Back in September 2011, I made a post with a Leather Daddy chef using a very phallic kitchen tool called the Saladgasm.  I had to name my naughty chef, so with very little thought, I pulled Rod Sirloin out of the air.  After it was posted, I did not think about it again.  That was until "The Real Rod Sirloin" posted a comment stating that he invented the name "Rod Sirloin" waaaay back in 2004.  Hey, good for you sport!

/www.popularirony.com/pularirony.com/2011/09/chef-rod-sirloins-amazing-saladgasm.html

HA!  This little angel must have been Googling his nickname.  The name Rod Sirloin meant nothing to me.  Does he really think he is the first person to think of combining those two words?  It seems to mean a lot to him.  How do I respond?  Comment back with a "Nuh-uh!" or "You're the rip, dickhead!".  That's not very much fun.  There was a much more classy response available to me. 

Supposedly I ripped this guy off, so I better own it.  Amazingly, RODSIRLOIN.COM was available.  I am excessively wealthy and am not opposed to purchasing a domain simply for spite..... So I did.

WWW.RODSIRLOIN.COM

I don't plan on updating the site or removing that horribly annoying, never-ending, Beyonce clip.

I can't wait for "The Real Rod Sirloin" to Google himself again.  If he loved the name so much he should have bought the domain.  I own Rod Sirloin, bitch!  Nice rip, ya rip off....

Have you ever looked through a screen door and witnessed a dog yearning to be free? Have you ever seen the instincts of a house cat dulled by imprisonment? If you have, then we need your support. We are P.E.T., the Pet Emancipation Team, and we are here to fight for the honor and soul of domesticated animals everywhere.

Our crack team of high-tech commandos are trained in the ways of home invasion, security system manipulation, and even hand to hand combat to make the most effective animal rights champions the world has ever seen. Our goal is simple: To identify at risk domestic pets and emancipate them at any cost. We cut prison-like chainlink fencing, jimmy windows, or kick down doors to make sure we have acquired our target, then give them the freedom that they so richly deserve. There is no team like us anywhere in the world, and although we are the most capable animal militants the world has ever seen, we are asking for help.

Currently we have all the necessary gear to make most simple animal extractions possible, such as balaclavas and gloves, but we want to take things to the next level. We need to purchase digital tag scanners and basic surgical equipment to remove the identifiers that stand between the animal's freedom and recapture, and we would like night vision equipment and bulletproof vests to allow us to better navigate our target homes in the dark and protect us from greedy slave owners.

Not sure if you want to donate yet? We understand. P.E.T is an extreme organization and you may need to know more about our methods before any financial commitment. First we identify the most unfit animal "owners" by means of a thorough ten-point examination, then infiltrate their homes under cover of night to obtain any imprisoned animals. Once emancipated, we release the animals in the nearest city park to live a newfound life of complete freedom without any interference from human interaction. The cats and dogs are able to scavenge and hunt just as nature intended, and turtles, birds, or other commonly domesticated species are able to find their way on their own.

Still not convinced? Well look at these statistics: Of our last 300 emancipations the animals have an estimated 3% survival rate past 48 hours with literally dozens of animals still unaccounted for. And when confronted by homeowners we have resorted to violence on a mere 46 occasions! If these numbers don't impress you enough to open your wallet just a little, then you must be some kind of meat-eating child molester. So just write your checks out to P.E.T. c/o Walter Cumberbatch, any amount accepted, and you too can be a part of the new revolution!

The next six days were touch and go. I figured I would never see Vanessa again, and I was probably unemployable. So I sat in my apartment and drank. I had 18 days left of rent and I was making the worst of them. She made a fucking mess of my place but I pushed the shards of broken dishes under the cupboard and walked along clean pathways through the kitchen, never giving a shit about the state of the place. But I eventually ran low on booze.

Frank was a good guy. He had loaned me $20 about six weeks ago and I never paid him back. He was either too big of a pussy to hassle me about it or he would never speak to me again. The only way to find out was by knocking on his door. He answered politely and let me in, we spoke about current events and the state of the economy for a few minutes, but he never mentioned owing him cash. I was able to convince him that I needed his money more than he did and he relented, so I walked out of his home thirty bucks richer. Just enough for a couple day's worth of booze. I converted his cash immediately into whiskey and didn't even bother hiding it when I got home and passed him in the stair well.


But when I got to my door I saw a message. "I have nowhere to go. I was afraid you rejected me but now I understand you just need distance. I respect that, I really do. If you can forgive me I will prove to you that I can be trusted. Really, I am ashamed at how I reacted when you have been nothing but good to me since I met you. I have a lot to make up to you but I am ready to prove myself if you can find it in your heart to let me back in. Please. Love, Vanessa"


I decided it would be better to get evicted and get on public assistance than to let that bitch back in my life, so I threw the note away. About two hours into my stupor on the couch the door started banging like a fucking madman. The landlady was on the prowl, already hunting for her rent even though it wasn't due for two weeks. She knew I was out of work and waiting for the inevitable, but fuck her anyway. We argued in the hallway until I slammed the door in her face, but not five minutes later she was pounding at door again. I opened it fast, ready to fist fight if I needed to, but It wasn't her. It was Vanessa.


"I'm sorry" She said. "I heard you yelling, and I spoke to your landlady and paid your rent. Cash. If you never want to see me again, I understand. But please, just please." She was more than a convenience fuck at this point, she was a resource. So I let her in..

Aw shit!  Who wants to see some tits!?  Celebrity tits?!  I am going to put "Celebrity Tits" into a Google image search with the SafeSearch on moderate... let's see what we got.

First up is.. Carla Gugino.  Hey look!  She's got tits!  Celebrity tits!  At least I think she is a celebrity, I have never heard of her.

Hey... is that some nip?  Celebrity nip?

Next up is... Salma Hayek.  Yup.  Celebrity... check!  Tits.... check!  She qualifies!!

I can hear that shirt creaking.

Falling into third place is... Britney Spears!  Tits Tits Celebrity Tits! Sweaty Drunken Celebrity Tits!

Do I have to buy you a drink or can we just grab them now?

Fourth on the list for Celebrity tits is... Katie Price?  Another Celebrity Titeteer that I have never heard of.  I'm guessing porn or hotel heiress.  Probably both.

Who am I?  Who gives a shit.  Tits!

Last but certainly not least.  The person who should have been #1 on the chart.  The full chested southern belle, Dolly Parton.  Them some vintage Celebrity Tits!

She must have a steel spine.

 Thanks for joining me on this pathetically juvenile excursion into the squishy land of Celebrity Tits!

I have spent a good deal of my spare time offending christians. I consider those who identify themselves primarily by their religion to be dangerously ignorant, but since I live in america I generally only have direct contact with christians. And despite all my efforts I have never been threatened with physical violence. The truth is, violence among religious faith in the face of threatening speech only gains widespread acceptance among muslims.

Before I call down the wrath of liberal outrage, hear me out. I recognize fully that institutionalized violence is a long-standing tradition of virtually all religions, particularly christianity. And the jews don't get to play the victim anymore either, now that they attack civilians in palestinian settlements with nazi-like cruelty. But in this age of instant worldwide communication most religions have learned to develop a rather thick skin. They recognize that there is such a thing as an "internet troll" that will spew inflammatory statements specifically to get a reaction, and these "trolls" don't represent any real group of people but themselves. And if you"feed the troll" by reacting, you play right into their hands and give them an undeserved level of power.

And this is what we are witnessing today across the muslim world with protests in yemen, saudi arabia, iraq, libya, egypt, and so on. I realize there is a majority of muslims in the world that understand how the internet works and would never commit an act of violence in response to some inbred/illiterate douchebag's shitty youtube movie, but they aren't the ones getting any press right now. And it's not the media's fault. If the leaders of the arab world spoke out and proclaimed these protests to be counter-productive and embarrassing, their statements would certainly be front page news. But every one of them condemns the violence while simultaneously supporting the cause. I'm not saying they need to go out and round up protesters for prosecution, but you would be surprised how far a little ridicule goes towards deflating a meaningless movement.

It is even more offensive that the arab world chooses this idiotic point to gather up arms and take to the streets for. What about forcing women to wear beekeeper suits? How about the routine lynchings for people who wear revealing outfits or have the nerve to be born gay? They live in a part of the world with crippling social and economic problems and seem to have forgotten the massive support gained from the western world when they stood up for their interests during the arab spring uprisings. I was inspired and encouraged by those protests, and thought the muslim world might be climbing their way out of stone age mentality that they have been burdened with for so long. And now this shit.

These riots are a perfect demonstration of what happens when a culture overpopulates the intersection of religious fervor and ignorance. And the same problem exists here in the states, but most of us have the good sense to ridicule those people when we come across them, like when Pat Robertson wanted to start a christian crusade against the teletubbies for spreading the gay agenda. It's laughably irresponsible. Attacking an embassy in response to a youtube clip is the moral and intellectual equivalent of breaking into a person's home, raping their daughters, killing their dog, then burning their house down because they called you a "pussy" on facebook.

I only see two options to resolve this mentality, as the success of this particular internet troll will certainly inspire hundreds more to incite violence among these overly-sensitive childish protesters. They will either have to get the sand out of their collective vagina (not easy in that part of the world) and adopt the "joke's on you- I'm the one going to paradise!" attitude practiced by most other religions, or someone is going to have to revoke their internet privileges. Because when a baby starts misbehaving and breaking their toys, mommy and daddy have to take them away until they mature a bit.

When I woke up I decided to gather all my shitty clothes and bloody sheets and take them to the wash. The place was full of mexicans so I had to stay the whole three hours while the machines ran, and I was glad I did after watching a woman with three kids go through half the discarded baskets and take her pick. On another day I might have kicked the shit out of her, but I was too damn tired to care. So I just watched while the dryer ran.

When I got home I called the phone number and left Vanessa a message and awkwardly told her that drinking alone made me feel like a goddamn drunk, which was a total lie. She clearly was attracted to me because I was so fucking broken, and feeding the fire would draw her in. When she finally knocked on the door I was sort of embarrassed because I was cooking a can of spaghetti that was shaped like characters from an animated tv show, but let her in anyway. She kissed and hugged me, and had the good sense to bring more liquor.


We talked for a few hours and ended up arguing about politics, but it was great because I didn't feel the need to lie to her and I knew she wouldn't leave. She told me that she had money and wanted to stay here for a while, which was perfect because she would keep the booze flowing and the rent paid. We fucked and then she asked me to get a bag out of her car downstairs. I brought the pistol but didn't need it.


It was only after I returned that I realized how goddamn hot and humid it was, and how much worse we made it with our sweaty fucking. It was as if the doorway was some kind of portal to a jungle hellhole complete with bands of malaria-infected nymphomaniac gorillas. I wanted a shower but was about four minutes too late, as Vanessa was already at it. I thought about joining her, but my wide shoulders made it a tight fit as it was. "Fuck it" I decided, I couldn't stand it another minute longer. I propped her bag against the chair, borrowed ten bucks from her purse, then headed out to the bar.


I walked down the block to Schmidt's, a familiar joint filled with old timers and depressing drifters, and ordered a several drinks in quick succession. The air conditioning was the only thing welcoming about the place. Even the waitress was bitchy, probably because she looked to be pregnant enough to not fit into her clothes anymore and apparently too poor to buy new ones. I didn't ever smoke but I made a point to buy a pack and blow them into her face when she passed, and jokingly offered to buy her a drink. She didn't have much of a sense of humor, but fuck her anyways. If she wasn't such a whore she wouldn't be knocked up, and if she wasn't such a bitch she would make better tips. I walked home shortly after she started crying.


When I walked through the door I was greeted by the sight of a wrecked kitchen. All my dishes were smashed on the floor along with the half-drunk bottle of whiskey Vanessa brought over. There was even a few holes in the wall. There was a small trail of blood on the floor amid the ceramic fragments, and for a few minutes I thought there might have been a break in. I walked into the bedroom half expecting to find Vanessa there, beaten bloody and raped. But when I saw the word "asshole" scrawled across a broken mirror in lipstick I figured it out. Vanessa was a crazy bitch. I didn't even bother cleaning up, just went to sleep on sheets that were wet from some unknown source, probably her piss. "God damn it" I thought. "I just washed these sheets."

Everyone remembers the sad day back on September 11, 2001. It was the day that America was attacked by muslim extremists, and led to the instigation of two mostly ridiculous wars that still haven't been totally resolved. But few still remember the original 9/11 tragedy known as the mountain meadows massacre, the day our great nation was attacked by another group of religious fanatics... the mormons.

On this day in 1857 a large group of emigrants bound by wagon train to the prosperous lands of California from Arkansas were attacked in southern Utah. They had just traveled through Salt Lake City where they apparently drew some unwelcome attention from the local mormons, who planned a deceptive seige attack while dressed as native americans. The mormon raiders were surprised by the resolve of the wagon train, who fought back the savage attacks for a full five days before wearing down the raiders.

At this time the mormon militia, led by commander Wiliiam H. Dame, decided to abandon their native garb and approach the weary wagon train as friends. They convinced the group that they had nothing but good mormony intentions and claimed to have some nearby food and water to help sustain them, but when they led the group away from their fortifications they sprung their trap. Attacking from all sides, the bloodthirsty militia laid some LDS-style smackdown and murdered 120 men, women, and children.

Not wanting any more unflattering press after widespread mormon persecution, the militia buried their unfortunate victims in a mass grave, then auctioned off their valuables. But they made one mistake: they spared a small group of seventeen children which they assimilated into their society. Not surprisingly, these children remembered these people that shot, stabbed, and burned their mothers and fathers, and word got out about the crime. The federal government stepped in and prosecuted the only confirmed mormon murderer, a man named John D. Lee, who was promptly executed.

In the years since the incident, the mormon church has strongly denied any connection to the attacks despite claims that Brigham Young himself issued the orders to the militia, and they even maintain a monument to those who died at the site of the mass grave. But in 1999, while restoring the monument at mountain meadows, the church renewed interest in the issue when they accidentally dug up 29 of the 120 buried bodies. The federal government stepped in and gave a proper burial to the remains, but all further excavation was sealed and the curch quickly finished restoration and quietly slinked away.

But the massacre was a big deal back in civil-war era America, even warranting a mention by esteemed author Mark Twain in his book, Roughing It:
 

"The whole United States rang with it's horrors. A large party of Mormons, painted and tricked out as Indians, overtook the train of emigrent wagons some three hundred miles south of Salt Lake City, and made an attack. But the emigrants threw up earthworks, made fortresses of their wagons, and defended themselves gallantly and successfully for five days! Your Missouri or Arkansas gentleman is not much afraid of the sort of scurvy apologies for "Indians" which the southern part of Utah affords. He would stand up and fight five hundred of them. At the end of the five days the Mormons tried military strategy. They retired to the upper end of the 'Meadows,' resumed civilized apparel, washed off their paint, and then, heavily armed, drove down in wagons to the beleagured emigrants, bearing a flag of truce! When the emigrants saw white men coming they threw down their guns and welcomed them with cheer after cheer...."

So on this solemn anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11, let's put a little perspective into the persecution and warmongering against muslim countries worldwide. The christian right and hawks in the republican party might want to keep the notion that islam is an evil religion alive, and may be keen to remind all of us that we live in a world surrounded by those that would attack us because they "hate freedom", or some other nonsense. But our country once had these same claims about mormons. And now they are trying to elect one president... NEVER FORGET!

FIIIISH!! FREEESH FIIIISH FOR SALE!  Get your FRESH FISH HERE!  Hey there friend!  You like the fish!  I have fish for you!  Fresh fish!!  You come get fresh fish.  My family catch!  Is good, is fresh!

See look at fish.  I have Salmon!  Best Salmon!  See look at Salmon..

You no like Salmon!?  How you no like Salmon. Ok, ok... I have better fish for you.  Fresh fish!  You like fish stew?  You need fish head.  Fresh fish head!!  See look how so much meat on head.  So many fresh fish head.  You want?! You buy!?

No!?  No want make fish head stew?  You a tough customer, huh?  I like.  I find right fish for you. Fresh fish!  Best fillet come from flat fish.  You like fillet?  You in luck!  Fresh off of boat.  Freshest of flat fish.  I see you taste bud drool with my talk.  Let me show you.  So fresh that I have no yet even put in ice.  Freshest of fish!

No?!  How this be!?  How you not tearing into flat fish right now?  So tasty be the flat fish.  Ok, I have one more fresh fish for you.  Called Kippers but I call, Ready Lady Fish.  See look...  Aha!  You interested in Ready Lady Fish.  See it look like a Ready Lady.  Ready for body pleasure.  So fresh and so taste good.  You like?  You buy?!

You buy!  Yes!  Me sell fish.  Me am Fishmonger like father and father before.  Finally sale.  You eat Ready Lady now or home?  Home?  I wrap in paper.  Out of newspaper, toilet paper ok?  No?  Oh.. well.. Goodbye then.  FIIIISH!! FREEESH FIIIISH FOR SALE!  Get your FRESH FISH HERE!

There's blood in the bed again. It has happened before, but never quite so much. Luckily the culprit was quickly identified when I felt my boxers spot-welded to my asshole. Hemorrhoids again. I swear, someday I will literally shit myself to death with these things. I got up and brushed my teeth then sat in the chair by the window to see if my neighbors were fucking. Sometimes I got lucky and caught them shamelessly copulating with the curtains open, but usually they just watched tv and ate themselves into obesity and beyond. After ten minutes I thought about about throwing a bottle across the alleyway to get their attention, maybe make them do something entertaining, but I didn't feel like talking to the cops today.

I decided to grab the cash Vanessa left for me and sneak some booze into a movie theater, just like when I was 13. First I hit the gas station, put exactly four dollars into the tank, then blew twelve bucks on a flask of rum. I always went to romantic comedies and sat all the way in the back where I could watch the girls with their boyfriends. It wasn't entirely sexual, either. Sometimes I just want to watch them laugh and cry in the dark, with only the projector lighting up their faces. I guess I was staring at one girl when I heard some snickering coming from across the aisle. It was some teenage douchebag trying to impress his girl by ridiculing the dirty old man in the back of the theater.


Instead of starting a big scene I just got up, walked over to them, and sat down right next to his girlfriend. I put my feet up on the seat in front of me and took a big pull off the bottle. "What the fuck, bro?" the kid whispered. I could tell he was a little scared. She was probably sixteen years old, blonde and a little overweight, but the kind of babyfat that would turn into curves in a few years. I leaned in and said "I bet he cries after he cums. That's what faggots do before they realize they are gay. He's gonna leave you for his best friend in a few months." She was halfway out of the theater before the shock wore off of her boyfriend and he took off after her. And there I sat alone until the shitty movie was over.


By the time I was driving home I was flying high, slightly drunk from ten or so shots in 90 minutes. I went straight back to my apartment and stared at the scribbled phone number Vanessa left for an hour or so, then went to bed.

Are you hungry?  Well I sure am.  Hamtackle brought me a wonderful gift from his recent trip to Italy.  A bag a Gourmet Italian Pasta!  A very interesting variety..... Fiordigusto!

The Italians have so many different shapes and varieties of pasta, but I have never tried this one before.  I've decided to cook it up with some turkey meatballs and a gourmet jar of white sauce. 

First I'll get them balls goin'.  I mixed my ground turkey with bread crumbs, an egg, garlic, Parmesan and pepper.  They should be zesty and delicious!  Hmmmm 20 minutes at 350 should do the trick.

Now that the balls are warming up, I'll throw the pasta into the boiling water.

Ooooh.  Just look at it bubble.  10 minutes until pasta perfection.

Well, it's been 10 minutes, let's take a look.  Ah.... The pasta is tender and looks delicious and such and interesting shape.  I don't know what it is about this pasta but I am ravenous!

Balls are done!

Gently place the balls in your hand and put them in the pot with the drained pasta.

I'm too excited!  I can't do this slowly, I need to get a big handful.

 Did someone say white sauce!?

Fuck yeah!  Cream up them balls!  This pasta is going to be great.

You gotta mix thoroughly.  Make sure to get everything coated with that hot white sauce.

Would you look at that?  A culinary masterpiece.

Whoops!  I almost gagged on that last mouthful.  I was a bit too forceful getting it into my mouth.

 Well, that was simply delicious.  I don't know what it was about this pasta but I suddenly feel like a new me!  It's like I've been suppressing something for years and somehow I just confronted it through pasta.  I can't put my finger on it.... Oh well, I'll ask my wife what she thinks it means when she gets home.  Thanks Hamtackle for the delicious gift!