Lazy MEME Posting Bastard

The feared and much aligned MEME has been laid upon my mantle and it is with a grave heart and lazy spirit that I have decided to indulge it.

Although as usual I will not follow the required rule of tagging other people.  It is the same MEME that is frequently passed about: things about me.

I was tagged by Mel-O-Drama, check her out some time, she usually hides pictures of herself naked in her blog, but you gotta read every post to find them.

Who knows, maybe this will get Liz’s lazy ass back to her job.  If was paying her a decent salary, I could threaten to fire her, and unfortunately she is the only one who knows how to change the tires on our office and we have a flat.

Even More Shit You Did Not Want To Know About Killer

1.  I completely believe that a person is BORN gay or straight, because as a 300 pound, hairy guy I NEVER get hit on by the ladies, but put me within five blocks of a gay community and they can’t help but find me irresistible.  Many times I have thought, “Killer, you big bear, you gotta become gay, it is the only way you will ever get this much action.” But, alas, I love the vajayjay too damn much.  When I lived in San Francisco, I actually believed I knew what it was like to be a hot chick, but never got to enjoy the fruits of my sexy, hairy ass.

2.  I farted once and it smelled so bad, another man started crying.  Literally crying.

3.  I love scratching my balls so much when I wake up in the morning I have been worried I will rub a bald spot on them.  I have even gotten out a mirror to check.

4.  If my balls develop a bald spot, I will be getting a small curly haired toupee.  I am that vain about my testicles.

5.  When I was losing a lot of weight recently, my Mother shared with me that she had read that when with every twenty pounds, or so, of weight loss the penis will seem an inch bigger.  That would give me about a twelve inch penis.  My mother shouldn’t believe everything she reads. 

This is the MEME:  comment you want to do it, do it.  Knock your selves out.

•   Comments(13)    Posted by killer on 01/16 at 12:01 AM
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Ripping Off The Onion

Keeping with the gay theme, I am going to plagiarize from The Onion.  It is possibly one of my all time favorite Onion pieces.  I am going to reprint it here to keep you from having to go to all the trouble of following this Link

Why Do All These Homosexuals Keep Sucking My Cock

Look, I’m not a hateful person or anything—I believe we should all live and let live. But lately, I’ve been having a real problem with these homosexuals. You see, just about wherever I go these days, one of them approaches me and starts sucking my cock.

Take last Sunday, for instance, when I casually struck up a conversation with this guy in the health-club locker room. Nothing fruity, just a couple of fellas talking about their workout routines while enjoying a nice hot shower. The guy looked like a real man’s man, too—big biceps, meaty thighs, thick neck. He didn’t seem the least bit gay. At least not until he started sucking my cock, that is.

Where does this queer get the nerve to suck my cock? Did I look gay to him? Was I wearing a pink feather boa without realizing it? I don’t recall the phrase, “Suck my cock” entering the conversation, and I don’t have a sign around my neck that reads, “Please, You Homosexuals, Suck My Cock.”

I’ve got nothing against homosexuals. Let them be free to do their gay thing in peace, I say. But when they start sucking my cock, I’ve got a real problem.

Then there was the time I was hiking through the woods and came across a rugged-looking, blond-haired man in his early 30s. He seemed straight enough to me while we were bathing in that mountain stream, but, before you know it, he’s sucking my cock!

What is it with these homos? Can’t they control their sexual urges? Aren’t there enough gay cocks out there for them to suck on without them having to target normal people like me?

Believe me, I have no interest in getting my cock sucked by some queer. But try telling that to the guy at the beach club. Or the one at the video store. Or the one who catered my wedding. Or any of the countless other homos who’ve come on to me recently. All of them sucked my cock, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

I tell you, when a homosexual is sucking your cock, a lot of strange thoughts go through your head: How the hell did this happen? Where did this fairy ever get the idea that I was gay? And where did he get those fantastic boots?

It screws with your head at other times, too. Every time a man passes me on the street, I’m afraid he’s going to grab me and drag me off to some bathroom to suck my cock. I’ve even started to visualize these repulsive cock-sucking episodes during the healthy, heterosexual marital relations I enjoy with my wife—even some that haven’t actually happened, like the sweaty, post-game locker-room tryst with Vancouver Canucks forward Mark Messier that I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

Things could be worse, I suppose. It could be women trying to suck my cock, which would be adultery and would make me feel tremendously guilty. As it is, I’m just angry and sickened. But, believe me, that’s enough. I don’t know what makes these homosexuals mistake me for a guy who wants his cock sucked, and, frankly, I don’t want to know. I just wish there were some way to get them to stop.

I’ve tried all sorts of things, but it’s all been to no avail. A few months back, I started wearing an intimidating-looking black leather thong with menacing metal studs in the hopes that it would frighten those faggots off, but it didn’t work. In fact, it only seemed to encourage them. Then, I really started getting rough, slapping them around whenever they were sucking my cock, but that failed, too. Even pulling out of their mouths just before ejaculation and shooting sperm all over their face, chest, and hair seemed to have no effect. What do I have to do to get the message across to these swishes?

I swear, if these homosexuals don’t take a hint and quit sucking my cock all the time, I’m going to have to resort to drastic measures—like maybe pinning them down to the cement floor of the loading dock with my powerful forearms and working my cock all the way up their butt so they understand loud and clear just how much I disapprove of their unwelcome advances. I mean, you can’t get much more direct than that.

•   Comments(8)    Posted by killer on 01/15 at 12:01 AM
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A Big Old Cup of Haterade

My good friend, fellow blogger and designer of my site, Jester, has the art of blogging down to a science.  Write a few funny posts, show a few half-naked photos, and piss of the religious right. 

I am not sure if he wants me to “out” him, but Jester happens to be homosexual.  His boyfriend is also gay, which is extremely fortunate, because I think it would very awkward if he wasn’t.  I have had the pleasure of hanging out with Jester, his boyfriend and several of his close friends, who happened to be a mixture of gay and straight, and found them all to be extremely pleasant, funny and not once did anyone attempt to turn me gay, take advantage of me, or touch me in an inappropriate manner.  All this despite the fact that I was wearing my sexiest Hawaiian shirt.

Everything a sheltered Southern boy is taught in life about these deviant folks appeared untrue. 

I was even shocked about the general appearance of their humble abode.  It was not sparkling clean nor full of modern art and nothing seemed to be placed according to Feng Shui regulations.  Instead it was full of animals and littered with computer equipment.  It almost looked like a manic business person was trying to meld a pet shop with a Radio Shack. 

I have watched Will and Grace a lot, and this was nothing like their apartment.  Is TV lying to me, or is Jester just lying about his gayness in order to stir up web traffic?  Which brings me to the point of all this.

Jester’s website is jam packed with commenter’s.  He usually does pretty damn good with people talking, but good grief, everyone in a blue moon a person will swing by and decide to type in a 250 word comment about the evils of gaiety and how the Lord will smite these evil doers.  This begins an onslaught of retorts and discussions until the comment count reaches astronomical proportions.  Sure, sometimes his topic will be all gay-like, but the most recent one he was talking about legalizing pot, and WHAM...someone slips in a “I’m praying for you’re hell-bound soul.”

It’s not fair!  I want 100+ comments (occasionally).  The best I have ever managed was around 24 comments caused by a off hand comment stating my best chance to win an Olympic medal might be in that crazy trampoline gymnastics event.  Apparently that was the day some random trampoline gymnast supporter was searching the information super highway and stumbled upon my post.  “anonymous”, which seems like a bad name for your kid, was brutal in their defense of this much aligned and misunderstood sport.  Oddly enough that was almost exactly one year ago today, feel free to wax nostalgic and check it out. Looking Sexy On a Box of Wheaties

I followed that post with a few attempting to create controversy by attacking Liz and starting a beef.  It ended badly because Liz immediately stomped, metaphorically speaking, on my digital ball sack, and ended it while I cried myself to sleep.  Note to all, don’t piss off Liz.  That last sentence almost seems to promote pissing ON Liz, but I assure you, that also caused her to stomp on my ball sack, not metaphorically either.

All this leads me to complain that I am not a controversial enough person to warrant such intense scrutiny.  I don’t like to allow enough close info about myself to leak out here so people can get angry about it.  And what I do talk about people just seem to take it as a joke and ignore it.  Throughout our two year run with Killer Rants I have proclaimed to:  have sex with small farm animals, fart on comatose people, force Liz to blog from a public bathroom, beat up old ladies, worship pickles, have three testicles and the only thing that got any serious response was when I claimed to be able to win an Olympic Gold Medal from being a badass at “crack the egg” on a trampoline. 

I can only condense this argument into one simple question:  Who do you have to blow to get some controversy around here? 

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Winners Never Cheat

A lengthy discussion was had at work today around one simple question, “If your spouse cheated on you, would you forgive them?”
I was at an immediate disadvantage, having not now, nor ever, the qualifications for this question...namely:  A spouse.

It is easy to say “I would kick that bitch (or bastard if that is the case) to the curb.” But when that moment arrives, can you really do it?  I have some friends who have cut loose after such an incident and some that have stuck it out.  I personally can’t say which is better, but I think it might just be easier to stay single.

The general argument by one co-worker, a male on his third marriage, simply stated, “It is in my genes to cheat.  I have a penis and it controls me, I knew from the start that I would be a cheater.” That seems almost liberating.  It’s not my fault, it’s genetics.  Millions of years of evolution and Darwinian luck has made me literally unable to NOT put my penis inside that woman’s vagina. 

Should my spouse find it unforgivable if I go bald, if my back gets hairy, or if I have three testicles?  It’s not my doing!  Genetics has it in for me.  I can’t be blamed for being caught in bed with another woman.  All the blame should go to my parents for passing along DNA that makes it completely impossible for me NOT to sleep with the babysitter.

I really enjoy this argument.  Maybe I should get married just to use it someday.  Then again it would be simpler and less costly just to apply to other problems in my life. 

Sorry Officer, but I don’t think it is fair to give me a ticket for speeding.  A glitch in my genetic wiring makes me physically unable to go less than 70 miles an hour. 

One thing is for certain.  If Hilary Clinton had been making this face back in the mid nineties, there might never have been the need for a rubenesque intern and therefore no impeachment.

We’ll never know for sure.  Regardless, we can’t blame Bill.  If men were meant to be monogamous their penis would break off and they would die after their first sexual encounter, sort of like a honey bee.

Unfortunately however, most males would be found dead around the age of thirteen in their bathrooms; on the floor is the Sears catalog opened to bra ads, and in their hands their cold, lifeless penis.

•   Comments(13)    Posted by killer on 01/10 at 01:12 AM
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