Fourth Grade Humor

A sack of shit 

“Christ on a cross, what is that pungent disgusting odor!?”

Ahhhhh … Music to mine ears, because I my friends, am a sack of excrement. No … really! Just consider your intestinal tract an every day carrier bag of man made pigeon berries. When you see people walking their dogs in the park, I’m what came out of ol’ Lassie. Did you know that she ate a tub of Vasoline last night? Man! I was disssssgusting. You’re probably thinking … I? What is he talking about? I? Who is he or she for that matter? I, am extra slice of regular you ate last night or the 64 ounce soda and burger combo the trucker bought 2 hours ago. I change from whatever is put in the human body, to that pile of shit you see sitting next to a dumpster on Avenue A and no I’m not talking about the homeless man who’s always stroking it for your viewing pleasure.

Some know me as Funyons and beer. Others know me as shame and a loss of dignity. For example, when your daughter tells you the reason she is so fit, is because she works out and takes a lot of protein, what she really means to say is … “Mom … Daddums … I recently starred in a bukkake film video and played shake weight with the largest sausage gathering in the tri-state area in 20 years.”

Cum you say? How vulgar. I can’t believe you’d say something so revolting! Well I can’t believe you ate a whole tub of 30 hot wings last night. And you wonder why Sally won’t ask you to the homecoming gala … Sure you have a bustling personality, but with that comes a helping of stretch marks, a side of body odor (that no amount of double pits to chesty can hinder) and the fact that you still sleep on Superman sheets. What self respecting girl would find that attractive?

And another thing … would all of you stop doing the courtesy flush when you’re in the bathroom. I do a lot of work to morph into the crap that blows out the ass end every day and the least you could do is allow someone to smell the awesomeness that is me. I mean hell you already gave them an overture to “Diarrhea Concerto in F Major”, the least you could do is let the smell linger before the finale of moaning that ensues. Be proud of the fact that you a gluttonous fat bastard. There’s no more shame in it than what you feel on a daily basis. 

My apologies for the delay everyone. I haven’t had a spare moment to work on any new writings. I’ll post more next week. 

-FGH

My Pen

So … that pen you stuck up your ass last night … that was me. Sure, it’s been a while since I had a night out on the town, but last night, you went a little too far. Actually, let’s be honest, it was waaaaaaaaay too far. Any further and I would have been sleeping with your sternum. For fucks sack! … what possessed you to do that?

One minute you’re sitting there watching a marathon of “Days of our Lives” and the next, you’ve booked me a first class ticket to the Hershey Factory. I know they have a school there, but I’m sure that rectal topography isn’t on the list of suggested courses.

I have been with you all throughout your college career and yes, I know things didn’t go well in that Chinese calligraphy class last term, but this is a shitty way of repaying me. Think of all the fun we’ve had. Remember when I helped you get the highest score ever in Sudoku Club or last week, when you were bored in Anatomy 401 … I helped you doodle naked pictures of Stacy from 12B?

I’ve been there time and time again, but maybe as your venture into your bi-curious romp, you’ll think about stopping at that novelty shop on 11^th. I hear you can pick up a three headed revolving Tom Collins and a Snickers bar in the same transaction.

 I get it! Sometimes, you need to spice things up and maybe this is just a phase you are going though, but I’m a Pilot G2 07, and no matter how ball my point may be, like the Lord of the Rings, I don’t want the Brown eye of Sauron being ever watchful over me. 

My Cup

You’re always picking me up and putting me down. Filling me up with various drinks and pressing your god awful lips against me. Not to mention putting that filth ridden blow hole you call a mouth on my sides. Do you parents know what’s been in there? Honestly, it’s more than I can handle sometimes. And please, for God’s sake, brush your fucking teeth every once in a while. It’s alright in the morning, I understand. Your breath is going to smell. It’s natural, but after a night of binge drinking and sex with hookers, the last thing I want is herpes. No amount of bleach can take the stains of sadness and failure off me. Sure, I was made a in a factory, who isn’t these days? I saw stories on TMZ last week confirming that Michael Jackson’s arm, left nut and 5 year old son were! But it’s not like I don’t have worries of my own. Could you imagine that I am a germ-a-phob? Laughable isn’t it? But seriously, I am. Pretty cruel right?

When I was born, my ass was a nice sandy beach. Then some mouth breather got the clever idea to heat me up and turn me into glass. I was fine! Sure, it wasn’t fun having children constantly pee on me on the shores of Oahu and I made the most out of the occasional tampon thrown on top of me, but to sweep me up as part of a park restoration project and haul me off to some dark dank factory without asking me first, is just plain rude. During the Summer I would caress the soft skin of 18 to 25 year old co-eds, but now my mornings consist of serving you gallons of Alka-seltzer and my nights filled to the brim with shitty beer as you and your friends sing Journey and play flippy cup. Natty Ice has never been good; it doesn’t make you manly or help you have a better singing voice.

Believe me, I like you, but why couldn’t I have been hauled off to a factory that makes commemorative plates of Dale Earnhardt? Hell I would have liked that. To sit all fat in cozy on the wall of some middle-aged man’s house in Houston, watching him chug his second case of 50 cent beers, his fat upper pussy area glistening with sweat as his man titties pour from the sides of his wife better. That would have been great. Sure it would get boring from time to time, but that’s life baby and it would be a shit load better than sitting here as you fill me with your fifth jack and coke. I don’t even like whiskey. Be a man! Buy a bottle of Kentucky Tavern and call it a night.  

Like I was saying though, about me being a germa-phob, who really wants to drink backwash? It’s gross, I know, but if I don’t tell you about it now, then you’re never going to know. Remember what I was saying about your parents not knowing what goes in your mouth? Well I do! Hell you could create a whole civilization out of the pertri dish you turn me into on a nightly basis. Ever heard of Listerine? I don’t really know when it all happened … this whole germa-phob thing. When you were a kid, you were so nice. You would fill me with cranberry and grape juice. Every summer I would watch in awe as a be bright shiny lemonade poured from what seemed to be the heavens, down into my base, slowly filling me up with immense joy. Now it seems the only yellow liquid that I get to enjoy and believe me, it is in no way heavenly, comes from those little pricks … and yes … they are little … you call your frenemies.

What the hell is a frenemy? A friend-enemy? That DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. An enemy is an asshole you kick in the cock when he’s starts talking jive. A friend is someone you sack-slap as a practical joke. Clearly there is a difference. Furthermore, why didn’t you throw me away after that happened the first time? Do you like the taste of pee? Is it pleasurable for you? I thought, “Well perhaps this is just hazing. You’re in college and you’re bound to end up with meningitis at some point”, but a second time? A third!? Before I knew it, this became a regular occurrence. Yet you just kept washing me out with hand soap from the dormitory bathroom. That shit doesn’t clean dishes and always leaves you with a bad aftertaste for the next sox hours. Your boys even told you what had happened to that cup, but you just kept telling them, “No, I’m not throwing it out! It’s my favorite cup! My Mom and Pops got me that for me in the third grade.”

Now, I respect you for the nice sentiment, but come on; that’s like stuffing a dead dog and putting in your house so you can always have it at your side. Let me retire, I just want to go lay in a terrible landfill or be placed in the attic, where dust and cock roaches will form nests all around me. That wouldn’t be so bad. At least I wouldn’t have to taste pee.