Wednesday, July 21, 2010

I'm a murderer, let's play Parcheesi.

Last night, I killed my wife.
I shit you not.
I heard her typing on the computer at around 2 am and the clickety clacking sounds the keys made as she typed away through the night drove me over the edge of sanity, into the fields of insanity, and I fucking lost it and bludgeoned her to death with a Canova lion statue.
I've been cleaning brain meat out of the folds and creases of these intricately crafted pieces of fine art that I purchased back in 99.
And by "purchased" I mean "stole from my job".

The following story is how it all began, so pay attention, or you might miss something important, like how my jaw clicks when I chew sometimes, or my foot snaps as I walk, shit like that.

I got home from work at around 6pm yesterday, oh; did I mention that I have a houseguest?
Let's call him sleepNeat to protect his identity, and that's actually pretty much all he does anyway, so whatever, not my concern in this particular story, but what I should point out is that when I have people over, I tend to go into "loner mode" and head to the loneliest , quietest place in the house, which is usually the shitter, but at this time, it was my bedroom, where I began playing some videogames instead of finally getting around to putting away my luggage from my trip to California, because I'm a lazy cunt.

My wife was at the beach all day I guess, I don't know, but as soon as I tore my clothes off to unwind, she arrives and calls me to come downstairs and get the sleeping kids out of the car.
First of all, I'd like to point out that these little bastards are lazy, when I was a kid it was UNHEARD of for someone to chauffer me around while I slept
Had I been asleep anywhere, at anytime, I was rudely and abruptly awakened by my mothers' yells of "wake up you little shit" or slaps upside the ass to get on my feet and get walking.
What the fuck has happened to the world?
Now we have to carry sleeping kids?
Holy shit.
We've pussied out.
What's next, no more smoking during pregnancy?
No more soda with Cocaine in it?

So anyway, now I have to stop playing videogames and get dressed again, after all the trouble it took me to remove my fine couture, to go pick up these poor, defenseless, sleeping infants from the awful air conditioned car where they sat and slept all the way home from the beach.
I wasn't terribly ecstatic over this.
After that, I come back upstairs to zone out with some games again while the children of royalty continue their naps on my bed, and at this time I have the PC on with some map screens showing for my game that I'm playing.
My wife walks her ass into the bedroom and sits in the computer chair then proceeds to navigate her way around the internet, completely minimizing my fucking game maps.
I mean, shit woman, you have internet on your phone, what the fuck bro?
You're going to come and sit your ass in the seat where my little cat sleeps, have the audacity to interrupt him from his slumber, minimize my motherfucking game maps, and go surfing the web?

That was strike 2 at this point; she's really looking for it.
Had I been born Sean Connery, or had this been California, I'd have been able to dish out an ass whooping, but we're a lot more civil in New York.

So at this point, I'm pacing and racing on the inside, but I'm a very patient and passive kind of guy, so I can let certain things slide, while I maintain my composure on the outside.
Holy shit that kind of rhymed and was totally unintentional, fucking A.

I continue playing my games until I decide it's time to hit the potty, and then shower my fine ass.
I'm on the throne dropping the kids off at the pool, surfing facebook on my phone, when suddenly, the wifi signal craps out and I lose internet access on my phone.
Clearly, she was the culprit, being the only one on, or near the PC at this time, she must have kicked the router plug out of the socket.
God fucking damn it, woman of burden.
This was it.
I knew what had to be done, and there were no other options.
No talking me out of this.
No question, this woman needed to pay for her heinous crimes against man.
I decided that it would be most fitting if I waited for the most advantageous time to strike, and that specific moment would be when she'd go on at night to use the PC before going to bed.
She was fucking toast.
Fucking DEAD.

I went to bed around 1am, and began watching Watchmen.
Great movie, my favorite part is the prison escape scene, and the sex scene right before it.
It's on HBO all the time, you should catch it, it has a great cast, and I haven't seen that much blue cock since that dream I had where I was involved in a gang bang with Smurfette.
Where was I?
So here I am, lying low, pretending to sleep, totally faking my snoring, when 2am strikes.
She's wailing away on the keyboard, looks like the god damned Phantom of the opera, or keyboard cat, just not as cool, and she's driving me fucking bonkers with the sound, so I grab the closest thing to me, the Canova lion statue, which is actually quite a piece of art, here's a picture of it:

I like lions; they're cool fucking animals with big fuzzy nuts who sometimes eat their own kids.

I bet if a lion's kids fell asleep in the car, he wouldn't go downstairs with a carriage to cart them around comfortably as they slept their lazy asses off, he'd fucking eat them, and I bet he'd be excited as all hell because I can guarantee that children are probably fucking delicious.
In fact, notice that you don't ever hear of Cannibals eating kids, because they don't want the secret to get out, the knowledge that children are so god damned delicious to eat.

So as I creep up ever so gingerly from behind my wife, I knew I had to say something clever before I bashed her biscuit shaped head in with this lovely statue.
But shit, what could I say?
If I hit someone with a surf board, I'm guessing it'd be clever to say "surf's up!".
If I hit someone with a lamp, I'd have to yell "lights out!".
If I hit someone with a dildo, well shit, I wouldn't have to say much on that one, now would I?
I mean, shit, that is classic comedy right there.

I quickly reached the point where I knew what to say, because I'm so clever and so god damned cool, I yelled out "Hakuna Matata , bitch!" then swung that lion at her head and her skull dented in like a soda can.
Now Hakuna Matata may not have been the funniest thing to say, but shit on me, it was clever.
In retrospect, I probably should have said "I would tell you I love you, but then I'd be LION!" but we can't all be comic geniuses, now can we?

So, that's it.
I killed my wife.
I'm single again, so ladies, back the fuck up, I'm in mourning, give me a week or so.
My children are now eating marshmallows with steak, Lucky Charms and beans and Spaghetti with cupcakes.
All we do is burp and fart and there aren't any curtains on any of the windows anymore, plus the bathroom smells like doritos now.

This is also the last time I let Satan fix me up on a date.
Jesus was right, he is an asshole.

The end, now fuck off.

8 out of 10 people will appreciate the warmhearted tale I just wrote.
1 out of those 10 people will be really upset upon reading this because they have the sense of humor of a Catholic school nun.
The other 1 remaining will be me sleeping on the sofa with SleepNeat.

I once elbowed an old lady on the subway in the tits by accident.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Random blurbs about California and a few generalizations, because I'm a dick.

I spent the majority of last week in the Golden state, California , hanging with a bunch of my pals and had a grand time, so I thought it would be a good idea to drop a couple of my thoughts about that whole situation here.

Unusually, California was colder and cloudier than New York City typically is in March, what the fuck California?

You guys couldn't put on a sunny display, or crank up the heat?
Yeah, fuck you.

Apparently, a 5.4 Earthquake isn't even enough to shake a pencil off of a table.
Way to pussy out California.

"In and Out" burgers are good, but "Five Guys" has the edge, only because I'm confrontational.
Fuck you "In and Out" (I love you).

Del Taco should be renamed "Colon Blow".

In order to be considered a good driver in California, you have to switch lanes frequently and without signaling, you have to tailgate, and drive at least 75 miles per hour, especially while tailgating.

If your name is Bob, please don't drive in this state.
On that note, to prevent horrifying cliff jumping (especially if your name is in fact, Bob), while driving DO NOT do the following:
1. Finagle with your IPod, phone, radio, nipples, penis, etc, every 2 seconds.
2. Talk amongst your buddies until you lose all touch with your surroundings.
3. Ignore the GPS, or blame the GPS for poor driving.
4. Ignore your friends' yells for Jesus.
5. Ignore manufacturers' warnings on car landing impact from 15 feet in the air.

Many of the white people I know don't shower or brush before bed, that's pretty gross and the reason I would not have sex with any of them, even the girls.
While I'm on that note, I’d like to thank similar white people for bringing diseases to America, and the rest of the world.
This would have all been prevented if you all would actually take a shower before bed.
White people who don't shower before bed are directly responsible for the following:
1. Terrorism
2. Diseases
3. Inner City Crime
4. Serial murdering
5. Seinfeld

Californian Mexicans all sound exactly the same, just like Indians everywhere.
How is that possible?
All Indians sound like Apu from the Simpsons and all Mexicans sound like the Taco Bell dog.

A suburban "thug" will quickly back down if you approach one with enough bass in your voice.
They will tighten and close up like a nervous butt hole, even when you're discussing videogames.

My friend beats his woman, I watched it.
She may have deserved it, so this is OK, but still.
Must be a California thing.

People with neck braces are exceptionally surly motherfuckers.
Especially when their throats were cut recently due to surgery.
They will attack at will (See previous paragraph about wife beating).
Keeping them smiling is the best way to keep them from murdering you or any obnoxious guests of their home (i.e.: Not you).
Interestingly enough, they are also superb drivers, regardless of the fact that they cannot see behind themselves.

All mothers love me.
This is pure fact.
All mothers love the shit out of me, sometimes more than their own mean ass cane wielding kids (Hi Mrs. Eaken!).

California smells like air.
It's weird, usually the smell of sweaty people, salami breath and urine is what air smells like to me, but wow, California smells like real air.

I do not think California is better than New York, nor do I think it is worse.
Would I move there?
Sure, why not.
Will I move there?
Probably not, because I'm too poor to afford such a move.

There you go America, California, by Bryan Bronx.

If you disagree with any of the above, it's probably because you fall under the following statistics:
1. You’re from California.
2. You work for "In and Out".
3. Your name is Bob.
4. You’re not me.
5. You’re a racist.

I would also like to state that guys named Handel should not be allowed to drive ANYWHERE, even an uninhabited place like fucking Mars.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

I will update this page when I damn well please.

Or tomorrow.
Probably tomorrow, yeah, that sounds about right.
Fuck off.