It has come to my attention that someone in Vatican City has visited Blogzarro. That shouldn’t surprise you; Blogzarro is a popular blog with a wide range of quality posts for folks from all walks of life. However, after investigating Google Analytics (a website stat tracker), I discovered some disturbing details. Turns out my friend (or friends) in the Vatican checked out probably the nastiest, most pornographic page on Blogzarro (which, as devoted readers know, is saying something) — twice. Click here to see what our holy web surfer saw.
Yes, I admit it could have been a janitor or one of Satan’s undercover operatives who was browsing said filth (highly entertaining filth, but filth nonetheless). I have my suspicions, though. Do you think I’d go down with His Holiness if you were sent to hell because of reading Blogzarro?
The Japanese have some bizarre culinary and sexual practices. I’ve recently discovered one such practice that incorporates both.
There’s an underground restaurant in Japan where wealthy patrons pay to have sex with an animal and then eat it. At first blush this seems perverse and cruel. But then I got to thinking….
If I were a chicken I’d rather be groped by a lonely farmer than turned into nuggets. But maybe chickens, and the rest of the lowly animals, don’t want sex from humans under any circumstances. Fine. But no animal wants to be slaughtered and consumed by humans. And yet that is permissible. It all seems a bit hypocritical, doesn’t it? If you’re going to allow slaughter, then you should allow the loving. But the powers that be say, “Make food, not love.”
Further, there’s nothing illegal about having sex with an animal after it is turned into food. You can hump chicken nuggets all day long (in the privacy of your own home, of course). The trouble, really, is all in the sequence of events.
To sum up: Humans okay for sex, not okay for slaughter. Animals okay for slaughter, not okay for sex.
The moral of this tale is that if you want to have sex with your meat, cook it first.
I am not a homophobe. But for those of you who are — or think you might give the lifestyle a try when you get to college — I have compiled some activities that you may want to avoid. They might seem innocuous but, brother, if you don’t watch it you could be sharing quality time with Lance Bass.
Eating bananas. What else needs to be said? You might as well be sucking cock. A rather large, delicious, potassium-filled cock. If you are a homophobe, refrain from eating or handling the big yellow fruit in any way. It only leads to fellatio.
Wiping your ass. Think about it. It’s no secret — the ass is second only to the cock in the homosexual pantheon of lovemaking. And it is my firm belief that ass-wiping is the “gateway drug” to man-on-man anal sex.
Praying. I would not advise prayer for any God-fearing homophobe. One, you’re on your knees: the so-called second position in man-on-man love. Two, you’re looking up to an omniscient, father type. Three, altar boys. It all adds up to “gay.”
Applying Chapstick. Next step, lipstick…then panties, a bra and fishnet stockings. Before you know it, you go from moist lips to lopping off your cock and calling yourself Tula. Real men, like cowboys and hobos, have dry, chapped lips.
Eating Boston creme donuts. Cream filling strongly resembles jizz. Do yourself a favor and stick with a manly coffee roll, and forget the napkin.
Some time has passed between posts this year, prompting this question from loyal Blogzarro readers: “What the hell have I been doing?” I wish I had a simple answer. So, to explain myself, here’s an easy-to-read list…
I’ve been enjoying “The Two Coreys” a little too much. It’s easily the funniest show on TV (the humor, I think, is unintentional). My new favorite catchphrase: “I should just put you in the ground, kid.” Or: any sentence ending in “kid.” Also, I think it was Kiefer Sutherland who raped, so to speak, both the Coreys in their younger days. Gotta be. Or was it that other Frog Brother? He was always kinda creepy. It’s a hell of a mystery. Though, how cool would it be if one Corey molested the other, then in retaliation, the other Corey molests Corey? I smell a LOGO TV movie.
I’ve been listening to My Chemical Romance, so much so that I’m on the verge of cutting myself and then committing suicide by hanging. About 11 more hours of “The Black Parade” should do it.
I’ve been trying to lower my BMI so the trainer on Wii Fit quits talking to me in that condescending voice. (I’m down 25 pounds already.)
I’ve been coasting a lot while driving in an attempt to save gas. I’m also working on a Flintstone-esque car powered by my bare feet.
I’ve been battling waterbugs. I faced off against a tag-team of the biggest mothers ever to be seen in a Brooklyn bathroom. I came out victorious. My mop, however, was lost in the battle.
I’ve been eagerly awaiting my stimulus check, so I can thumb my nose at George Bush by putting the money in the bank and never spending it. Or, better yet, take the money and donate it to the Obama campaign (genius idea!).
I’ve been obsessing over Fantasy Baseball during much of my waking hours. My wife doesn’t agree, but I think it’s time well spent, because when I win — and I will win — I will have…well, nothing really. But I can’t help myself. Is there such a thing as Fantasy Baseball Rehab?
I’ve been working on Eliot Spitzer jokes, still. Here are three: 1) “I thought it was funny when I heard that Eliot Spitzer was caught paying a woman for sex. ‘Cause he’s been screwing New Yorkers for years and hasn’t paid them a dime.” 2) “Former governor of New Jersey Jim McGreevey was shocked when he heard that Eliot Spitzer paid $5000 an hour for sex. He was quoted as saying, ‘Doesn’t he know he can get all the sex he wants for free at any Turnpike rest stop?’” 3) “When asked what he was doing with a prostitute, Governor Spitzer said he was working on his new stimulus package.”
Now George Carlin (who died Sunday) will find out if God really loves him — or, for that matter, if He even exists. Let’s keep our fingers crossed for both.
Fantasy baseball season is here and Blogzarro is joining the fun. Of course, we’re going to do things in a Bizarro fashion. So the Blogzarro Ball League will reward failure, bad play, and general crapiness. Think the New York Mets in September 2007. Hit a home run and points are deducted, blow a save and receive points. God forbid you pitch a perfect game (-100 points). But lose on a regular basis and you’ll be Blogzarro Ball champ in the end. That’s how we play in Blogzarro Land.
The league is open to anyone who wants to join.
There will be only 12 teams, but we’ll make room for more depending on the response. Once all the teams have joined, players will be auto-picked.
In order to join the league, follow the link below, click the “Sign Up Now” or “Get Another Team” button and follow the links to “Join a Custom League.” When prompted, enter the League ID# and password below.
(9 votes, average: 8.33 out of 10)
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