Friday, December 25, 2009

Tard and Feathered - 01 - Christmas Tard

Tard and Feathered



Episode 01—Christmas Tard






Well, hello there, folks.



So glad you could make it.



I've been working on this on and off for the last year, as have many of the people you see named in the credits.



We hope you enjoy it.



We have already started working on the next one.



Sex Mahoney for President

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Ninety Minutes, One Ball


Well folks, I'm sorry I haven't been writing as much as I should, but I am hard at work on other projects like trying to find a job and keep from starving to death.

In the meantime, enjoy this new audiobook:



Which you can download, or stream, from Archive.org or download from mininova.org as a torrent.

In this audio book, you will hear selections read by:

Mercedes (my beautiful wife):

Anonymous (a fellow myspace blogger):

Pete (my cousin):

Amy (my future sister-in-law):


And, of course, you'll hear my sweet, dulcet tones thrown in there as well.

So, download your copy today and pass it out among your friends and family. They'll appreciate the dick jokes.

Sex Mahoney for President


Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Young girls they do get weary

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.



Life is so much busier these days.

Once upon a time (and I say that because that’s how most fairy tales start) people lived in a land of milk and honey where nothing bad ever happened, men were men, women were women, and no one ever tried to molest your children… because they didn’t have to try, you most likely sold your children to them for the express purpose of molestation.


It’s always good to start with a pedophile joke, because 1) everything you say after that won’t sound as bad and B) you want people to know that you’re willing to put a child into harm’s way if it means getting a laugh… they’ll take you seriously after that.

Parentally condoned pederasty aside, I want to talk about the good ole days, because I once was a fiction writer, and just because I haven’t written fiction in a long time doesn’t mean I can’t do it again.

Remember when you were a child and life was simpler? The music sounded better, the food tasted like deity semen, everyone stayed married, and there was no crime. Life was perfect in the past.

See, I can still write fiction.

All you have to do is lie through your teeth, which is harder than it sounds because teeth are pretty dense. To make lying through them easier, drill a few lie holes in your central incisors.

If you go back thousands of years, to Hammurabi’s code, one of the first codified legal systems in known history, there are specific punishments listed for the crimes of murder, rape, and murder-rape (which is where you kill them first and rape them second, not like that pussy kind of rape-murder). That there were punishments listed for the crimes means two things… well, really just one thing said in two different ways… people committed those crimes, because otherwise there would be no need for a code, and the code did absolutely nothing to stop to them.

I know that we hairless apes like to suck our own dicks over how we can communicate with written language to the point that we believe our writing something down is enough to make it important or prevent it from happening, but as your undelivered high school poetry about the hotty sitting in front of you during 6th period Biology and the federal law against going underpantsless on Flag Day clearly prove, that’s not the case.

Once we write down a social restriction, thereby making it illegal, we humans fall into two camps: one that says we need to institute a tougher punishment, and one that says we need to address the root cause of the crime.

As usual, they’re both completely idiotic.

Modern human beings who believe that the world is going to hell in a hand basket because we coddle criminals seem to forget that murder rates are much lower now than they were in the days when punishment meant a six hour enema with a red hot poker. One early American punishment involved a person spending a whole day, from dawn to dusk, digging as big a hole as they could and then being locked in said hole with a bucket for meals, toilet, and water. It’s no wonder that those people saw witches.

The people who think that fixing the root cause of crime will solve the problem forget that the root cause is us, human beings, and, after eight thousand years of civilization we’ve been able to do all kinds of amazing things, but not fix ourselves. One of the only proofs for the existence of a deity which I value is that only an intelligent designer would be able to build such a complex machine that can do everything but its own maintenance; hell, we can’t even make a pair of underwear that doesn’t leave elastic marks on your skin after a whole day’s usage. I only hope that someday humans befriend a race of alien doctors and that they’re not Scientologists.

As long as there are human beings, we’re going to have crime and not just the fun crimes like breaking and stealing physical objects, but little, small crimes like your ugly children and the way the bathroom smells after John McCain’s been in there (I don’t care what your political affiliation, but that fucker is old, we all have, or had, grandparents and we all know the olfactory punishment they can inflict on a WC).

People long ago decided they like crime, and they want more of it, but, like the pansies they are, they had to invent ways to indulge their criminal behavior that were both socially acceptable and just as gratifying.

The ancient Akkadians had a virtual crime simulator where you paid a flat rate so you could go into a fake bazaar, steal anything you wanted, and even stab a few imperial slaves, but mothers protested that it was making their children too violent.

Instead, the human race invented politics and war, the two places where criminals of all shapes and sizes could get in on the action and indulge all of their sadistic fantasies without fear of reprisal… for the winner. If you lose a war, then fuck you, you’re a monster and you deserve to hang for your crimes.

War is the one time when a politician can keep people distracted, by sending their children to die for imaginary things like freedom, liberty, and god, long enough to win reelection and guarantee another few years of stealing, cheating, and general monkeyshines.

For a soldier, a war is a chance to kill people and use the slaughter as a cover to dust off their old high school love poems to the hotty from 6th period English and pass them off as something meaningful… from the front lines.

Throughout all of this, we’re still just broken down machines stumbling around the face of a planet that will one day kill us and doing our best to help forget that fact that we’ve only got about twenty to forty good years in us before it all goes downhill. Either way, we humans are our only worthy enemies, and, while I once thought that the human race had given up its self-destructive tendencies, eight years of George W Bush has shown me that we’re right on track to remain the most interesting and destructive species that the Earth has ever known.

I only hope that things fall apart in my lifetime, because I’m sure that armageddon will make for some damn fine television, and I don’t want some punk conservative from the 22nd century using my time period as an example of the good old days.

Sex Mahoney for President


Currently listening to:

Complete & Unbelievable: The Otis Redding Dictionary of Soul
by Otis Redding

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

We're digging in the sand

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.



Always be on time to meet people you respect.

People you don’t respect… well, fuck them, you can show up for meetings with them as late as you want, that’s why your boss schedules you for one o’clock, but makes you sit with his administrative assistant for twenty minutes while he checks his stock quotes and rubs out a quick one. It’s also the reason why your doctor keeps you waiting.

Your boss, well, that’s understandable; there’s a decent chance you have no marketable skills and the company that pays your salary does you a favor when they bestow whatever pittance keeps your family from starving on the streets.

Your doctor is just a douche bag, that’s one of the requirements for medical school.

Before you go out and enroll in your local university with dreams of keeping people waiting in disease ridden rooms, remember that not everyone can do what your doctor does and not everyone is suited to work in the medical profession. Anybody, including a semi-sentient puddle of lukewarm vomit, could replace your boss and no one would know the difference, a fact over which you’ve often masturbated, but your doctor can be a douche because he or she sometimes provides a valuable service… sometimes.

There are a lot of doctors out there who assume that, just because they put on a white coat it suddenly makes them some kind of hero who automatically deserves respect, but you can’t grab respect with a one time action and expect it to last forever. Just like anything else, people must constantly prove that they deserve respect by making wise, selfless actions; otherwise, you end up in the same boat as my attractive cousin every time she forgets I’m an unscrupulous scumbag and lets me take nude pictures of her while she’s unconscious.

You can tell how much a person respects you by seeing how much of your advice they take to heart. Most of us obviously don’t respect our doctors; otherwise we would have stopped smoking and licking Ebola virus lab cultures a long time ago. Most of our friends obviously don’t respect us because they don’t listen to a word we have to say about the best way to introduce their teenage daughters to sexual intercourse.

Generally, we respect people who seem confident or who are willing to tell us the things we want to hear because we almost always take their advice, which, coincidentally, is exactly what we already decided to do when we asked them for their opinions.

Politicians don’t respect us.

Why would they?

The more a person lies to you, the less they respect you and the more ludicrous the lie, the more you can be certain they have nothing but disdain for you. Sure, there are times when we lie to people we respect to make ourselves sound more important than we really are, like when you told that girl in a bar that you hung out with Steve Tyler when you actually broke into Steve Perry’s house because you didn’t know the difference between Journey and Aerosmith.

It’s true that politicians will occasionally lie to make themselves appear big, but most of the time they lie because they want people to trust them; the same reason you had for lying to that nice man, who now has to go from door to door and tell everyone he’s a pederast every time the local vigilantes chase him out of the neighborhood, because you told him you were 18.

Just as you didn’t respect that seemingly nice older gentleman, whose balls sagged down to his knees, politicians do not respect you.

If they did, they would take your advice more often. We have accurate gauges to determine people’s opinions on everything from their favorite flavor of salad dressing to the appropriate course of action to take with Iran, but, as the former president and every single member of congress have so forcefully shown us, your opinion doesn’t matter; otherwise, weed would be legal and the war in Iraq would have ended on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

Politicians don’t respect you because they lie to you constantly, but depend on your votes to achieve and maintain their positions; it’s the same relationship you have with your boss, only, your boss can fire you for minor infractions like showing up late or stealing office supplies by the millions.

There’s nothing more galling than respecting people to whom you owe respect for no other reason than their position.

Of course, this isn’t any new information. Everybody knows that politicians lie and that they don’t give a lick about the public, but there are still folks out there willing to commit their time and energy to politics no matter how many times they peer behind the curtain and see Frank Morgan pulling a bunch of levers and spinning a great, big wheel.

I understand that there’s a lot of time between now and when you’ll die, so do something more resourceful with your time and campaign against politicians. Instead of putting up signs, handing out buttons, and acting like grownup cheerleaders, spend that time researching all the times these jackaninnies have lied to the American people, and then tell everyone you know the truth about what’s behind the curtain.

If things go on the way they have, your foolish antics and pointless blather is going to make me sick, and I’m tired of waiting around the doctor’s office.

Sex Mahoney for President


Currently listening to:

Ganging Up on the Sun
by Guster

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Food Tastes Better When It's Free

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.

Tired of using your eyes like a sucker. Then download the new audio book. It's all your favorite blogs, read by people you've never met.


Download it from archive.org or as a torrent at mininova

Sex Mahoney for President


Currently listening to:

Food Tastes Better When It's Free
by Sex Mahoney

Alcohol Makes Everyone Drunk

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.

Tired of using your eyes like a sucker. Then download the new audio book. It's all your favorite blogs, read by people you've never met.


Download it from archive.org or as a torrent at mininova

Sex Mahoney for President


Currently listening to:

Alcohol Makes Everyone Drunk
by Sex Mahoney

Pirate Living for Landlocked People

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm so glad you could make it.
If your pocket still hurts from holiday spending extravaganzas, then help yourself to some free material, starting with this book:



You can download it from The Internet Archive or as a torrent at Mininova.org.

This book makes for excellent post-holiday reading; so, grab the family, gather around the fire and share in the warmth.

Sex Mahoney for President

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Fire in the canyon, rain on the plains

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.



Speech isn’t free.

No matter what you may have heard to the contrary, the first amendment only stops Congress from making any laws that prohibit the free speech’s exercise, you can make all the laws against free speech that you have the time and patience to commit to paper.

Many of us, especially those people with younger children, make laws prohibiting the free exercise of speech all the time, and if you don’t believe me, then just think about what happened the last time you called your father a motherfucker.

Now that you’ve had time to relive a painful childhood memory and gingerly finger the belt scars on your buttocks, you will completely agree with me when I say that speech isn’t free.

In fact, people restrict speech all the time.

The government restricts all kinds of speech because they deem it Top Secret. There are some things that soldiers are not authorized to reveal. For example, I once spent an afternoon at a naval weapons station and my tour guide told me that there were nuclear weapons stored somewhere on the base; he wouldn’t tell me where, so, I asked him if the nukes were inside every building we passed. Eventually, after a few dozen “No” responses, we came to a warehouse with lots of danger signs everywhere. I asked him if the nuclear weapons were in that building and he said, “That’s classified.”

I just hope the terrorists don’t figure that one out.

Of course, there’s only so much the government can restrict speech before people get angry about having their testicles hooked up to car batteries for National Security purposes, and they have to pass the reigns over to private enterprise.

Just as they do not torture, the United States does not censor its citizen’s collective voice.

They let the advertisers do that for them.

As any movie or television producer can attest, controversial topics send advertisers fleeing to the hills; of course, controversy is incredibly popular so you can’t keep them away forever. Advertisers and the companies for whom they advertise may have morals (as much as I don’t want to admit they do), but they love money a lot more than they love integrity which is why American Gladiators is back on the air and in its second season.

For a long time, television and films stayed nice and bland because no one wanted to sponsor a program called Captain Kangaroo’s Cunt Cavalcade: Pussies on Parade for fear that they would be labeled an immoral company and the public would no longer want to buy their household poisons, pocket fishermen, and other various nostrums.

Unfortunately, for the people who want everyone else to share in their sexless existences, the majority of people want foul language, violence, sex, nudity, and filth, and they spend their money on the things that make advertisers ejaculate in their pants, like pills that make your penis hard and kitchen appliances that double as dust magnets.

Thus, ratings systems were born.

With a ratings system, you don’t have to organize timely boycotts of companies that sponsor immoral programming because all artistic media with a similar rating can be safely lumped together. That’s why children shouldn’t see Barton Fink, Basic Instinct, Full Meta Jacket, and Forgetting Sarah Marshall because of the common danger they represent to developing minds.

It’s hard to tell if movie and television ratings do more harm than good or good than harm, because, with the exception of a few circumstances, most people don’t watch the movie Carrie and head to the nearest local hog farm for a fresh bucket of comeuppance blood or practice putting on a pair of sunglasses and delivering one liners a la David Caruso on CSI: Miami.

It is an admirable undertaking, to attempt to shield people from dangerous or destructive behavior, and yet, for some reason, language, violence, drug use, and sex seem to be the only things about which anyone is worried. I have yet to see a rating at the beginning of a war picture that says “Warning: The following program may cause enlistment. Parental caution is advised” and yet, joining the military puts young, impressionable people at greater risk to experience profanity, violence, drug use, and sex than they would if they had been influenced to get a realtor’s license after watching Glengarry Glen Ross.

The most troubling aspect is that the ratings are poorly worded and hard to decipher. There are no such things as adult content or adult situations.

Someday, I want to make a movie and deliberately have it rated R for adult situations and then show two hours of people standing in line at a bank or on hold with a customer service call center.

I’d show it on a street corner next to a drunk, rambling hobo.

Now that’s what I call free speech.

Sex Mahoney for President


Currently listening to:

Traffic and Weather
by Fountains of Wayne

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Everyone is so kind

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.



Sometimes it’s hard being as smart as we are… at least while we’re living amongst so many idiots.

If only everyone would realize the things we know are true, the world would be a much simpler place. That’s the conventional wisdom anyway, and who are we to say that the conventions are wrong?

Except that things don’t really work that way, because most of us already believe the same things that everyone else believes, but for a few, slight variations. The true innovators, or monsters, are the ones who take in the same external stimuli as us and see it in a completely new way.

That’s why I don’t understand how people can be so intelligent, and yet completely revolted by shit.

Shit is everywhere.

There’s a pretty good chance that the mouse on which your hand is currently resting has at least some fecal matter on it.

Right now, there’s some shit resting in your intestines, just waiting for you to crap it out.

Most likely, you shit at least once a day, you might own a pet, whose feces you regularly have to clean, and nothing goes down smoother on a summer evening that a cookies and shit smoothie; so, why all the fecal revulsion?

Not too long ago, there was a video circulating on the internet called Two Girls, One Cup, which, if you’ve never seen it, features two women shitting into a cup, eating it, and then vomiting into each other’s mouths. The video is not long, but they manage to eat a good amount of shit and vomit in that time. It’s standard scat porno.

If you’ve never seen two people shit all over each other, and you’ve got nothing else to do during lunch today, check it out.

Most people seem revolted by this sort of thing and they’re not even exposed to shit, but just the sight, and thought, of shit is enough to make them toss their cookies.

We’re horrified of our shit, even going so far as to close the bathroom door when there are people around who might possibly see you shit; most people won’t shit in public toilets, and yet, we’re proud of our children.

There’s not much different between your daily deposits and your children, except that your children continue to get bigger over time while your feces will slowly get smaller and smaller as it dries out. In terms of out and out physical beauty a big turd is just about as attractive as a brand new baby; especially if the specimens you’re comparing come from a person who’s been eating lots of cotton candy and the baby was squeezed out of an exceptionally small birth canal.

The sad thing is that you can’t flush a baby down a toilet like you can a turd; at least, not without cutting it up into little pieces or smashing it flat with a hammer; either way, you’re bound to attract quite a bit of negative attention.

My point is that they’re both natural functions of the human body but only one of them is wrapped in swaddling clothes and paraded around like a trophy while the other is carelessly discarded into some dank sewer where it will be processed into USDA Grade F beef and shipped to your local McDonald’s.

Baby burgers aside, we can’t choose one aspect of our physical nature to revere and one to fear, everything that comes out of us is a part of us, so elevating one and scorning the other creates the hypocrisy that causes most of the problems in this world. I’m not suggesting that you put diapers on your doodies, stroke their hairs, and take pictures of them to show your friends at work, but you shouldn’t be so revolted at the sight of them that you immediately vomit.

Until we learn to love all the things that make us filthy, disgusting degenerates, then we’ll never be able to achieve the things we like to believe about ourselves; namely, that we’re good, decent people who wouldn’t stab our closest friends in the back for a few extra dollars or a moon pie.

Not only must we recognize our own faults but also the faults of those entities that are our logical extensions: our parents, our spouses, our families, our countries, and our orthodontists. When we can look at the underside of a rock and still love the beauty and shape of the top despite the worms, potato bugs, and dirt on it’s bottom, only then will we know the true meaning of love; although, if you’re the kind of person who loves rocks, I recommend using a lot of heavy lubricant as geological fornication tends to chafe.

It’s not a matter of all of us being in the gutter and some of us looking at the stars, we’re in both halves at all times, only the stars tend to get the good press and the gutter has all the fun nocturnal activities.

So embrace your ignorance when it comes and enjoy the moments of genius when you have them because most of the time we’re both which cancel each other out and makes us neither.

And don’t worry so much about the people around you if they’re too stupid to understand, we’ll get it sooner or later.

Sex Mahoney for President


Currently listening to:

Cyan
by Three Dog Night

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Now we know who's been fucking the guru

Send all complaint letters to sexmahoney@gmail.com.



Every once in a while, someone is bound to say to you that you’ve had too much to drink and you’re tempted to say back to them, “Hey, listen, mister kindergarten teacher, I think I know when I’ve hade enough.”

Fuck that guy and his naptime.

It’s like when you’re sitting at an airport bar and a man in an official looking FAA uniform asks you if you’re qualified to land a plane in Chicago’s O’Hare Airport and you say that you are but you’re actually a mentally-handicapped, socially-maladjusted convict who’s just escaped from a nearby institution.

All I’m saying is that there’s no reason to panic on an airplane.

Sure, when the plane shakes, the wings are usually bouncing up and down like a small, inbred, child that flaps its arms in a futile attempt to fly, which is kind of cute to watch, until it blinks a cyclopean eye, and waves a hoof, at you.

Don’t sleep with your close relatives.

Well, I’m not such a hard hearted man to say, “Don’t sleep with your blood-relatives,’ because I’m not the kind of guy who looks down on someone just because they have intimate relations with their brother, sister, mother, or father; that’s family, and you don’t mess with a person’s family. My mother used to collect spoons and that’s not so different that I can’t understand a person who likes to nail Grandma at the family reunion.

That’s not what I’m saying, but it is important to pay attention when your stewardess explains the emergency safety procedures on an airplane, especially if you’re sitting in an exit row. In a situation like that, seconds count.

When it’s not an emergency, then you don’t have to react fast at all; in fact, you could take your time and probably do a few errands on the way. There’s always something more that you could do with your free time, whether it’s picking up the dry cleaning or convincing the nice couple that moved in across the street that it would be really hot if they let you watch them have sex.

That’s not something I want to do, mind you, it’s just on my list and beyond my power to change. I’m not the boss around here; I take orders just like anybody else. I tried explaining that to her husband, but it was hard to hear over all the strangling and punching. I think he got the gist of it though; why else would he have stopped beating me shortly after I lost consciousness?

In an emergency, you have to be on the ball. If you hesitate, and someone dies because of your negligence, then you can really get in a lot of trouble. They might even make you write a letter of apology to the dead person’s family, which is most likely not a problem, unless it was a kid that your inability to act in a crisis ended up killing; that would be, probably, the worst circumstance in which to write a letter.

What could you even start with, in a letter like that?

You can’t start with a joke, I’ll tell you that much.

Well, you probably could… if it was a tasteful joke. If you opened with something like, “Who’s got two thumbs and killed your son?” then flashed them the thumbs up, pointed your thumbs self-ward, and said “This guy” that would probably go down like a lead balloon. You’d have to start off with something that’s funny and touching at the same time, “Why did the chicken cross the road? So it could follow your son to heaven” which is a nice turn, without being too morbid for the average audience.

But they probably wouldn’t make you write a letter; you’d probably just have to pay a fine and go on your way, which is the fair thing to do. In an emergency, not everyone is equipped to be a hero. I certainly don’t carry tights or a cape on me all the time, and it’s damn near impossible to inconspicuously change into said garments if you’re in an airplane disaster.

That’s why, in a disaster situation, I prefer to sit back and let more competent people handle that which I would otherwise turn into potentially lethal situations.

It’s nice to be able to trust in other people’s strength, you don’t have to think about things, or remember what your parent’s paid professional therapists lots of money to forget. Now my memory is no good and I can’t recall if my family harbored an alien fugitive from a planet called Melmac or if that was something I read about in a volume of TV guide.

To be fair, other people can’t do anything worse to you than you already do to you; okay, they could kill or embarrass you, which are both things to avoid, if you can help it.

It’s just that, other people weren’t the one’s who drank too much at your office Christmas party and puked down your boss’s wife’s shirt for the third year in a row. They’re not the ones taking an extra piece of cheesecake, lighting you that last cigarette, or masturbating to cooking shows while your spouse is out holiday shopping.

It would be nice if more people were willing to whack you off, that would pass the time on a long airplane ride. They should offer that service, or, at least be more relaxed about people doing that on the plane. Things that you do in the air don’t count.

My greatest fear is that, someday, I’ll be in an emergency situation and I’ll be the most responsible and qualified person to deal with the tragedy.

So, I’ve done my best to dull my logic and reasoning, with a combination of alcohol, drain cleaner and repeat viewings of the High School Musical trilogy, to make sure that never happens.

Which is why I’ll say when I’ve had enough, by the way, the plane is crashing.

Sex Mahoney for President


Currently listening to:

Way To Normal
by Ben Folds

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