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Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Well, gang, Spring is almost upon us and, as we all know, that can mean only one thing: oh yeh - cooking outside!  Whether you have a tiny hibachi barely big enough to make burgers for two, or one of those chrome monsters with a hundred knobs, capable of roasting a  Buick, and we're not talking any of those new toy Buicks of recent years, oh HELL no! We are talking Buick Fucking Electra 225, the only non-Cadillac in history to ever be accepted world wide as a legitimate conveyance for those involved in the Pimping Sciences.  But regardless of the type of BBQ you plan to use, you will be, as I mentioned, cooking outside.  Outside is where I often find myself (when I haven't been paying attention), and so, in order to make being outside more pleasurable for me and mine, I have once again braved that twisted wasteland that is my brain to search for anything that might inspire all you outdoor chefs to hasten out of my way. And what could possibly provide sufficient incentive to send all the street chefs scurrying away with their hands desperately covering the ears of their ill conceived spawn, lest their little sensibilities be shattered? You guessed it - socially unacceptable lyrics!  And so, without any further french words, here we go!

Swing Time

I hope you die like a pig
At the slaughterhouse gate.
Hope you die like a refugee
Who starves while he waits
For a little bit of kindness
A single ray of hope
Don't look to me for that'
You're at the end of your rope.
And...
It looks like it's Swing Time


Psycho-billy Cheater's Song

There's a penis in my pants, and it sure ain’t mine.
Some other fella must have left it behind.
Gonna show it to my girl so I can see
By her reaction if the bitch is fuckin' round on me.

There's a penis in my pants that don't belong to me.
It fell out of my zipper when I went to pee.
Now, I know I'm not gay, so here's the score -
I guess that's what I get for goin' out with a whore.

It sure looks to me like my gal is cheatin',
But I decided to talk, instead of handin' her a beatin'.
Her answer nearly gave me a heart attack -
She'd found a cunt in her panties, so she's paying me back!

There, good enough for now, I doubt anyone has read down this far anyway, so, as always:
Be safe, and don't take any shit.

TRS

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Own your own shit, wipe your own bum.

Right. Gonna fire off a couple quick lines, which is in some small way intended to excuse the horrific neglect I have heaped upon this innocent blog. And what I'd like to spew about is this: 
In 'The Before Times', where many of my friends and I grew up, if someone did something crappy, or got caught doing something wrong, they would react in the strangest way, in a way that confuses the fuck out of many of todays enlightened individuals. They would (are you ready for this?) - ADMIT THEIR MISTAKE , and ... AND ... ACCEPT FULL RESPONSIBILITY FOR THEIR ACTIONS!  
Now I realize that many of you will see this as plain old common sense, just something you don't need to be told, and it is you people who are, right this second, saying "Cool. RobScenity has snapped. He is babbling the glaringly obvious. We become bored with his antics."  And you would be both correct and justified, were it you I was addressing. It wernt. I'm not going to mention any names, nor shall I go into any detail on the 'incident' in question - you all know exactly who I'm referring to, and he knows who he is.  Wipe your own ass, own your own shit and stop spending all your time looking for someone to blame. It's you, dickhead. You are to blame. It's your fault, so it's time you grow a pair and man up. It's people like you that have ruined the way things used to work, and I, for one, feel your actions or lack thereof, warrant a good, old fashioned boot-fucking. Just for starters....

Until next time,
Be safe & don't take any shit.

TRS

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

The RobScenity's Favorite Conspiracy Theories

1: Bio-weapons & WGFM.  
    We, the human race, have been the testing grounds for one of the most energetic longitudinal studies in the field of biological weaponry in all of history. The test subjects hail from all walks of life and from every corner of the globe (swell oxymoron there, huh?). Not only have we been used as test subjects for the actual weapons themselves, but also in feasibility studies regarding the large-scale construction and placement of munitions factories which are all but invisible to the general population. One of the main problems facing the military has always been the availability of materials to be used against the enemy without too drastically depleting one's own resources. In the 1940's, one of the geniuses employed by the American military machine (Biological Warfare Section) came up with a brilliant concept – addressing the top brass, he asked,  
“What, gentlemen, do we have in this very country that is completely useless to us and yet so infinitely sustainable that we have entire sections of the work force employed in ridding us of this item?”
     Rather than subject you to the long, dull and totally fictional conversation that followed, I will just leap in and tell you. The brain-box was referring to W.G.F.M., which even the dimmest schoolboy knows stands for Weapons Grade Fecal Matter, or, as we know it: shit. He envisioned production of weapons grade fecal matter on a massive scale, but there were some gaps in the theory. The availability of raw material was no problem – America was the largest producer of shit in the free world, but simply launching huge volumes of normal human waste at an enemy would do little, other than piss them off. No, they must devise a way to create shit that was well and truly toxic, that would stop an enemy dead in his tracks and keep him there. Then they needed a way to produce large and consistent supplies while keeping the civilian population in the dark, as it was they who were to provide the raw materials, and if they learned of their participation and importance to success, they would, being patriotic Americans, expect to be paid.
    In the late 40's, the military think-tank came up with a plan that was nothing short of brilliant – they would develop a type of food that was completely addictive, introduce it to the civilian population, and control where the food was available. They would open a chain of restaurants that sold this food exclusively, ensuring that only they had access to the end result.  
    And so McDonald’s was born. During the decades that followed, the output was closely studied, tested and perfected. Items that failed to bring up toxicity levels were taken off the menu, reworked in secret government labs and then reinstated. The McRib Sandwich is a perfect example. So now, after years of research, experimentation, testing and re-testing, the American military now has in its possession the most effective and horrifying biological weapon ever created. Lets just hope they never have to use it.

Next time – the only reason pennies are kept in circulation.
Until then, as always, be safe.

TRS