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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