Kardashians Forever

Inspiration like sometimes comes to us from the most unlikely of places, right? - Kim Kardashian - (just prior to performing fellatio on some random professional athlete)

Maybe Donkey Butt did say something as profound as this and maybe she didn't; I really don't give a shit one way or the other. All I know is that my disdain for the K-Dashes, the Real Succubuses of Wherever and anyone promoting 50 Shades of Grey has reached its saturation temperature and can no longer be quelled by any amount of Bombay Sapphire (that shit takes forever to boil). When did misguided plastic surgery, greed and apathy towards knowledge become the status quo?
Have I been absent-mindedly text-drifting through the fog while some tenth grader named Skylar has been left to steer the G-6?
I am completely incapable of embracing what the world has become; a neanderthal on a planet of apes lacking the capacity to halt the regression nor light the Promothean fires of knowledge.
Slide on down world, slide down into the abyss of pop culture darkness and wrap yourself in a blanket of ignorance made from US Weekly and OK magazines. I shall sit atop this throne of paperbacks purchased at the library book sale for a buck apiece and hurl insults over your heads.
Am I better than these great American heroes? Absolutely...
Do these false gods signify the biblical end of days? Probably...
Does any of this even matter? Nope... but I need to hurry up and set the DVR to record, because Pawn Tards and all of the other completely unscripted reality shows about America's most interesting rednecks are on at eight!!!

A Banyan Tree (as read by Brad Pitt using his "Interview With A Vampire" voice)

Spanish Moss dangles from the outstretched arms of the Banyan Tree.
Vines grip the trunk in symbiotic embrace.
Rodents scurry around in attempts to procure their next meal.
I watch and patiently wait...

The bench near the base is covered in graffiti; newspapers litter the bare ground where grass once grew.
Stagnant water from a nearby retention pond flows through her veins while reptilian death plies the waters, camouflaged in her roots.

Wrapped in plastic garbage bags held together by his own feces the soul of this tree has come to espouse the knowledge of the unseen world.
He argues with a "never was" confidant about a war he was to young to have fought and wine he couldn't possibly have drank.
His borrowed shopping cart filled to the brim with his "groceries" and delectable gains.

The aroma of filth and waste permeates the once clean air of the Banyan Tree and I wait patiently...

The Spanish moss dangles towards his plastic appendages and the vines grip his waist.
Rodents rummage through his things in search of the scraps of so many meals.
He argues with the photographs in the discarded newspaper and smears the bench with his essence.

The mismatched shoes drop into the murky waters with a splash and the reptiles submerge, filled with the expectancy of the sustenance that is sure to follow.
He soon joins his unseen friend in the nether reaches of existence and the reptiles feed on what the Banyan has left behind.
If only there were more Banyan Trees in this park...

A Morning Cup of Joe

There is a water tower off in the distance, I don't really know if there has been water inside of it in recent days, but it's painted a shimmering blue and wrapped with sea life of various sorts. One can easily be transfixed by the skill of the artist who so lovingly brought his underwater world to my morning sky. It's probably a meth lab...

I take my coffee black... no sugar, no cream, just black. Like some sort of spoiled rich girl from the suburbs with a daddy complex and a drinking problem. I feel like Heidi Klum right now...

There are a lot of hookers across the street this morning? Way more than usual? I wonder if they are horny?

Apparently Vladimir Putin was re-elected. I pretended to care for about thirty seconds until I remembered this awesome dance/lip-synching show from the eighties, "Puttin on the Hits," and all I could picture was Putin lyp-synching "You Spin Me Round." They should bring that show back.

Why does the garbage man have to be so loud? Is it really necessary to slam the cans around and loud talk? Maybe I should stop putting all of my discarded treasures out there? Then what will he do; just stand there scratching his head, peering into an empty can waiting for it to magically fill up with empty beer bottles and my wife's US Weekly magazines? Good luck getting your news buddy!!! He won't even know about Jessica Simpson's baby til at least later in the week.

Is it too early to Irish this coffee up a bit?

Just Takin' A Break Is All

Gimme a Break Yeah Yeah! Gimme a Break, Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah!!
Now I am no Nell Carter, but even I deserve a break... right?
If I was a big fat ass black chick... or the star of an awesome eighties sitcom about a big fat ass black chick...
I would take breaks all the time... asshole.
Unfortunately, I am not a big fat ass black chick with her own eighties sitcom...
I'm just Randall James Sharpe and this is my thang so I probably should not be takin' a break...
Especially a sweet ass break soaked in booze and boobies, cause what the hell does that have to do with Nell Carter and awesome eighties sitcoms?
Fuck if I know, but if you ask the bottle of Jim Beam I drank tonight he would most certainly tell you that this had something to do with listening to The Black Angels and pounding Beam like I was Jim Morrison...
Look, here's the deal I am super talented and shit and if I had been a big fat ass black chick with her own eighties sitcom and my name was Nell Carter; my awesome eighties sitcom would still be on and I would be bigger than Tyler Fuckin (pretty sure that is his middle name) Perry...
Sabbatical over...

How To Survive in Florida

Survival... Florida... A place like no other in this great land (but not Target Greatland... I love that place...) we call the US of Aye. To survive in this "Florida" takes some serious cajones (that's Mexican for balls) and talent... loads of talent. To make it here you need to become one with the local inhabitants, so here are a few tips to help you camouflage yourself like a Floridian.

Sunscreen. Throw that shit out, you don't need it. Moles are what you need, big, discolored, oddly shaped moles covering your leathery, wrinkled face. I would get to work on this right away if I were you.

Smokes. Gotta have smokes, preferably Pall Mall, GPC or some other shit brand you can procure at the Haji Mart across the street. Smoker voice is kind of a big deal in these parts (especially women...very sexy), now get to puffing.

Dew. Yep Mountain Fuckin' Dew. Get some, it doesn't matter if it's Code Red, PURPLE or whatever color, just start pounding that shit day and night; you got teeth to soften up.

Hammer. You're gonna need a hammer to knock out the teeth that you have been softening up with the Dew. Hopefully they just fall out and you won't have to smash too hard; make sure you leave one or two though... don't wanna overdo it.

Pills. You are now in need of Scripts to counter all of that pain in your mouth. I suggest oxy-whatevers, you can get them anywhere and your new friends in the trailer park will love you for sharing.

Disability. Get on that shit! Why the hell would you wanna work when you got all that Dew to drink, cigs to smoke and pills to pop? Makes my back hurt just thinkin' about it.

Six Pack. The Haji Mart across the street is always running specials on 211 or Meister Brau Ice or some kinda cheap ass beer; so get over there it's almost 9:00 a.m. for Christ's sake!

Now sit back in your white plastic chair, soak up some rays and enjoy the fruits of your labor... you've earned it!

America Fuck Yeah!!!!

Twelve months.

Twelve fucking months.

Osama Bin Laden, DEAD.

Muammar Gaddafi, DEAD

Kim Jong Il, DEAD

The foes of the American way of life are dropping like flies, but there is much work to be done...

Kim Kar D'Shian, ALIVE.

Alive and stinking up the airways of freedom loving Americans.

Solution: Drop her in Mogadishu and allow her to procure a virulent strain of Aids that can end her tele-terrorism.

Barack Obama, ALIVE.

Making promises and writing checks from a "borrowed" (I have alerted local law enforcement) American checkbook.

Solution: Spray Axe Deodorant Body Spray to diminish the B.O. below recognizable levels until the next election... when we elect a new piece of shit with a pen.

The NBA, ALIVE.

Greedy, overpaid, under-educated entertainers. Barnum would have paid them in fish heads... if that.

Solution: Shut the fuckers down, nobody gives a shit anymore, Americans with tangible skills are unemployed and these self serving fuck-sticks are going back to work...WHAT THE FUCK?

America the job is only half done, the time has come to battle our domestic terrorists; we are bringing home "The Troops" from the embattled Middle East to a home-front of joblessness, reality television and subsidized professional sports.

I say re-deploy the boys to wherever the hell a Kar D'Shian is and take 'em out.

Make a defensive wall around "America's" checkbook and hire some CPA'S to balance the damn thing.

Lastly, go ahead and dispose of Kobe, Dwayne, Lebron and all the rest of CB4. These "Americans" have no clue what the rest of us have been through and how dare they play "poor me" on the heart strings of the working class that have paid their salaries and supported their extravagant lifestyles. 

There is something called the PBR on Versus Network and that shit is badass!

America... Fuck Yeah... Now get your head out of your fucking ass and do this shit!

Florida is Lovely This Time of Year

The temperature has now dropped to 40 some odd degrees here in South Central Florida and would you believe that all of the damn alligators are still alive? This is total bullshit! This has completely fucked up my plans for the day.

Florida has a plethora of less than useful wildlife of which the alligator is included, I for one hate all of them and wouldn't mind taking a napalm frag to this whole damn flea-ridden place; mind you that would end the glory that is I; then what would you do on a chilly Friday morning in December? Work? This is America none of you actually work, get over yourselves... assholes.

The Sunshine State, or so it has been called, is less a "wonderland," (that's what my body is) and more of an ancient tar pit luring us slow moving mastodons to the promise of relaxation and the quenching of our thirsts. All the while a boiling cauldron of shit is hiding just below the surface ready to entomb us for eternity (or at least until some future archaeologist comes along and digs me up and says "What the fuck is this?" "Looks like an extinct race of sub-human encased in shit." "He appears (they know I'm a male because of my fossilized dick-bone) to be entangled (from battling) with an alligator, a shark, 13 fleas, 6 cockroaches and a 1993 Cadillac Seville driven by an elderly woman wearing broken glasses and a blue wig?" 

Very little useful information will be disseminated from the discovery of my twisted corpse, because future man will be so traumatized by finding his evolutionary link in such a state that they will just blow up whatever the hell is still left of Florida (by then most of it will be back under water, where it belongs) in an attempt to erase their shame.

This stretch of sun blanched atoll is better left to all the worthless animals that have made their way here. Things migrate to Florida to die. The elderly, white trash, alligators; all completely useless and just biding the time that they have left on a little strip of land soon to be reclaimed by the depths.
Florida is lovely this time of year!