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I’m going to kick your ass at life.

I’ve seen plenty of people in my forty-three years on this garbage can planet and the one thing they all have in common is this –they’re all goin’ down.

Girls don’t look at me and neither do women. They’re too busy eating chocolate and crying about broken Lee Press On nails. You’re missing out on the real deal, ladies – I’m a lean, mean whoop-ass machine and I’m going to keep on truckin’ like that kitten hanging from the tree branch.

Fuck kittens, though. The only fur ball flea bag cat I had went straight into a burlap sack and took a long ride down the River Styx after it ate the ribbon from my “Lordy Lordy Look Who’s 40” balloon and shit all over my faux bear skin rug.

Speaking of shitting – I’m going to shit on the next person who openly discusses celebrity news as if it’s even remotely pertinent to anything or anyone, anywhere in the past, present, or future of the motherfucking universe.

No one will learn a thing about themselves or each other by chugging piss from the goblet of this “paparazzi culture” phenomenon. You might as well read a book with Fabio on the cover if you want to take a dump on your brain – hey, at least you’re reading. Don’t forget that Princess Di was killed by the paparazzi and that chick kicked tons of European ass.

Man, I am going to kick so much ass - there will be an ass-fetish porno made of my life that will gross a billion dollars.

The first asses on my stomp list are the parents of fat kids. I see these mutant fat shits getting winded on the see saw while they sweat McDonalds grease from their chubby little pores and I just want to hack off their blubber with my authentic Rambo III replica knife.

Parents don’t have to buy cheese doodle-flavored donuts and pizza-covered cheeseburger logs. If your kid cries about eating broccoli just do what my daddy did and smash that fucker with a spiked leather belt or take a modern approach and use a USB cable. I have scars all over my back but I turned out just fine!

Right, Mother?

I’m so pumped about kicking ass that I need to take a break from thinking about it and smoke a huge bowl of chronic.

I own this planet.

Taco Bell has snuck passed the border patrol and smuggled in the freshest load of Mexican delicacy since the taco. Sweaty. Soggy. Diaper meat.

Taco Bell’s Diaper Meat Burrito is made from 100% indestructible diaper material that locks in the ultimate tangy flavor.

The polyethelene backing creates an extreme eating experience that is absolutely impossible to digest - you will be forced to enjoy its big meaty taste for the rest of your life.

Guaranteed to be served heavy and hot - Diaper Meat is good to go.

Save one for later because diapers won’t biodegrade in landfills - Taco Bell’s Diaper Meat Burrito will be steaming in the backseat of your Pontiac for days.

“Toss the bun and change to the Diaper!”

When it’s time to explain the fragility of life to your child – explain to him that even Cap’N Crunch eventually gets soggy. And if he still doesn’t understand – put the padded helmet back on his head and tighten his ropes. It’s going to be a long, hard life for little Rocko.

If food were a book – I’d have a distended malnourishment belly and my face would be covered in flies.

Denny’s now has a specific club for customers who frequently eat there between 12am and 5am. It’s called the 3D - the Denny’s Drunk Diners club. Anyone wasted enough to blow over a .01 BAL into the pancake-shaped Breathalyzer gets a free Moons Over My Hammy!

I bought some natural deodorant because using the regular kind could result in Alzheimer’s disease. Unfortunately it doesn’t work very well so I’m going to smell bad for the rest of my life. But, hey - at least I’ll remember it.

Where are the racist magic tricks?

Everyone is so damn attracted to Mermaids but where’s the hole? If you’re going to be sexually attracted to something there should at least be the possibility of burying your boner. I just don’t see that with those scaly-tailed mermaids.

Where does the Mermaid appeal lie? Sharp shell bras leave merbreasts mangled and misshapen. Perhaps Mermaids cushion their shell bras with seaweed but that means when you finally hook up with one and hold your breath long enough to un-clasp her shell bra you’re confronted with salty seaweed titties.

Women are smart enough not to bother with dickless Mermen.

Stereotypes are re-enforced everyday. Today I saw two senior citizens at Walgreens buying ten bags of dried fruit. And behind me in line was a black guy buying a giant penis.

Everyone loves listening to music while they’re doing work whether it’s jazz, rock or hip hop. The most effective motivational music is German electronic legends Kraftwerk. That music is like smoking crack with your ears. Five minutes of listening to Kraftwerk will change Eeyore from getting fat with Pooh to the Fraggle Rock Doozers building their see-through stick highway.

Those who paint themselves into a corner should first determine why they were painting the floor in the first place.

I am literally going to die if don’t get on ABC’s America’s Funniest Home Videos.

This is bullshit. To date I’ve submitted 475 videocassettes filled with comedy gold and have yet to be invited onto the set of AFV to represent the humorous slice of Americana I’ve captured.

Listen, it’s not like I’m sending in the same “baby burps alphabet” or “wiffle ball testicle smash” video. My AFV submissions have ranged creatively from “wiener dog hits wall” and “underwear surprise” to “grandma’s cake disaster” and the unforgettable “overweight Uncle hammock dance”. Yet where’s my 15 seconds of fame?

This visceral desire for AFV acknowledgment has destroyed the nucleus of my family. My heartless ex-wife took full custody of our kids and it’s ruining my life. Do you realize how hard it is to get funny videos of other people’s children? Just try following a toddler around with a camcorder without looking like a pedophile. It’s impossible.

I don’t even care about the $10,000 they give the first place video let alone the $100,000 grand champions prize. If I were concerned with money I would be at the dump begging for my job back instead of selling my double wide to finance everything from wacky bar mitzvah goofs to hilarious whitewater rafting boo boos. But do you hear any of Bob Saget’s loony voices narrating my clips?

For years I thought that Saget personally had it in for me. Maybe he hated the postal address on my countless envelopes or perhaps my name reminded him of some jerk from the set of Full House? But once I started getting rejected by that no-talent tranny Daisy Fuentes and her dickbag co-host John Fugelsang I knew something was terribly wrong.

I’m starting to think the producers consider my material too funny. They’d never be able to air another “broken window” clip after showing my elaborate “dump truck dumps priceless church window” video. The Vatican AND the sanitation department are after me for that one. Do the network executives at ABC even care?

Jesus, do you think current AFV host Tom Bergeron cares that I built a 24-hour surveillance system for the parrot aviary in my garage in the hope I’ll catch a comical moment for the upcoming “Ruffled Feathers” bird montage? Bergeron probably doesn’t even know I exist!

Well, this is it, folks. The noose is snug around my neck and the chair is getting wobbly. Hopefully an archaeologist digs up my treasure trove of zany candid video clips and I achieve posthumous glory as the Emily Dickenson of home movies.

Goodnight, AFV. At least put this suicide video on Faces Of Death. Thanks.

Shit, the rope snapped. I’m so fat. I wonder if AFV is on…

Sometimes the decision to take a shower is like Sophie’s Choice. On one hand you’re guaranteed to feel refreshed and revitalized but on the other hand you have to remove those comfortable pajama pants and get wet. However, adding a hot chick to this decision immediately changes it from Sophie’s Choice to Do The Right Thing.

I like when whipped butter looks like a scoop of vanilla ice cream because it makes me look like less of a weirdo when I’m eating it from a waffle cone.

Magicians should quit trying to impress me by pulling rabbits out of top hats and should instead use their slight of hand skills to steal crap from Wal-Mart. Then they could hand out the pilfered loot to the poor and win an archery contest for the fair hand of Maid Marian. Shazam!

In Canada do they call Canadian bacon…bacon? In Texas do they call Texas toast…toast? In West Virginia do they call incestual sex…sex?

There are some moments in life when you realize you’re still a child. Like when you stare intently at a trial size shampoo bottle and start yelling, “Objection! This shampoo trial is out of order! Dammit, my whole greasy head is out of order!”

Girl’s bathrooms are always more pleasant than boys because there are smelly candles involved at some point.

I would love to know why and when a human being decides that the make or break point of his business life will be owning and operating an adult superstore on the side of the interstate. “Sorry, Billy but there won’t be a Christmas if daddy doesn’t start selling more Ass Eater magazines.”

There’s never a good time to hear something slosh. Dripping, splashing and squirting can all be good at some point. Not sloshing. Sloshing is always bad.

Let me get this straight – dudes who drive giant pickup trucks are trying to make up for having tiny penises; and dudes who drive tiny sports cars are attempting to compensate for their miniature dongs? So how do dudes with normal to plus-sized wieners travel? Public transportation. Which means that hobos can only penetrate elephant vaginas with their enormous log cabin dicks.

The Grand Canyon is full of little white people who love Mother Nature’s giant brown hole.

After a recent shower session, I realized that my only pair of clean socks were located in my friend’s car parked out on the street. The dilemma arose whether I should put dirty socks on my clean feet to go get my clean socks or just walk outside barefoot and make my clean feet dirty before putting on my clean socks. Sometimes life is really stupid.