This special time of year is brought to  you by artificial snow.

Snow in a can because what better way to start the season off right then by breathing in the carcinogenic fumes due to no ventilation because it’s as cold as Joan Crawford’s soul outside so the windows aren’t open as you decorate the tree, and all your loved ones begin to foam at the mouth and go into convulsions. And all the while the tree looks all holly jolly with white, crystallize, happy, good, jaunty, delightfully spirited, and jesting with the purity of snow covering the its pine needles.

Yes, what could be possibly more stupendous than unknowingly breathing in acetone, or methylene chloride (industrial solvents) to make the spirits bright? A little tinsel, a string of lights, some hot chocolate, and a few whiffs of industrial grade solvents.

If you don't believe me, then here is the warning from The California Poison Control Center (http://www.calpoison.org/) :

SNOW SPRAYS – Many people like the look of snow on their indoor Christmas tree and use snow spray to achieve this look.  Many snow sprays contain acetone or methylene chloride and these solvents can be harmful when inhaled.  Briefly inhaling the spray in a small, poorly ventilated room may result in nausea, lightheadedness and headache.  Longer or more concentrated exposures can be more serious.  Once the snow spray is dried, it is not dangerous.

Brain damage;

the best gift that can be given; especially at this time of year.



Until next time,


Lou Ford

FIN

Hey, this holiday season is brought to you by White Slavery.

White Slavery, cause how else would Americans get their products if not for big corporations who cut corners by making handy capped children from impoverished war torn nations work in horrible, unsafe working conditions to produce cheap, partially reliable at best productions for our consumption?



I mean can you think of nothing better or American than that? I bet you just can't wait for that poor pregnant woman who works tirelessly day and night all the while breathing in the toxic glue used to manufacture shoes, as it eats holes into her brain until it resembles some mutated piece of Swiss cheese that only a Frankenstein Jerry the Mouse from the cartoon "Tom and Jerry" would crave, to make that new pair of sneakers for you to open Christmas morning.

Thank you Kathy Lee, Martha Stuart, Walmart, Kmart, and all the designer clothing labels for giving us such a wonderful reason to enjoy the season of giving, all the while turning a blind eye to it all.    

 AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH, capitalism,

ain't it grand!

And now a here's a Christmas song.

So, before I leave you, remember boy and girls:

And coming soon "What Really Chaffs My Nuts", Proud Honor Role Parents.

So until next time,


Lou Ford

FIN 

Well, well, well. Hello again my few followers. It's time once more for another installment of "Dirty Filthy Snuff". With life being hectic due to work, school, Hurricane Sandy, and life in general I am still working on a good "What Really Chaffs My Nutts" rant, so I will present to you a cluster fuck of funny videos and images. I will start with one of Seth Macfarlane's  first cartoons. Enjoy! 

And here's another.

And now keeping with the theme of this entry of nonsensical bullshit, I will present to you in honor of such shows as "The Voice" , and that absolutely horrible abomination "The X Factor"; here is "Boy 12".

  

Now was that terrific! I mean like a dancing Ellen DeGeneres terrific, or that good feeling you get when you take a big poop terrific. Or how about an "Oprah Winfrey" prize under your chair terrific. Ain't it great? It's like that first cut into a fresh piece of construction paper.  Moving on. 

And now here is a funny inappropriate comic strip. 

Wouldn't this be a great job, well that is unless you had to fluff this:

She may have been beautiful once but when licking a bedsore clean is more appealing, well then maybe the perks aren't so great. A bedsore like this:

You tell me which is more attractive? Having trouble deciding? Well, so am I. And just to remind you, this blog is brought to you by the following. Crystal Meth:

 Meth, cause if you can't tweak out, disassemble every radio and TV in your grasp, fuck till you genitals fall off, become psychotic from sleep deprivation, and then murder all your loved ones then what's the point of living in the Midwest?

 This blog is also brought to you by Black Jesus. Sure Jesus was a pure soul who many believe gave his life for our sins, but lets be honest, a Black Jesus is just cooler.

I mean who was cooler Mike Hammer, or Shaft? Magnum, P.I. or Dolomite?

Or Maybe Jesus was Asian. I mean all the signs were there. He was cutie baby that became a joyless adult. He was a doctor of sorts, he spent all his time studying, and he struggled dealing with the pressure of the expectations  exerted on him by his parents, God.  

Hey, how about this a Stalinist Jesus. Just think when he would be on the cross, he would ask for his father (GGGGGGGGGOOOOOODDDDDDDD!) to forgive them "because they know not what they do", and then send all their family to a labor camp in Siberia. 

Then there is the idea of Pinocchio Jesus. Just image it, "I wish I was a real Messiah" They could have crucified him with his own nose. That is if they could have gotten him to tell a lie.  

Look at Pinocchio, he already had his arms extended, he was all set up to be nailed up.  

 Young Pinocchio Jesus!

The adult wooden savior!

And now Godzilla. Why you might ask? Well, cause he just plain kicks ass. I mean that prehistoric lizard has some balls. Fuck nuclear mutated iguanas, the real king of monsters burned him with radioactive fire and started dancing. Plus, it kills time.  

Okay, so after all that, I'll close this one out. In the next week or so, I will return with another "What Really Chaffs My Nuts". So until then, this is Lou Ford signing out. And remember girls:

Until next time.

FIN

Hey buddies, How you guys doing? Welcome to another installment. I was wondering, have you ever been stuck out in the cold. Your freezing, and you don't think that you can go on? You locked your self out of the house, and you gotta wait for help. Maybe it's worse, and in order to get by you've had to use your imagination to press on. And, so to keep your mind off of the testical shrinking chill, you think of some place warm. Like this:

Well the same thing can happen with people. You know that douche bag yuppie asshole at your job who hasn't had to have a worry in the world due to daddy dearest providing everything to the point at which the prick believes he's the prince of Zumunda. Or how about those assholes who are broker than all the native American reservations combined during the Great depression, and yet they still insist on leasing a BMW cause god forbid the other "Stepford Wife's" see them without an imported Luxury car. The same thing here.
In this case I'd rather think about loosing all my money to a casino, and in rage full desperation, strangling a showgirl with a hair dryer cord than look at him:

That imagery offers more comfort than the idea of knowing that an all knowing god would have the malevolence to create a face like that. I mean that face looks like a downsydrome suffering Ronald Reagan. I'd rather stick an angry badger up my hemorrhoid suffering sphinctor. Maybe that downsyndrome comment was uncalled for, and nonsensical, but you get what I'm saying.

See, with this new Presidential election coming up, something new, something fiendish has arisen in an effect to take control. It's something that comes at you with a smiling face, a charming warm voice, but bad intentions. No. I'm not talking about I'm talking the hosts of "The View", and I'm not talking about your local boy scout troop leader either. I am talking about the one, the only, your Mormon and mine: Mitt Romney.

Check this out:

                                                          
Look at these two, and tell me that Mitt doesn't in some way resemble the U.S. Senitorial Candidate Greg Stillson from "The Dead Zone". Seriously, couldn't you see him using a child as a human shield if some one were attempting to assassinate him. Of course then he'd feast on the child remains. Moving on.  

This is Mitt, the early years. But in order to understand the man we have to go back further. Much further.

What Mitt really does at the GOP Conventions. Scary huh? But, anyway; let's begin.

So, now we’ll jump right into our story. Mitt Romney wasn’t born in the same way as most are, he was born in that very secret way that only the Mormons allow for their most esteemed, as parasitic, blood thirsty creature who feeds on its’ host, and then ripping through its fleshly human placenta to achieve its ultimate goal, take over the world, and then feed on humanity like they are cattle. That is how Mitt was born. I mean how could he not have been. The man's a Mormon, tell me that doesn't reek of creepy, blood lust, and Christy weirdness? I mean the prick has no standards, he's aligned himself with a catholic politician whose not a Kennedy, his vice president. If that doesn't sound ghoulish, than I don't know what does?

So, Mitt has to be born in that parasitic way. 

which results in this:

  But the hosts couldn't necessarily be just anyone.The hosts are also very important because they the hosts are seasoned missionaries or the children of non-believers. Like this:

This is Mitt's son being born.

Now once Mitt was born, he feasted on the corpse of his host. We’d show you photos of this ritual, but we won’t due to the how truly insidious and viciously, grotesquely incarnadine, murderous and bellicose action. It’s could best described as what happens when Tony Robins gets hungry only he can’t chew so he has to do the crocodile death roll to tear off manageable pieces, and it's a lot less eco-friendly.

 If we did show you Mitt feeding it could be comparable to observing Liza Minnelli having an orgasm, I don’t mean the earlier “Life’s a Cabaret” Liza but “Mama mama! Do you love me now mama?” It would be something that you couldn’t look away from it, resulting in your every waking moment you being haunted by those images. You wouldn't sleep with those memories of those facial spasms 

Moving on, as Mitt grew, he gradually became more troubled. Besides gay bashing, that blood thirsty human flesh eating creature began to learn the real purpose behind Mormon beliefs; recruit whoever you can, and feast on those who won’t, and that gorging included those less valued brides known as the step-sister wives. Once thought to maybe a nice addition to the colony, they soon become nothing more than an in-law the “Man” is married to. I'm talking about the step-sister wives. They kinda become like Fran Dresher with the annoying, nail on a chalk board, nasally voice, but without the psychical attractiveness she actually possesses. 

See, pretty as hell. Nice, kind, and compassionate as hell, but has the voice that just reminds you of an old elderly couple that you see getting on those buses heading for Atlantic city. It fact it just reminds you of new jersey white trash, or a more familiar term for that would be the entire cast of "The Jersey Shore". The sound carries the same annoyance as that oh so familiar stereotypical Boston accent that sadly really does exist. It's the one that when you hear it spoken it makes you wanna attempt to snap your own neck with your bare hands, or maybe even more difficult and painful, attempt to actually fuck yourself. It may hurt, and sure it could be dangerous, but hey the pay off is better than actually subjugating your senses to that noise call English that those people speak. Yuck! Anyway. 

Then came his years as a missionary. Those were great times. I mean what other continent could white Christian men openly feed on the people, the resources, and its culture and call it charity, and get away with it. Where you ask?        

?

?

?

 AFRICA!  

  

Yes, that right, the land that god has forgotten? That the place that all our high school students are convinced is the Middle East as in the whole damn Continent, well besides South Africa. And if anyone has any idea as to where Africa really is it’s only due to Disney’s “The Lion King”. Which is basically what Africa is just without the Civil War, poaching, rape, child soldiers, coupes, genocide, blood diamonds, poverty, drugs, and the long lasting effects that the white man had during his colonial period. "It's the Circle of Life!" Ah, Africa, Mother Africa, the land of mystery and wonder; the birth place of AIDS. It’s just like the Deep South is the birth place of the gum disease Gingivitis, Walmart, and the idea that beastiality is an acceptable alliterative lifestyle. That’s where Mitt felt his call was, feeding and then feasting on the poor impoverished people of nations such as Ethiopia all under the guise of trying to help the “savages” find god. Don’t forget Mitt isn’t human; he’s just taken on the characteristics of his host body, a man. Mitt is really an evil alien hell

bent on turning the earth into one big giant colony for the Queen to birth more eggs from which more monsters will emerge and wipe out

humanity as we know it. Oh, yeah by the way, because Mitt isn’t a man, he is under the thumb of a queen who needs constant nourishment in order to multiply, and that queen would be none other than his wife. You don’t believe me; well you take one look at her, and don’t tell me that you don't see a second set of jaws inside her mouth. I used to think that Ann Coulter was one too, but then I just came to realize that she is a frigid bitch who doesn’t have a soul.

Anyway, Mitt is just like Sally Struthers, the former spokeswoman for “The Christian Children’s Fund”. Yeah, you tell me that when you say those commercials you didn’t think that she was the cause of the problem, Sally was eating all the World Food bank reserves for that area, or that she was really there to solve the problem by eating those delicious humans. But in all seriousness, who the hell thought that it would be the best idea, to get an extremely overweight has-been celeb to be the spokeswoman for your charity. Yeah, I guess that’s gonna bring in the support huh?

It was just like Michael Philip Thomas, the has been from “Miami Vice” who somebody decided that hey, despite the fact the psychic hot lines are already sketchy as hell, why not hire this douche who still dresses like his TV alter ego, and he can be our spokesman "The Psychic Network Hotline". We’ll even let him use the opening line “From Miami Vice to world advice”. What the fuck.

So what have we learned so fare. Well, Mitt isn’t human, he eats babies, cheats on his taxes, and that celebrity has-beens don’t make good spokesmen. Now what can we do about it. Well, we can euthanize all out of there prime actors who insist on making a comeback even after having been in isolation for so long, living on a Judy Garland diet of uppers and downers that the only thing they even remotely resemble is a zombie with makeup on, and couldn’t complete a reading even if the only dialog they had to was the word “a”. Plus, they can’t cash a check anyway because they don’t actually exist, their only real in myths and legends. They’re like the old gods. Just as long as you don’t believe in them they can’t affect you.

Second, besides President Obama, we need this person if we are going to defeat Mitt.

Yes, that’s right we need Ripley, that’s who we need. That is the only thing that we’ll save us from the threat of that evil alien invader. We need "Get Away From Her You Bitch" attitude to save us from having our chest ripped open.  So before I go I’ll leave you with this:

And this:

Until next time, Lou Ford. And remember kids sometimes getting tackled to the ground by the police can feel like someone giving you a really big, warm, snugly hug.                   

Lou Ford

FIN

Hey, how you doing? Welcome to another issue of "Dirty Filthy Snuff". Due to things right now being busy, I am still working on one of my most wonderful "What Really Chaffs My Nutts", and so I will now entertain with a clusterfuck of spoofs, and clips. Enjoy!

This is great so far. Are you having fun? I'm having more fun than a homosexual proctologist.

Don't you wish they actually sang this song in church? I do?
And now here are some cute kitties:

And now more kitties!

And yet more:

So do you got diabetes yet? Huh? They need to cut off your foot? Do you actually feel dirty from all the cuteness. Do you need a shower to scrub away all the creepiness that now seems to consume you? Do you feel like your lungs are fulling up with candy? Do you feel used and taken advantage of because your weakness for cuddly, furry animals has been exploited and now your vulnerable to ridicule? Did it make you feel? Well, I got news for ya, they don't make water hot enough to scrub that away.



  Maybe this will cure you?

Do you feel any better? No! Well, at least your not that guy. Am I right, or am I right?

Monkey scratch work for ya? I sure hope so, cause I only got one thing that might work:

Isn't that dirty bastard a shit load of fun? I mean he's like one of those poops that you gotta take when your constipated, and it's all hard, and sharp and painful, and when you push too hard ... oh shit sorry, anyway I hoped you have enjoyed this episode of "Dirty Filthy Snuff". It was corny as hell, but just bare with me, cause soon I'll put out one that is so good, your genitals will explode from your body with such force that you won't be able to tell the if it's an orgasm or just a freak accident that is like spontiously bursting into flames. Your penis or vagina will just be gone. What you think of that, huh? Pretty weird right? Huh, that sucked, I'll see you next time.



Lou Ford

FIN  

Hello hello hello. Ah yes, welcome to yet, yet and yet another episode of the one the only, “Dirty Filthy Snuff”.  In this wonderful installment, I will be discussing about how people who fart in an elevator and then blame it on someone else really chaff my nuts.

What really chaffs my nuts are people who fart in an elevator and blame it on some other rider, or worse, they don’t claim it leaving everyone riding in suspenseful disgust as they look around in bewildered exclamation as to what had caused such an assault on their body in the most despicable way possible, air born.

Let’s be perfectly honest, when you’re in public (well most of us any way) and we fart we’re embarrassed especially if it’s one of those really pungent, green cloud of bio hazardous smog that came  pluming out of our asses that have a burning rectal after taste. Yes that curry after burn that you get the day after a meal at your favorite Indian joint. Kinda like this:  

That is kinda like being in a sona pumped with the fumes of sewage of nursing home residents. And what’s even worse is if you’re in a crowded lift at work lets say, what the hell you gonna do, start interrogating your fellow coworkers. Are you going to accuse the receptionist who  wears those adorable librarian style glass of having that bioharzard coming slapping out from her ass? How about Tony, the mail clerk, or how about the nerd for IT. Are you really going to tell that elfish speaking geek that his superman underwear doesn’t shield him from the guilt of his crime, the crime of assaulting all your fucking nostrils with undigested snack remains from his dungeons and dragons gathering the night before. Or how about the cleaning lady, you know the one, the Hispanic lady with the tits that hang past her knees, and full on “date night make up” plastered to her face. The woman who instead of dressing causally on Fridays, bring her unemployed street vendor son to work. Or how about the bosses new secretary. The one who he always makes stay late to help him “finish some reports”. You know the one who either stalks the boss later, or falls hopelessly in love with him only to be dragged along by the hair for a real relationship cause the boss isn’t going to leave his wife when there a massive, gigantic, big, big, like elephant size, John Holmes 13 inches size prenump. Or how about the asshole from accounting who can’t help but tell you all his sorted sexual escapades no matter how ghastly it maybe. He could drag you aside and start telling you how he paid three hookers to reenact the human centipede, and then have the audacity to  question why his Facebook page got reported for the pics he posted. He’s that guy who that get the words venereal and aerial confused, watches “girl fights” on Youtube, and says the word sweet and in high pitched nauseating tone. He’s that guy who thinks that you guys are the best of fights cause he’s invited you to his cubical to watch Internet porn. And yes he’s that guy who will blame his loud flatulent on you. And then he gets offended when you curse him out for being a dickhead douche bag. 

Then boss or one of your fellow co-workers avoid you, and then stop inviting you to work functions it’s some how your fault, and maybe it is. The fact that you’ve let an asshole, immature 12 year old trapped in a 28 year old’s body who still lives with his parents, watches porn on his lunch hour, and think that dinner at Sizzler is a romantic date into your life could say a lot about you. And what is the result? What is it? Well, as you become more rejected by your peers, slowly depression starts to set in like a festering wound that you’ve accidentally scratched at introducing bacteria into the exposed flesh so that once it do culture it will quickly speak inflaming and destroying the tissue of your psyche until it ultimate become a soul eating infectious contagion that dissolves your very being leaving behind only a gooy by product of your former humanity. Next you can’t sleep with your lover because when you see their expression of pleasure it somehow reminds you of your ex-work friends face when he had let that fart fly and all you want to do is strangle them, squeezing the life out of their entire out of physicality. The depression becomes progressively worse as you become more and more isolated. Your fellow works see you now as the crude, rude, unhygienic douchebag who breaks wind at will, and they therefore reject you further. Pranks become the only social contact you have as whoopee cushions are put down where ever you sit. It gets so bad that you throw your girlfriend out before you go to take a shit so that no one will ever be able to hear your body perform it’s natural functions. The only problem is that then you unwittingly pushes your loved ones away.

The result is that you end up with insomnia causing you to watch Tony Robins infomercials and the Teletubbies until you become slowly psychotic. At the forceful suggestion of your boss you begin to see a psychiatrist. He prescribes antidepressants to you, but they don’t help. Your condition only become progressively worse exacerbated by Tony Robins and the ever presence of such shows as “The 700 Club”, or “The View”. The next thing that seems to happen is that you begin to fantasize about seeking vengeance against that man. Soon that fantasy becomes closer and closer to reality as you find yourself doing research on fire arms, battery acid, and pig farms. Then one day it comes to pass.
You sitting quietly at your cubical, when two things seem to occur simultaneous. The disgusting co-worker who started all that insanity comes over to ask of all things, but "how ya doing?". At the exact moment the ghost of the one and only comedic demigod Andy Kaufman comes to you as his famous character Latka from “Taxi”, urging you to murder that ignorant douche bag. Before you know it you on a bender worse than Martin Lawence. That happens when the scent of fecal matter hits your nostrils, and believing that your co-worker has once again farted in your personal space, and will blame you for that offense, you react the only way you can, expressing you emotion through INTERPRETIVE DANCE!!!! Kinda similar to this:

Interpretive dance!

And more interpretive dance!

But in all seriousness, you attack your co-worker with such veracity that it makes the O.J. Simpson murder look like a tickle fight. And then after you’ve crushed, stabbed, choked, brutalized and violated that co-worker, you end up choking to death on a mouthful of your anti-depressants as the despair, and pressure become so much that the idea of being the recipient of oral sex from a viper seem safe. And just before you breath your last breath, and fade away into that good night you let out the worst most rank, rotten fart possible in front of all your co-workers, the security guard, and the patrol who responded to the call. I guess that's irony.  All that came from a damn nasty, funky explosion of methane gas expelled out of the damn poop shot of some dirty fucker.

Yes, that was the result of someone breaking wind. You see the chain reaction that was started with a small thing; a small tiny event result in something big. You kill a moth here, and a hundred thousand die in Indonesia from a volcano eruption, only in this case an instant of bad digestion, a fart, resulted in a depression, heart ache, substance abuse, isolation, rejection, murder, and death.

All because of this:

And it goes to this: 

Which there buy degenerates to this:

And then results in this:

And finally this: 

Yes, that is exactly what happens, just like how one day you could be walking in the park, and a handy capped ninja might attack you followed by a black Nazi, a pots and pans robot, and a T-Rex to eat the remains ( it happens more than you think ) a little bit of methane gas that come wheezing out of that brown eye we call a bunghole could result in a "Scrubs" like cut away scene that could actually real cost the tax payers millions of dollars when a simple gel tab of Bean-O could stop of this. Damn you Mexican food with your salsa, and re-fried beans! Damn you!


So, with further a due, I will say goodbye. Remember, hold back those farts, but if you can't then do something interesting with it like blow up a party balloon. Those around you will be grateful. And Please claim it. 



Until next time, 


Lou Ford.

FIN                   

Hello, hello, and welcome to another horrible issue of "Dirty Filthy Snuff". This is going to be a fairly short one due to the fact that I'm working on what will hopefully be a great "What Really Chaffs My Nutts". It should be great if only I could remember where I put my meds. I need it so that I won't start hallucinations, delusions of grandeur, and the poetic conflict between good and evil. So while I sort out the tension between nice me and mean me enjoy these cartoons. 

Now I know what you might be saying, these cartoons are shit, and I know it. That maybe, and my nice self knows that. Oh by the way, I haven't found my anti psychotic medicine yet. My nice me thinks that I should take it off, but just think about this; in this great nation of ours Reality TV has become a major fixture of entertainment. Now there's nothing wrong with that in my humble option if the fucking program is of quality, but shows like the fucking "Bachelor, Bachelorette, and The Bachelor Pad", do they really represent the idea of quality programing? I mean really why the fuck do you want to watch group of greedy, fame starving people who are more lonely than Tom Hanks in "Castaway" play an extended vision of speed dating where they actually date someone only twice before they get married. You know before such shows as "The Bachelor Pad" I honestly thought that we as a race of people wouldn't be able to accurately put a price on self respect, but I was wrong. Really fucking wrong.

Obviously the price for self respect only costs your picture not being dropped into a ballad box on the night of a rose ceremony. Or how about making an ostrich egg your best friend to somehow win the hearts of America. I mean when that shit comes on, I actually want to club to dead a baby seal with a damn soap in a sock. Now I know what your going to say, and that is it's just TV, regardless in a nation where an elected official somehow comes to the conclusion the a woman's reproductive system has enough presence of mind to prevent a pregnancy from a rape(an utterly asinine statement)the very prospect that people actually let it's message hold weight truly makes the prospect of cock fights sound appealing. Maybe it would just be better to broadcast a a person who suffers from Parkinson's disease tattoo patrons at a tattoo parlor. In fact just make it Michael J. Fox just so we can have that celebrity backing. We could call it "Scribbled Skin".

And then we got shows like "Big Brother", or as I like to call it "watching a bunch of simpletons sitting around with their dicks in their hands, picking their asses waiting to grow on Americans like a antibiotic resistant bacteria that just inflects your flesh festering deeper and deeper into your body until it gets into your blood stream". The Real House Wives; the only thing I wonder is which one is going to die of a prescription drug overdose first? Or how about which one will end dying from plastic surgery while under the knife. I honestly beg for freedom to be taken away from me after an hour of crap like that cause the viciousness of my thoughts when I've seen just an hour makes me want to be forced into a labour camp for reeducation. My mean me thinks that this is a good idea.

You know what's even better about this whole gig is that is with shows like the Bachelor on the air(and with such a following)it makes the one subjects that Americans all struggle with seem easy. That subject is math. Yeah, with ABC making what is essentially a Disney soft core porn.(that consists of Ed getting drunk and a night vision camera filming him under the covers as he screams out Xena Warrior Princess war cries and guttural groans while some bimbo tries to mess with his junk) and that makes arithmetic simple. The one thing that those evil immigrants are good at reality TV somehow makes it comprehensible for us westerns. Hell, I can work at a nuclear reactor because after a show like that feeds me digestible doses of the mean of an incomprehensible emotion such as love, preventing three mile island should be a cake walk.

I've thought about it and I have an idea for my own show. It's just like "The Bachelor Pad" only the single meat heads are locked down on the campus with all the drug and alcohol they can consume in 30 days, and we just watch the results. Leave out some some sharp objects, and buses in some hookers and we got a deliciously shameful disaster on our hands. I'm betting that in some seasons none of them will make it out alive. The ones that don't slip in the shower and break their neck, or drought in their own vomit will end up being stabbed to death. There will be no real money, just the chance to live out all their greedy, lustful fantasies and hope to survive. Or we could just go in for the kill and have a show by the name of "Who wants to Marry O.J." O.J. Simpson will of course be the bachelor. Let's see the ratings on that. One of the challenges can trying on different gloves to find which ones fit, and will call that activity "If The Glove Fits". With that; here is another crude short cartoon:

And here's another:

 See now this is wrong, right? Or is it. Rape is by no means funny, but judging by the culture of our society prison rape is in someway hilarious. There is something about being "Some body's Bitch" regardless of how brutal it is; it's funny? How many films and TV shows have used it to get a laugh. If that doesn't say something about us, then I don't know what does. Let me Repeat myself again about my option on the subject of rape: NO ONE SHOULD EVER BE THE VICTIM OF SUCH A CRIME. IT IS ONE OF THE WORST, MOST DESPICABLE, DAMAGING, HORRIFIC AND TRAUMATIZING ACTS OF VIOLENCE THAT ONE CAN SUFFER. HOWEVER, WITH ALL THE ASS BACKWARDS BULLSHIT ABOUT CENSORSHIP, AND THEN THE PRESENTATION OF SHIT LIKE "DIARY OF A VIRGIN", THE BACHELOR" SERIES, AND SUCH THINGS AS THE INCIDENT THAT OCCURRED AT PENN STATE WHO IS TO SAY WHAT'S REALLY CRUDE, VULGAR, AND TABOO?  
So, I'll leave you with one other idea I have for a reality TV Show. I don't have a title for it yet, but I think that it should be a full hour of watching the terminally ill die from the perspective of a time-lapse. What do you think? Well, I'll work on it and get back to you.

So, in closing, while I hadn't intended on going on a rant, I just did. I guess I just couldn't help myself. But, I would like to remind you that this is a blog that is meant to be humorous. I can and am just as guilty of many of the things and people that I criticize. I don't mean to offend, at least not entirely. So until next time, 



Lou Ford

P.S. 

I found my meds, but while my nice me wants wish you a great day: 

My mean me would like to say:

FIN