Friday, June 09, 2006

Wowie Zarqawi

They killed Jesus! Oh my god…wait…nevermind, whoops! False alarm, my bad.

I can’t say his name, but that dude is dead. They dropped two 500 pound bombs on that guy’s slumber party and he got moted. Except, he wasn’t dead, which means they must have missed his house. They probably blew up a 7-11 at the end of the block and he was injured by falling debris. When they got to him, he was still alive:

"We did in fact see him alive," he said. "There was some sort of movement he had on the stretcher, and he did die a short time later." Article Here

“Short time later?” Yeah right. You can bet your ass there was some hanky-panky in that ambulance ride. You know that guy got all the wrong kind of medical attention. The EMT’s probably put a pillow over his face. Instead of hooking up to oxygen they “accidentally” hooked him up to the ambulance’s exhaust pipe.

When I heard Nick Berg’s father being interviewed last night I was kind of blown away. Nick Berg was the dude who got his head sawed off by Zarqawi wielding a Rambo knife. The father was sad that Zarqawi was killed. Partly because revenge leads to more violence, and partly because they’ll be others promoted into his spot. Woah. Shouldn’t the FCC be censoring that kind of common sense and grace from the public air waves? I bet the flesh melted off Novak’s skull when he heard that. Tucker Carlson’s bow tie probably exploded.

According to articles it was Task Force 145 who gets the credit for nabbing Zarqawi. Who is Task Force 145? Is it the elite force of speech therapists to help Bush Junior speak properly? Or perhaps guerrilla voice coaches to teach Bush Junior to fake a really authentic Texan accent. Is it Turk 182? No, it’s some bad ass mamma-jammas:

The job of hunting Zarqawi and rolling up his al-Qaida in Iraq network falls to Task Force 145, which is made up of the most elite U.S. and British special operations forces, and whose headquarters is in Balad.

The U.S. forces are drawn from units under Joint Special Operations Command at Pope Air Force Base, N.C. These include the military’s two “direct action” special mission units — the Army’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, known as Delta Force, and the Navy’s SEAL Team 6, sometimes known by its cover name, Naval Special Warfare Development Group; the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment and 75th Ranger Regiment; and the Air Force’s 24th Special Tactics Squadron.

Article 2 Here

But now let us shift gears to the real meat and potatoes of why we’re gathered here. Last week a friend in distress got me on the horn. He was in Dire Straits, no, not the blue-collar rock band, but between a rock and a hard place. The tale he recounted was so eerie and full of soul sickness that I contemplated forgetting it. I didn’t want hoist it up the flag pole for fear that it would cast an evil spell on all those who read it. But My Girl forced my hand, “You can’t NOT write something for fear offending a few fat people. Fat people know they’re fat.” True enough my little lady, true enough.

So here it goes. I left the salt, irony, and disgust in raw form. Let the meat hang I say, let the ugliness swing from the yard arm so all might see and know true foulness:

Phone rings.

My Buddy: hey
Me: what’s up?
MB: Nothing.
Me: How’s the 48 hour Hollywood diet coming?
MB: Man, that shit doesn’t work.
Me: You’re kidding.
MB: If people ask you about it, tell them “Don’t do it.”
Me: It didn’t work?
MB: If anything it DID the opposite. I drank 48 ounces of the shit and nothing. I gained 10 lbs on the Hollywood diet. Nothing came out. I didn’t start shitting until I started eating again.
Me: Fad diet’s never work.
MB: I just got Ripped Fuel, that’s the shit that works. I’m on this fruit diet. All I have this one good lunch and then eat fruit at night.
Me: What do you consider a “good lunch?”
MB: Combination plate. Rice, beans, meat. But I just eat the meat…and the beans…and the salad. I don’t eat the rice…well, maybe a couple bites of rice.
Me: That sounds healthy.
MB: It’s hard to lose weight. I’ve been thinking crazy. Maybe I should smoke crack because I need to lose weight.
Me: the only thing about crack is that it always leads to sucking dick.
MB: I figure meats good, I don’t eat no tortillas, no Manteca, none of the shit. I just go to the meat and salsa.
Me: Where do you go?
MB: Oh my god. A real roach coach. It’s the best. Write it up in the blog. No taco plate, no hamburgers, the real shit. Right behind Gower and Santa Monica. They screwed the counters into the wall of the truck, the place is a goldmine, ribs, menudo, whatever you want.
Me: What’s it called?
MB: I don’t know. It’s got a giant sportsfish on the side and says “coctales.” I just get double on the meat portion, cuz I figure, Atkins.
Me: Why are you dieting? Are you trying to get laid?
MB: That’s the thing. I am getting laid. I’m dating a girl: she’s a lawyer, music attorney for [bleep]. The largest fucking Mexican network in the world right? Her bro is [bleep]'s sound [bleep]. She’s 5’1’ and pure Columbian, and you know how I like pure Columbian, 120 lbs, cute…but…I’m not into it.
Me: What’s your problem? You’re never happy.
MB: It’s not a good fit. She used to be 215 pounds but she had gastric bypass. She looks like a deflated balloon. Keep her clothes on she looks good. She had Laser removal down there, smooth as a baby’s bottom.
Me: Gastric bypass? Did she tell you ahead time?
MB: She told me, “I had the surgery,” but I didn’t realize. When I got there I was like ewww. She’s got tits right? But you gotta squeeze and lift up to make it feel like a tit.
Me: This is my next blog mother-effer.
MB: Hey don’t use my name bitch.
Me: Spill your guts.
MB: I reached down her pants, when it came down to it, I reached down, it felt beautiful, not a hair in sight. She said, “I had laser hair removal.” Wow, I thought. She grooms well, I figured the rest of it’s gotta be good.
Me: And?
MB: When I took off her bra, it was flat. She was straddling me, all her skin was saggy, her stomach, her tits, looked like an old, old, lady. So fuck dude, it feels good, but I can’t get that visual. I’ve been keeping her shirt on because I can’t see it, or from behind, but generally, it’s not gonna work dude, even though she’s nice.
Me: Wow.
MB: Here’s the clincher: she thinks she’s normal. I tried to tell her. You know, go to the gym, but she doesn’t go to a real gym. She goes to Curves, that ain’t a real gym, my grandma doesn’t even break a sweat at Curves. I asked her when she was going to the gym and she said, “June.” I said, “June? Fuck, it’s June 5th already.”
Me: What about implants? She’s a lawyer. She’s got the scratch.
MB: Here’s the thing: A fat girl’s gotta a big fat pussy. You give her gastric surgery, she still has a big ol fat pussy. It feels squishy, yeah it gets, wet but it just…just doesn’t feel right. She does give good head, but she looks like a deflated Mickey Mouse Balloon.
Me: Damn.
MB: Put this in the blog for all the young people. It doesn’t matter what a girl does. She could be a lawyer, she could be rich, she could have a pretty face but if the pussy doesn’t feel tight, then it ain’t worth it. Whoevers, got the tightest pussy wins. Bottom Line.

I know it ain’t right. I know it ain’t pretty…but this is how guys really talk. And I ain’t never come across no mo-fo’s who actually seen a gastric bypass up close like this.

Word to the wise: Stay fat or work out.


Medicine Bear


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