XII / XXI / XLV _A.S.

 Right. It’s been a while, but there’s been a lot of shit going on in RobScenity Land recently. Shit that I really don’t feel like mashing through with a fork just to see if there’s something salvageable hidden in it.  Instead – some more items from the ‘Not So Happy Thoughts’ list. As always, in no particular order and directed at no particular person or persons (you know who you are).

 

·        People who try to describe some type of food as “Tasting like chicken”. Odds are the gastronomic retard has never tried the food they’re attempting to describe. Why do I say this, you ask? Here we go: The only thing on this entire planet of ours that tastes like chicken is one of two things:

 

        I. More chicken, or

     II. A different chicken (but still a chicken).

I have heard the chicken comparison used to describe octopus, rattle snake, calf’s brain, alligator, kidneys, (to name but a very few) , and, having personally sampled all of them, can confidently report that NOT A SINGLE ONE of these foods tastes even remotely like chicken. At all. Not even the slightest resemblance. We’re quite clear on this one now? Excellent. Bon Appetite.

·        Xtian Death Metal. Yes, it really exists; I know you’re as stunned as I was when I first learned of its existence. One of the more idiotic of the people I work with (a hypochristian, it turns out) was stupid enough to tell me, a card carrying member of the Church of Satan, that he was into “Xtian Death Metal”, thereby giving me full permission to RANT & DESTROY. Xtian Death Metal? What? Wadda ya got?

“Got nailed to a stick”                             

(chuggachuggaCHUG)

“Then Dad let ‘em kill me”                     (chuggachuggaCHUG)

“Then you went and lost my body!!”      (chuggachuggaCHUG)

     (Guitar solo)

 

And that’s it. One death to sing about, and that was 2000 years ago! Get over it already, quit whining and write some new fucking material!!!

·        People who try to talk to me when I’m having a dump. There’s some very serious ‘Me Time’ going on here. If I wanted conversation, I’d shit with the fucking door open. Maybe set out a chair or two, just in case it’s going to be a while. Talking to me while I’m shitting is even worse than talking to me in a movie theatre because you didn’t even have to pay for a ticket to my shitter! MAYBE then, I’d listen. But only if you’d shelled out for an overpriced popcorn and a watered down Cola-like beverage substitute first.

More later. As always – Be safe.

The RobScenity.