have the experience to be president?

SP: Yes, definitely.

MA: Damn it, it's not a yes/no question.

SP: Correct.

MA: Damn you, Palin. Now, you're using my line against me.

SP: Correct.

MA: What TV shows do you like?

SP: All of them.

MA: What's your favorite food?

SP: All of them.

MA: In detail, please tell me what you ate for breakfast this morning.

SP: Lots of things.

I had to walk out on my own interview there. I came back, though, and the rest of the interview is in safe keeping until I'm given the good life, just like Sarah Palin.

You say "appendectomy." I say "weight loss program."

So, I had my appendix taken out this week. Everyone made a big deal about it, but really it's nothing. It's just getting rid of my weakest part. The old appendix must have been what was holding me back.

My appendectomy has gotten me to thinking. What else is there inside me that I don't need? At first, they told me they thought it was my gall bladder that was making my stomach hurt. If it was, I think they would have just taken it out. People can live without gall bladders, so why do I still have mine? I knew a guy in elementary school who had a 4-wheeler accident and lost his spleen. He seems to still be doing all right. It seems like there's all kinds of extra crap in there that I don't need. All you religious believers out there will need to explain this to me. Why would God build people with so much extra crap? And, why did he shortchange me down below? For that matter, why did evolution shortchange me? Everyone's shortchanging me, when they need to be longchanging me. They need to be longchanging me and longbilling me. Giving me bills, like 100's, not sending me bills, like utilities. I get enough of those.

What else should I have removed? What do you think? I'll both listen to and respect your opinions, as long as the cash comes in. No cash, no listen.

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.

New group of hippies found

I just read about a new tribe that was found in the Amazon that they think has had no contact with the outside world. You can read about it here. I don't really care about indigenous people, unless they're sending me money (or should I say tribute), but what caught my attention was that they live in communal huts. Communal? Sounds like someone I know. Come on, Dowell. You're all against civilization and capitalism, this sounds like the perfect hippy place for you. Maybe you and those naked savages can sit around all day and talk about how much you love sharing. Hell, I'll buy you the ticket if you want to go down there.

There's something wrong with that article. Those pictures they have of the natives were taken from an airplane. The natives are aiming their bows at the plane, so they must have seen it. So, I'm thinking they've had at least some contact with the outside world, namely that they've seen a big assed plane flying around. Myself, I don't believe this story one bit. It looks like something from that movie with that guy from Jaws. Speaking of Jaws, a hamburger's sounding pretty good right about now.