Michael Cargill's Blog, page 2

Goddam liberal assholes at NASA are ruining the galaxy

Last night, during a conversation with my buddies, I was astounded when I discovered that something I had always taken for granted as being the holy, heavenly truth had been taken away from me:

In 2006, scientists decided that Pluto was no longer a planet.

I felt as if someone had reached deep inside me and ripped my heart out.  Pluto has been a part of our democratic culture ever since my science teacher first pointed at a poster of the solar system and told the class, repeatedly, that Pluto is a planet.  It was something that everyone accepted as the truth and no-one had any reason to think otherwise.

Of course these days the teachers seem more interested in having sex with their pupils than giving them an education, which is directly responsible for the current situation where everyone’s favourite celestial body is Jupiter – as clear a indication as any that the liberals are poisoning society.  Liberals are naturally attracted to anything that is big, centralised, and has the kind of gravitational pull that impinges on everyone’s freedoms, so it stands to reason that they’re behind this particular outrage.

Me?  I always favoured Pluto, that little guy at the back minding his own business as he slowly worked his way up in the world.  He was a pioneer, a maverick who had to make do with what little scraps of radioactive warmth were left after all the fat lazy planets who sit there doing nothing had taken their bites first.  I know for a fact that Saturn doesn’t do shit except flaunt and wave his rings around like a big pussy, biding his time until he can jump on the gay marriage bandwagon.

Just what sort of message does all this send out to our kids?  It tells them that no matter how many lawns they’re willing to mow each summer and no matter how many unpaid intern positions they decide to try their hand at, some fat pervert who calls himself a scientist can just come along and take it all away from them.

It’s pure horse shit.

Hulk Hogan reviews a tin of Heinz baked beans

As some of ya’ll already know, I’ve been struggling to make ends meet since I retired from the ring as no-one’s willing to sponsor me no more. Turns out that demand for a large fella who can suffocate small children in between his thighs is dwindling; I’ve had rejection letters from just about everyone, including Nike, Adidas, and even them people who make that Vaseline stuff. That last one hurt real bad seeing as how much of it I’ve used over the years.

Things are so bad that I’ve had to resort to buying tinned foods just to keep my energy levels up, which brings me onto today’s breakfast – baked beans.

Now I’ve never been much of a reader but the instructions on how to open this gosh-darn tin are mighty hard to read, so mayhaps one of y’all can gimme a hand? Oh, silly me, I had it all upside down! And now looky, there’s one of them ringy pull things staring right up at me. Why’d they have to hide it away like that, folks get all confused with such trickery.

Okay, now that the lid’s off I can see some little cocoon things swimming around in some kind of red goo. Now, I guess that thems are the beans but they’re far too small for me to get hold of so I’ll have to use a cocktail stick to jab ‘em before they start hatching. Hmmm, they taste kinda squishy; kinda nice; but also kinda cold and, if I’m honest, I prefer a hot breakfast to a cold one.  Let me just pour them into my pants for a minute, there’s plenty of warm down there.

Gosh darn it, the goo is starting to seep through the spandex!  Gimme a sec while I scoop it all back out and finish it off in one go.  Okay, well, this time it was much warmer but there were several crunchy little hairs mixed up with the sauce. I’m not sure where they came from but it was like eating raw spaghetti… and boy, do I like my spaghetti!

Well, it has to be said, these baked beans ain’t half bad. I think I might give the barbecue frankfurters a try next week.