My First Rejected Post To

As all my friends know, I am a huge Kevin James fan. I mean that literally and figuratively as I am both morbidly obese and I greatly admire my boy K-James. From his early years as a fat delivery man on King of Queens, to his later years as a fat guy with a funny occupation in movies, I have always been there, laughing my fanny off. So when I heard rumors about his next big budget film, I nearly creamed my pants with excitement. 

Apparently, he will play an overweight guy with an embarrassing, yet endearing occupation, who is down on his luck and vying for the attention of an attractive woman that is clearly out of his league. This woman sees glimpses of his heart of gold, but is put off by his awkward tendencies and a couple of hilarious misunderstandings. One of these misunderstandings comes when they are in an intimate situation and K-James accidentally passes gas! To make matters worse, she is engaged to a really confident, handsome businessman who is trying to put K-James’ employer out of business. Did I mention there’s an adorable sidekick played by either a cute animal or a little black kid?

In the end, through a series of irresponsible and improbable decisions, K-James saves his company and reveals the truth about the handsome businessman’s evil plans, causing the super attractive woman to fall in love with K-James. Rumor has it, in the last scene, K-James and the woman are about to kiss, when all of a sudden the adorable sidekick says “Gross! Get a room already!” OMG this sounds like the greatest thing ever!!! I can’t wait!

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The first man walked into the room and sat to answer the two men before him. What has meditation done for you?, they asked. The man said: After meditating everyday for the first three weeks I began to feel a bit calmer. My anxiety and work related stress had subsided and overall I felt more at peace with myself and my family. The fourth and final week of meditation, our air conditioner broke and our house was like a sauna. I had to meditate in just my underwear, exposing my embarrassing tan lines. When my family spotted me in my meditation corner, my kids started to vomit everywhere and my wife filed for divorce that day. They couldn’t bear to look at how disgusting my tan lines were. All of a sudden my life was turned upside down and my stress and anxiety began to return with a vengeance. But I kept meditating everyday as instructed. On the last day of meditation, the day my wife and kids were scheduled to move out, something happened. I went down into pure consciousness and when I came out, I had a perfectly even tan. My family, shocked, surrounded me in a tearful embrace, admiring my bronze color. We have never been happier and I plan on continuing my meditations.

The second man slinked into the room and plopped into the heavy metal chair, readying himself. What has meditation done for you?, the two men asked. The man said: I have this light green striped shirt. It was one of my nicest shirts, given to me from my mother on her last Christmas. She always wanted me to look nice. I did the meditations sporadically for the first couple weeks. Seemed like a bunch of malarkey that you had told me and to be honest I wasn’t too committed. Last Sunday was my girlfriends niece’s baptism, an event her whole family was excited about. They had been talking about it for weeks and as the day drew closer I could see the anticipation growing on their faces. I was already nervous around her family, as I had accidentally muttered a profanity at a Sunday brunch when I clumsily dropped a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto aforementioned niece’s head. Everyone acknowledged it was an accident, but the profanity that I’m sure they heard went unmentioned and presumably unforgiven. I tried meditating but every time I would get lost in nervous anger. The day before the baptism, my friend Walter came over to play the new Madden. We were having a great time, eating candy corn and sipping coke, when I scored a touchdown in overtime to win the game. Walter jumped off the couch, sending my coke flying across the room, spraying all over my light green striped shirt I had hanging up for the baptism the following day. I tried everything to get the stain out, but nothing worked. That night I was out of ideas and I remembered what you told me, ‘meditation is often the key’. So I meditated, albeit with my same skepticism and lack of focus. I was sitting on the floor thinking about sitting on the floor when suddenly I saw a grassy field. Similar to the field behind my house where my mother showed me how to fly my first kite. In the middle of this field was a patch of dead, brown grass and weeds. I had this rusty old push mower that sputtered along and I shoved it through the field, chopping the grass evenly. When I got to the brown patch, the mower died. I tried to yank it to a start but no go. I grabbed it by the front wheels and leaned it back to reveal a large rock lodged in the blade. I hesitantly reached in and pulled at it. When I finally yanked out the rock I fell back into the dead grass and stringy weeds, taking notice that the mower was running. It started moving towards me and I couldn’t escape. Horrified, it ran over me and the brown patch, leaving in its place the greenest grass in the field. I startled out of the meditation, sweaty and disoriented. I went to take a shower when I spotted my shirt hanging on the door. The stain was completely gone. I plan to continue my meditations.

The last man entered the windowless, dimly light room and looked at the two men for a few seconds before beginning. What has meditation done for you?, said the two men. The man itched at his mustache and said: My wife committed suicide 16 years ago. She drove off a cliff by the ocean. The car crashed into the rocky beach, breaking her body, but sparing her soul. From the mangled wreckage, she pulled herself out and dragged her splintered body 200 feet into the ocean where she drowned. Our one child, Victor, was 19 at the time, in his first semester of college. I tried to keep the details from him, but when he found out what happened, how determined his mother was to die, he drunkenly parked his car on the train tracks and got killed. Victor had a girlfriend, Linday, who was in her senior year of high school at the time. Linday was homecoming queen and valedictorian that year, on track for medical school. She wanted to be a heart surgeon. The day after Victor died, Linday locked herself in her room and slit her wrists, bleeding to death as her parents tried to knock down the door. Linday’s parents fell into a horrible depression in the weeks that followed. They stopped going to work and ignored everyone’s attempts to communicate with them. I showed up to their house 4 times and no one came to the door. Eventually, I contacted the police who found them both dead in the bathtub. They had dropped a toaster in. The police officer first on the scene, a rookie named Goodwin, took it pretty bad. The kid fell into a rough patch, pistol whipping drivers who were speeding, he raped a guy who double parked, and was drinking heavily on the clock. Finally, it caught up with him and he crashed his police car into a light pole, paralyzingly himself from the waist down. Goodwin spent several weeks in the hospital, gradually falling in love with his nurse, DeeDee. His affection went unspoken until the day before he was meant to be released. DeeDee was surprised by his feelings and broke the news that she was recently engaged to her high school sweetheart. The conversation ended in thick tension and when DeeDee returned to Goodwin’s room, he had strangled himself with his catheter. That hospital was known for sturdy catheters. Well, right after that happened, there was a huge uproar about the dangerous sturdiness of these catheters and Goodwin’s family demanded answers. A local guy, Sherman, designed the catheters and was taken to court. It’s a small town and the judge was close personal friends with Goodwin’s family, so in a fairly corrupt sentence, Sherman was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. The poor guy got shipped out to a maximum security prison and just got sodomized like no other. Rumors started to go around that even the prisoners were feeling guilty about it, but Sherman was losing his mind and started to force himself on the convicts. He began to plan and organize events, all culminating in what was now an awkward “rape”. For one of these events, he reached his highest attendance, 16, and managed to synchronize all participants climax, resulting in Sherman’s drowning to death. It had been his plan all along, the only way to escape from a lifetime in prison. All 16 of those prisoners went on to commit suicide over the next 5 years. You might think it ends there, but that’s really just where it starts. Those 16 deaths branched out all over the country, exponentially increasing. By my count, since my wife killed herself, there have been 12.3 million suicides that were indirectly caused by it. Around that 12 millionth death, I fell into depression, feeling like this would never end and feeling responsibility. I’m responsible because of what I did to my wife. She was always really dumb. We had just seen Inception with Leonardo Dicaprio and she didn’t understand the ending. I explained that it was leaving it up to the audience to decide whether or not the whole thing was a dream or not. This confused her further and I had to several times explain the entirety of the film, frequently saying, “It’s not THAT confusing.” After weeks of repeating the major plot themes, I lost my patience. At the dinner table she asked me, “But how did the Asian guy get so old but didn’t have any brain damage when he woke up?” I threw my plate of food across the room and screamed. “it’s just a movie, if you don’t get it just move on! None of it matters!” We didn’t speak for a few days, and when we did something seemed off about her. She wouldn’t clean up the kitchen after a meal, she’d show up to work late, her behavior seemed carefree and disengaged. I realized that through my angry words I had planted an idea in her head. The idea that nothing matters. She started to deny the importance of everything, stating that Victor wasn’t even our real son and for some reason she started speaking in a French accent. It all led to her death. When you recruited me for this meditation study, I was on a lot of medication because of my depression. It wasn’t helping me at all, just felt like I was getting buried alive. The first time I meditated I went somewhere. I don’t know where, waves were crashing over me and I couldn’t open my eyes but I felt her there, like when she was in an adjacent room, I used to feel her around the corner, know she was there. But then she was slipping away and I knew I was alone. When I came out of the meditation I was lying in bed with her. I looked into her eyes and knew it was her and that this was real. She’s alive. When I bring anything up about what happened she gets very confused and I change the subject. But she’s back and I’ve never been happier. I need to rush home actually and get back to her. I plan to continue my meditations.

The third man left the room and the two men closed their notebooks. The door opened again and an overweight man in a custom made suit waddled with a briefcase that he slammed down on the heavy table. The fat man said: Good lord, you two are irresponsible. Leading these people to believe that your meditations have done these things is just plain immoral. But, I’m not the morality police, I’m just the fact checker. So here’s the facts. The first man who magically got that tan? Turns out his meditation corner was by a window. After a week of meditating without a shirt, he got tan. And why the hell would his family be so disgusted by a bad tan? I mean–forget it. The second guy with the shirt stain. He doused his shirt with a bunch of that tide bleach stuff and while he was meditating it started to work. He just had to wait a little bit for the chemicals to take hold. What an asshole. And finally, that last guy with the mustache. Nothing he said was true, he’s never even been married! He’s apparently been using bathtub salts for a few months, ate some little kids face last week. So this leads me to the conclusion that you two are pure evil. You are propagating a lie that your meditations will essentially make magical, reality defying things come true and I won’t let that happen. I’m publishing my findings and shutting down your program.

The two men stood from the table and faced each other, dropping their pants in unison. They made direct eye contact with each other and began humming together a very low note. They touched their tips together and a red energy began to form around it and grew more concentrated. From the two dickheads a laser beam shot into the fat man and vaporized him. The two men looked at each other with a smirk. “Guess he didn’t know about our magic dicks.”

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Criminal Extraction

Jailtime criminal extraction in recent years has been placed at least in the ‘worry’ column for most of the modern prosecutors taking part in today’s legal system. Basically an unfortunate consequence of irresponsible mismanagement of relational databases that watch over the incarceration of America’s most malignant criminals, the lawyers are forced to a really fucking unacceptable level of complexity when just trying to get really primitive information about their clients. If one aims to exact a precise condition gauged towards an aimed man, it remains to the calculated benefit of the searcher to conceptually release their own ideas of what the actual information might be and then to fill in the spaces with their own ideas. The consequences of such idiocy enacted by our golden government marks a fundamental misconstrue of how simple it should be to put these assholes into jail.

I think it is fair to say the most representative creationist of the policies guarding against a restructuring of the ‘crime’ tables held by the state is the Reverend John Hughes, a master of disaster in actually making observable changes but a fucking legend in keeping his ass in the hot seat. The idea the man has propositioned an innumerable amount of times is to hold off opto-realistic security fissures by just stapling the files together with a password of eight individual characters, which translates to basically just telling these modern day ecclesiastical courts/jails to surrender the history of each madman they hold, and I say is still arguably the only pieces that are retaining the outlaws from just dragging their feet behind any fucking citizen on the sidewalk and is a straight head in towards a Gotham-esque dystopia and civil war. The problem grows exponentially when you realize that the general American clergyman is aware of this breach and therefore legislation has consistently been passed to decrease any sort of percentage opportunity that might have made recovering the data not mind bogglingly tedious. Its a wonder that even with a programmer utopia that is the liberal states of America, we still break our fucking backs to push our open orifices into the mongoloid that is the Criminal Bank of the United States Jailing System.

Unfortunately, this is the type of thing that has complexity riding on the ass of every even partly potential solution. Bureaucrats who have never committed any sort of pandemic malady against the citizenry are evidently extraordinarily unlikely to convince themselves that our extraordinarily primitive version of jailtime criminal extraction is worth revolutionizing. In the final year of Comp Sci education, I constructed a needlessly expansive system of ethnically divided roundtables, each which were secured using only primitive data that has an opportunity to be a generator of a next round of passwords. I’ll agree completely that this system is too much for what I preemptively described as one of the worlds most pathetic resolutions in criminal hacking, but at least its a start. I’l end by saying it would definitely behoove the sanity of every person who is afraid of a crime being thrust upon them if someone might place someone like me as the conductor of this system.

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The troof

Go ahead and try bitch ass
Lock me up
Tear me down
Suck my dick

You can’t categorize me
I ain’t just a number
To be read
I’m an individual

If you really want to label me
Label me badass truth teller
I could do that

I’m slinging wisdom
Left and right
Additionally you could categorize me
As directionally coherent tosser of wisdom

Suck my dick Netflix
You recommended
Gay and lesbian movies
One category I am not a part of

The problem is I don’t fit into
Society’s labels and boxes
Except for heterosexual
Cause I bang bitches

I’m also Mexican
So slide me under
For the census

My fav food is
Bleu cheese burger sliders
From Applebee’s ya heard
Alls I say is “ill have the usual”

I’m wearing my gold chains
And shit
Got on the mailing list
Cause they have seasonal coupons for similar products

Clearly I do belong in several categories
And y’all bitches be labeling

But remember this
The only thing that defines me

Is a mom-fudging

Cause my name is
Granola Bar

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The performance

I’ve got this thing where every time I see a fat girl coming out of the bathroom I imagine a really stinky shit. Yeah, you have that too sir? This guy totally does that. There’s something about fat people and shit that goes hand in hand. They are a shitty group of people and I don’t mean that like they suck. I mean they probably just shit a lot. One time I was banging this chubby girl, she was like a solid 4 cause I don’t give a shit and I’m hitting it from behind and all of a sudden she rips this massive fart. Like taco bell for breakfast kinda fart. Of course I keep pounding that shit and I say what the fuck was that? She goes dont worry it was just a queef. Since when the fuck was a queef better than a goddamn fart? At least a fart has a unique almost lovable personality to it, but a queef is just a soulless entity, seeping out of pussys and floating thru the air like an evil spirit. But let me tell you this. Chicks dig anal. Chicks fucking dig anal. You bitches can groan all you want but you all wanna get fucked in the ass right now. One time I went in totally dry and she’s like is it in all the way and I’m like yeah partially. I’ve got a big dick ok. Hellooooo? He knocks on the microphone. Anyway one time I took a crap so big it was like I was shitting dildos. Girls love dildos cause they can’t get dumped by one and they come in pretty colors. Girls love dumb shit cause they’re dumb as fuck that’s my theory. I read Cosmo cause my friend told me that it helps u learn how women think. I learned women are fucking stupid. That magazine is nothing but tampon ads and advice on how to cuntily inslave your boyfriend. There was an article titled 5 best sex tricks for your man but I know it was bullshit cause letting him cum in your asshole while donkey punching the back of your dumb fucking head wasn’t in there. That’s my time thanks so much you guys were great!

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My cafe is about local products,organic food, comfortable chairs, alternative music, and most importantly the people. All of our ice cream is made right in the back kitchen where I stir it in a big pot that my mother used to bath me in as a baby. She would wash me for hours sometimes, let me sit in there and just simmer in my baby juices. The pot was also used by her mother, who gave birth to her in it alone. Absolutely no one around to help my grandmother, until that is, my mother popped out and then she had some company. It’s been many decades since that night, but I like to think there’s still a hint if afterbirth in all of our hard ice creams.

Our cakes are baked here in ovens that were used in auschwitz, and believe me I know what you’re thinking: how many cakes can you fit in there? 20. We can cook 20 cakes at a time in our holocaust oven. I bought it from a guy out in Kansas city, owns a little independent warehouse manufacturing exportation masturbation company incorporated etc, and everybody told me, don’t trust this guy, he’s all bogus and bonkers. But I knew he was the real deal when I talked to him on the phone for the first time. He’s into making real products locally and thinks modest mouse went bullshit after 2006. I like to do business with good people who grow their own wheat. I wasn’t sure what the oven would look like, but it looks just like an old pizza oven! It’s crazy how you can find out historical shit through everyday life. I love my job!

All of the butter used in our recipes is churned right here in the back room. In our kitchen, which I like to call the “the lab” (cause I’m kinda like a mad scientist), we have a young Asian boy i call churn chong who churns our butter 16 hours a day. This little guy wears nothing but a loin cloth, and never says shit! He’s a funny little guy, he started churning with us 2 years ago when his mom ended up in prison. Long story, but I met her at a coffee bean one day when we ordered the same iced blended hazelnut macchiato organic chopped Caesar salad and since I only bang local ambiguous Asian chicks, I came inside her a couple times. About 9 months later she started calling me again saying something about something so I changed my phone number and then churn Chong showed up at the shop not long after. Apparently his mom had thrown somebody’s baby in a dumpster behind chipotle and now churn Chong was just wandering around. We use that butter in all of our baking.

Most of our customers, or as I like to call them, my “crew”, are local. In fact we only serve local clientele. We have a strict policy that you must show state identification and proof of residency before you can order shit! I can’t tell you how many tourists come in here saying hey I just wanna buy an ice cream and I gotta kick them the fuck out!

I don’t do business like all those other guys that claim they make all their own organic shit and only fuck with local pussy. Those guys all say “oh I’m the real deal, all my shits organic and local”, but that’s bullshit and I’m the real deal cause all my shits organic and local.

Churn chong lives with me now. The first couple nights after he showed up I just left work because I didn’t even think about it. But then I noticed that he would sleep in the dumpster behind the cafe, and at first I tried to make a joke of it, so I said “hey looking for your little bro?” I’d like to think I saw a smile, but this kids face always looks like he just ate a lemon. We have all our lemons shipped from a small lemon farm 45 miles away, out in the country. The farmer, Jim-joe, is the real motherfuckin dealio. This guy has got 7 teeth, cause I counted during a conversation one time, and he almost caught me, I was gonna be like awkward! He does some crazy shit with lemons, like he’ll plant them and maintain that shit and then pick them, I don’t know how he does all that.

So one night when I was locking up, I heard churn chong whimpering in the dumpster and I took a look inside and asked what was wrong. Apparently he had severely injured his little arms from all the churning and was having all sorts of pain, plus his feet were bleeding more than usual. I grabbed the little fucker out of there and he slept on my couch with a newspaper blanket. His suggestion.

UPDATE: Churn chong’s mom got out of jail a couple weeks ago, found out her name is Alice. We had coffee at the cafe (local beans ground up by my grandmas bones(jk Halloween prop)) and she started telling me about herself. Her parents are Thai, she loves boba, she’s from Oklahoma, her favorite soup is STOP THE TAPE! I yelled right at her face. You’re not from here? Locally? Whaaaaaaaaaaa? We got in a really big argument and finally came to the conclusion that if she got some fake titties from the place down the street that we’d get married. The plastic surgeon was this Russia dude with this massive badass beard, the guy was the real deal for totes. She went under for the procedure and what I was told was that there were some complications with the anesthesiologist and a previous medical condition they weren’t aware of and someone left a window open so a bird flew in and started pecking at shit and apparently they had to rush her to the hospital and she didn’t make it. Still avoiding churn chong on that one, the cute lil guy is getting more suspicious everyday though. So it’s been a crazy couple weeks! I noticed that I’m starting to cry at like the most random times too! It is too funny…

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How to save money at the pump

Gas is so EXPENSIVE!!!!!!!!!!! Jesus, I spent $800 this week on GAS. It’s unbelievable how much this is affecting my life and I’m assuming most Americans. The other day it took me so long to fill up my tank, I was late picking up my daughter from soccer or dance class or something and the whole ride home she was mad. My wife made me have a one on one talk with her that night. I can’t deal with this bullshit!!! I came up with some tips that help save gas, and puts MONEY IN YOUR POCKET!

1. Find more direct routes
-Taking the scenic route is a thing of the past. A great man once said, “the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.” Did you know that’s the basis for the Pythagorean theorem, one of the few principles that we use in everyday life? If you are headed to work or the bank then don’t take the long way! Get there as direct as you can by using a map. You can pick up a map at a gas station that will show street names and relative distances. These are helpful when trying to find direct routes! You can also order maps from online.

2. Don’t pay EVERY TIME
-Wanna know the best way to save money and have MONEY IN YOUR POCKET? Don’t spend it! Make sure it’s a place you can pump and then pay, that way you can pump and then you don’t have to pay after you pump. Now, I know some people will say that it’s steeling, but let me ask you this: big oil steels from YOU EVERYDAY. It’s outrageous how much we are getting gouged at the pump when these 1%ers are having caviar off of hookers tits every night thanks to us! Um, you’re welcome!

3. Hybrid
-Go green! There’s tons of alternative green energy out there. Wind, solar, waves, water, clean coal, fossils, and tons more to name a few. The only problem with hybrid’s is that you’ll be stuck at the pump so little, you’ll actually forget how to pump gas! I got that from a commercial. Hybrid cars can be expensive though, so make sure the investment is logical. If an average hybrid is $25,000 and gas is $4.50 a gallon and it takes 20 gallons to fill your car and it gets 50miles to the gallon and you drive an average of 30 miles a day on the highway, simply subtract 76.44 from the total of the cars mileage (assuming its used) and divide by pie.

4. Only go places when you absolutely have to
-This one really ticks me off. How many people just drive around aimlessly, with no where to go? I bet more than you think. I can’t judge though, because even I’m guilty of this. About five times a week, I’ll have to go for a drive just to get away from my wife when she’s in a mood. The worst is when a cop pulls you over, because you’re already pissed and when he asks you where you’re heading to, you don’t really have an answer.

5. Do your research
-This is just obvious guys! Look it up already! How do you think I’m able to compile these tips? I did my research on the computer, even after my wife limited my Internet time. I hate her. There are tons of great sites to discover information about saving money at the pump and putting MONEY IN YOUR POCKET. Most people will say that Wikipedia is the best place to find out about stuff. But here’s something MOST people don’t know: anyone can put stuff on Wikipedia. Anyone and everyone! Any Tom Dick Jane Sally Curtis Roy Jeff or Susan can just pop info on any topic in a second. And then people actually believe what’s on there, which is dangerous. My daughter made a Wikipedia page on me that says that I won the worst dad in the world award.

6. Try your best
-Gas is expensive and it’s up to the consumer to create change. If MONEY IN YOUR POCKET is something you care about, then get it together and start trying your best. Most people only try 40% of their best on an average weekday; that leaves 60% of your best, guys! The numbers don’t lie and money never sleeps on wall street or in the pockets of big oil fat cats. With all the tips I’ve given you here, it should be easy to save thousands of bucks at the pump.

The question left is this: why should you care about MONEY IN YOUR POCKET? You gotta provide for your family knucklehead!

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