You're welcome. You're goddam welcome that there was no god damn apocalypse yesterday. That's right, you gave me money and I stopped the rapture. Well, bad news. Just got word...from Iehovah...that the apocalypse rapture ragnarok is coming at the end of summer. So, I guess that makes it the autumnal equinox, but I just like to call it pay day. You know the drill. Send me money or there'll be a rapture. I've stopped it before, I can stop it again.
Now, could you all stop sending me god damned pictures of your wieners? Mick Aloha is as straight as an arrow. Any of you ladies out there, feel free to send me pics. If you're hot, I mean. If you're a dude, I don't care how hot you are. No more pictures.
Showing posts with label greatest man alive. Show all posts
Showing posts with label greatest man alive. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Attention Lady Gaga: I hear you like meat
Dear Lady Gaga,
I seen that meat dress you were wearing. If you like meat so much, then how about a bone?
Fuck PETA. PETA can kiss my goddam ass. She was wearing a dress made out of beef, not panda or goddam albatross. Who's to say that meat wasn't cooked up and eaten after the VMAs? Who's to say it wasn't I, Mick Aloha, who ate it? Who's to say I didn't eat that meat and then make out with Lady Gaga? She's probably the one to say that, and that's why I'm goddam pissed.
See, I have a theory. Have you seen that goddam movie with Jodie Foster where she switches bodies with a prostitute with a heart of gold and ends up an FBI agent on an airplane where her daughter disappeared and then she ends up in some ridiculous goddam room with no escape routes? Yeah, it reminds me of that movie. That guy who likes to keep girls in wells and tuck his junk is trying to use the skin of fat-ass girls to make his own girly skin or some shit like that. I can't remember, really. I seen that back in high school, and if you'd wrecked your truck and taken as many blows to the head as I have, you wouldn't remember a goddam thing. So, I think Lady Gaga wants to be a cow. It's ok, Lady Gaga. Mick Aloha doesn't mind. Get your cow on and all that. Cow-abunga, Lady Gaga. Wanna make out?
Before you say it, shut up. I know you're wondering why I want to make out with Lady Gaga. I know she's gross. But, let me be clear; I'd make out with pretty much any girl who didn't have a mustache. Actually, one night I made out with all kinds of girls who didn't have mustaches. Best night of my life. Worst night of my life? Same night.
So, Lady Gaga, I know it's tough being a celebrity and crazy, so here's an idea; put on that meat dress (or better yet, a similar dress with fresher cuts), and then get your hottest lady friend to put on a suit of fries. Then, have your second hottest friend put on a suit of Coca-Cola. Then, all of you ladies need to get really, really drunk (at your own expense), and then give me a call and we'll see what happens. Don't worry; I can TiVo my shows. Hell, I've got my own hotel room.
OK, now on to Cher. I hear you're 64 years-old. Despite your incredible age, I have to admit I liked seeing you dressed up like in that video on the ship that I watched a few thousand times. Really, you were never that much to look at, but, well, you're doable. There, I said it. Now, I know your outfit was sexy, but do you have anything that more closely resembles a Coca-Cola? Either way, if you're looking for a man half your age, and you don't mind pretty much supporting me for the rest of my life in a good-life fashion, let me know.
I seen that meat dress you were wearing. If you like meat so much, then how about a bone?
Fuck PETA. PETA can kiss my goddam ass. She was wearing a dress made out of beef, not panda or goddam albatross. Who's to say that meat wasn't cooked up and eaten after the VMAs? Who's to say it wasn't I, Mick Aloha, who ate it? Who's to say I didn't eat that meat and then make out with Lady Gaga? She's probably the one to say that, and that's why I'm goddam pissed.
See, I have a theory. Have you seen that goddam movie with Jodie Foster where she switches bodies with a prostitute with a heart of gold and ends up an FBI agent on an airplane where her daughter disappeared and then she ends up in some ridiculous goddam room with no escape routes? Yeah, it reminds me of that movie. That guy who likes to keep girls in wells and tuck his junk is trying to use the skin of fat-ass girls to make his own girly skin or some shit like that. I can't remember, really. I seen that back in high school, and if you'd wrecked your truck and taken as many blows to the head as I have, you wouldn't remember a goddam thing. So, I think Lady Gaga wants to be a cow. It's ok, Lady Gaga. Mick Aloha doesn't mind. Get your cow on and all that. Cow-abunga, Lady Gaga. Wanna make out?
Before you say it, shut up. I know you're wondering why I want to make out with Lady Gaga. I know she's gross. But, let me be clear; I'd make out with pretty much any girl who didn't have a mustache. Actually, one night I made out with all kinds of girls who didn't have mustaches. Best night of my life. Worst night of my life? Same night.
So, Lady Gaga, I know it's tough being a celebrity and crazy, so here's an idea; put on that meat dress (or better yet, a similar dress with fresher cuts), and then get your hottest lady friend to put on a suit of fries. Then, have your second hottest friend put on a suit of Coca-Cola. Then, all of you ladies need to get really, really drunk (at your own expense), and then give me a call and we'll see what happens. Don't worry; I can TiVo my shows. Hell, I've got my own hotel room.
OK, now on to Cher. I hear you're 64 years-old. Despite your incredible age, I have to admit I liked seeing you dressed up like in that video on the ship that I watched a few thousand times. Really, you were never that much to look at, but, well, you're doable. There, I said it. Now, I know your outfit was sexy, but do you have anything that more closely resembles a Coca-Cola? Either way, if you're looking for a man half your age, and you don't mind pretty much supporting me for the rest of my life in a good-life fashion, let me know.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
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.
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