Buff my scrotum: July 2007

Unbelievable! Click on the image...

Out of Iraq, NOW!

Lemme get political for a sec and say, definitively, once and for all: fuck Iraq.

Today the left-handed butt wipers who constitute the Iraqi parliament voted themselves a month-long vacation. This, while nearly all the benchmark legislative and military milestones they were supposed to achieve in order to meet the coalition's minimum requirements for continued support remain unachieved and unlegislated.

One of these date-eating camel-humping twits in the Parliament, defending the vacation, said that it was their "constitutional right" to take the holiday.

Meanwhile, our men and women are in harms way. No vacation for them.

Fucking lunatic Arabs. Screw the load of them. Out, now!

Putting the "vic" in "convicted"

This photo is perfect!

Plus, had to laugh. Today, outside Atlanta's Georgia Dome, where the Falcons play, 200 or so Vick supporters shouted in bullhorns and waved placards at passing traffic, proclaiming their support for Michael. Seems "the Man" is keeping him down. And religious crusader group the SCLC was there too, saying of their support that they'd prefer to "focus on Vick's redemption" more than whether or not he was guilty. This from the very same group who demanded Don Imus' scalp imm-eee--diately when he made his stupid "ho" comments about the Rutgers women. Of Imus, they said: "we can't tolerate this kind of behavior in today's society." See, there was to be no focus on redemption for the I-Man. Could be because he's old? From New Mexico? Lives in New York? Has a trophy wife? Works on the radio? Takes a limo to his job? Sells his brother's hot sauce on his web site? Hmmmmm. Wonder what the difference between Vick and Imus could be........

Hypocrites.

Ice chewers of the world, unite!

There are 2,391 retards who've registered at this web site I found. Didn't believe it was real at first but apparently it is. See, it's for people who want to share their experiences eating ice. Not candy. Not pussy or dick. Not steak or veges or sushi. Ice. The Ice Chewers Bulletin Board is for real -- I'm not making this up.

I'd use one of my Sig Sauers but it would be traced back to me. Would you have a weapon I might borrow so as to blow some sense into the brains of these idiots? Please reply at: doesn'tmovemygiveafuckmeter@buffmyscrotum.com

Jim Davis is still not dead

Today's the birthday of possibly the least funny person who makes a living trying to be funny: Jim Davis. The guy who does the cartoon, "Garfield". Sure, maybe there are other less funny "funny" people, like that douchebag Dane Cook. Still and all, Jim Davis is pretty damn not funny, and proves it day in and day out, right there in the newspaper.

Many years ago, I dated this super-hot half Filipina babe. And she loved--really loved--Garfield. In her apartment while we would go at it, and irrespective of whatever coital position we'd choose, there he was, on the wall or in a picture frame, on the floor or on a cushion or in her kitchen. Garfield pictures and merchandise wherever, everywhere.

The upshot of this is a psychiatrist's field day: years later, I still mentally associate mind-blowing orgasms with Garfield the cat. And I'm thinking this is why I can no longer have sex.

Too bad it's your birthday, Jim Davis. I wish you'd never been born. My dick wishes you'd never been born. But in the spirit of gift-giving, I hereby offer you a free embalming. Have your people call me when you're dead, and until then, buff my scrotum.

Beware!

Smart Oriental bastards. Inscrutable, incomprehensible. Dog eaters. Hordes of them, reproducing like rabbits. Yet they have the wherewithal to offer up pearls of wisdom like this. "Beware Of People" -- that's bloody good advice.

Amazing, scary food discovered...

Scientists announced today the discovery of a food that immediately decreases a woman's sex drive by as much as 90%. The food, called a "wedding cake", is readily available in most municipalities in the United States.

As for me, I say: I never knew what true happiness was, until I got married. But by then, it was too late.

And the music we play is....

All You Need Is Cash

The Beatles "All You Need Is Love" is now being used as the theme of a new ad campaign for Luvs disposable diapers. Perfect, no? because undoubtedly, when John Lennon wrote the song 40 years ago, he was thinking about...shit.

Which is a pretty nice segue to this, my favorite story of an attempt by a company at matching a song to an ad campaign. Shortly after

Johnny Cash died, his family was approached by a certain company who wanted to know: "would the Cash estate license the song "Ring Of Fire" for use in our next TV campaign?" Lyrically, it tied in perfectly with the product's primary benefit. The whole business about the "burning thing.....and it makes a fiery ring".....etc, etc.

The company, named Wyeth, makes.............Preparation H. The hemmorhoid relief medicine.

Roseanne Cash told them no, and to stick it up their ass.

My radio's on in the embalming room....

Computer: dead

Apparently I've got a bad computer virus of some kind. Probably something attached to all the porn and/or the peer-to-peer (buff me tenderly, RIAA) songs downloaded on a near continuous basis by lil ol' Nigel.

This means: limited posting and hardly any photos. Since I use this blog as a way to ward off the demons, all I can say is my psychiatrist bill is gonna go

WAY the fuck up over the next couple of weeks until Mohandas at the computer store pulls his turban out of his ass, takes a break from snorting curry powder, and gets on the blower to roust the eight or nine hundred Punjabi sweatshop workers he's got stashed in New Bloody Delhi or wherever and fix what needs fixing, sahib, chop chop. And get the flaming bloody box back to me all working a-ok correct like.

I'll even pay the bastard in rupees if he delivers as promised.

Order your Elvis license plate here!

In Tennessee you can now order yourself an Elvis license plate. Practically speaking, he died in 1958, when he stopped rocking, entered the Army, dated (and ultimately married) a hot little 14 year old Scientologist, got discharged and came out all scrubbed up Hollywood style. He went on to do 33 crappy stupid movies with Ann-Margaret and Shelley Fabares where he was, like, a cocky but sensitive Argentinian gaucho who solved crimes when he wasn't roping Angus cattle or getting into fights except for those times when he'd pull out his guitar suddenly and for absolutely no reason commence "singing". There was always a "bad" girl and a "good" girl and after sampling the carnal delights of the "bad" girl our hero would ultimately come to his senses...and of course in the end he'd get the "good" girl. Amen. A Quinn Martin Production.

The only time life was ever shown again was that brief 1968 glimpse--the comeback special in Hawaii.

He died on the throne in 1977, attempting to butt blast out his latest peanut butter and banana sandwich. So here's my Elvis plate:

Yanni is...I'm just guessin' now... a 34C

This store's CD, um...rack...created an interesting juxtaposition. The Yanni album in row 2, and the whoever's it is cd in row 3 right below it. So I'm thinking to myself: this Yanni, he's got some nice fun bags there, dontcha think? A couple pretty devils dumplings, hmmm? Lovely milk wagons--yes?

I'm so going to hell.

I am asking for your input, shlubbies!

So I'm driving to the funeral home early this morning, mp3 player blasting, grooving on the Righteous Brothers song "Ebb Tide"....and it occurred to me: I've never, ever asked you shlubbies what your favorite tide is. How could I be so selfish? So, being that redressing them there grievances is a Nigel specialty, I present to you this poll. Make your vote count--you only get to let me know your preference one time! The winning tide will receive a $50 gift certificate from the Spiegel catalog. (Spiegel, Chicago 60609)

Texan Love Song

I heard from a friend you'd been messing around
With a cute little thing I'd been dating uptown
Well I don't know if I like that idea much
Well you'd better stay clear I might start acting rough

You out of town guys sure think you're real keen
Think all of us boys here are homespun and green
But that's wrong my friend so get this through your head
We're tough and we're Texan with necks good and red

So it's Ki yi yippie yi yi
You long hairs are sure gonna die
Our American home was clean till you came
And kids still respected the president's name

And the eagle still flew in the sky
Hearts filled with national pride
Then you came along with your drug-crazy songs
Goddamit you're all gonna die

How dare you sit there and drink all our beer
Oh it's made for us workers who sweat spit and swear
The minds of our daughters are poisoned by you
With your communistic politics and them negro blues

Well I'm gonna quit talking and take action now
Run all of you fairies clean out of this town
Oh I'm dog tired of watching you mess up our lives
Spending the summertime naturally high

Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
Goddamit you're all gonna die
(etcetera)

On my i-Pod, right now...

Here are two swell albums I'm spinning on the rec room SoundDesign disc changer. First, it's the "Handless Organist"... and coming right up after these messages, it's "All My Friends Are Dead". Hours of swinging listening fun, particularly at all the dope parties I throw at Chez Nigel!

John Mark Karr has a girlfriend?

WTF? This is the same whack job who was deported in chains from Thailand and flown back to the US because he claimed he'd killed JonBenet Ramsey. Remember? Fast forward 18 months or so and now he lands in court in Atlanta due to some kind of dust-up with his father...a fight or something. Charges dropped. But in court, this weirdo is sitting next to his 22 year old girlfriend, who's actually not bad looking and who appears normal, not a fat tub of lard or anything. Can someone explain to me how this strange little 42 year old fuck merits 22 year old poontang? Particularly when I'm not getting any of it?

I don't understand.

/banging head on desk....

Let's see a photo of Lucious, shall we?

Who'd name their kid "Lucious", if the family's last name was "Pusey"? Probably some kind of nut. Probably a Muslim man named Ali Dzum.

Paul Keating, my hero

At left, it's Paul Keating, former Prime Minister of Australia ('91-'96) who is foul-mouthed and misanthropic to boot. What's not to like? Comes this story today, from the Sydney Morning Herald, saying that Keating promised to leave the following message on his answering machine once he left office: "You have reached the office of ex-prime minister Paul Keating. Now fuck off and leave me alone."

Keating is famous for his insults and abuse aimed at others in public life. Examples:

(on the phone, to politician Jim McClelland): "That you Jim? Paul Keating here. Just because you swallowed a fucking dictionary when you were about 15 doesn't give you the right to pour a bucket of shit over the rest of us."
(speaking of journalists): "Fucking animals."
"Now listen mate," [to John Browne, Minister of Sport, who was proposing a 110 per cent tax deduction for contributions to a Sports Foundation] "you're not getting 110 per cent. You can forget it. This is a fucking Boulevard Hotel special, this is. The trouble is we are dealing with a sports junkie here [gesturing towards then Prime Minister Bob Hawke]. I go out for a piss and they pull this one on me. Well that's the last time I leave you two alone. From now on, I'm sticking to you two like shit to a blanket."
(to members of the opposition party in Parliament): "You were heard in silence, so some of you SCUMBAGS on the front bench should wait a minute until you hear the responses from me."
(to Liberal party politician Wilson Tuckey): "...you stupid foul-mouthed grub."

Wildly entertaining and a real "buff my scrotum" kinda guy. The honorable Paul Keating!

Metal--it's what's for breakfast!

Adolf Hitler says: "Klicken auf dem Bild, es groß zu sehen!!"

Metallica: Hatfield, Taliban; Ulrich, asshole

Great story out of the UK this weekend. Metallica singer James Hatfield was detained upon arrival in England...British immigration thought he was a terrorist, based on his "taliban" beard. Being that he was on his way to play at Live Commie Earth, and was able to prove that to the authorities, they finally let him go. Meanwhile, Metallica drummer Lars Ulrich was also detained upon arrival -- this time, on suspicion of being a total fucking asshole. Once his status as a fuckwit dipwad fetus-eating asshole was confirmed, Ulrich was arrested and summarily executed this morning by firing squad. Hatfield at left, Ulrich at right.

Amazing Kreskin not dead yet. Amazing!

Live Commie Earth wasn't the only indignity we had to suffer today. Being the date is 7/7/07, there was all kinds of coverage of the significance of the "lucky number" 7. Among those media outlets debasing themselves: MSNBC, who trotted out this guy, the "Amazing Kreskin". Last seen on the Tonight Show when Johnny Carson was still upright and moving about, this old bag of feces pops up to remind us that he's the world's foremost mentalist (his words, and whatever the hell that means). Hey Kreskin, if you can read minds, then you know what's on mine: buff my scrotum, you old scammeister, you.

Live Earth musicians can buff my scrotum

Don't you just love being lectured at by a bunch of self absorbed musicians? I know I do.

Dave Matthews? Anthony Keidis? Simon Le Bon? Get back in your limo/plane/tour bus, and stick your sanctimonious recycle reuse rethink claptrap right up your ass. This environmental global warming rain forest bullshit is just cover for the real agenda, which is 100% commie propaganda bent on the destruction of free markets. It's pure anti-business claptrap, and the sponsors of this shit (like Chevy, for God's sake) should be ashamed of themselves.

Look, I do the right thing here at chez Nigel. I save my turds and place them carefully on top of the compost heap. I recycle my toilet paper. When I sing lunch after one too many Heileman's Old Styles, I carefully mop it all up and wring it out over the rosebushes. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is wasted at my house.

So I resent being prattled on at by a bunch of naive, navel-gazing douchebags. The whole steaming load of them, including Al Gore, can buff my greenhouse gas emitting scrotum.

Oh, here's a great article about what a bunch of hypocritical twaddle this whole event really is.

The baseball team I sponsor....

Being I'm such a philanthropist, throwing money at poor people and homeless people and other misfits and mental defectives, I'm here to tell you that I very generously sponsor a baseball team made up of goddamm illegal alien Taiwanese Little Leaguers who regularly flay the living feces out of all the loser teams they play. Specifically, I got naming rights and also had to pay for the uniforms. Aren't I nice? Here they are, then (click on the photo to see what I named the team):

Getting the pool done, months later

My frigging pool guy finally got around to finishing up my pool fixing job, the twat. It's only been four months. Jeez. I figure now I get about 6 weeks of pool use before I have to shut the bloody thing down for the Fall.

I have major ulterior motives with my pool, which is in a really nice setting--surrounded by trees and woods, with no nosy neighbors peeking over the fence. It's more of a resort-like look, truth be told. Anyhow, my motive is to get the wimmens who come over to take their goddamm clothes off and swim nekkid.

I may have a chance with one of them, and here's why: in the water, my grotesque, hideous, disgusting, awful, gigantic, flabby, obese body is mostly...hidden...or maybe I should say, distorted. From the shoulders up, I'm plain ugly. From the shoulders down, I could make a maggot puke. So in the water, they don't have to look at the worst parts of me, which is a blessing for them.

Just about every goddamm porno I see ends up with wild orgy action in the pool and on the sun deck. So far, that hasn't happened for me. Surprised? Nup. But like the good, positive, optimistic turd I am, I'll keep on trying.

Rule #70, from "The 86 Rules Of Boozing"

I like this one from The 86 Rules Of Boozing:

The patrons at your local bar are your extended family, your fathers and mothers, your brothers and sisters. Except you get to sleep with these sisters. And if you're really drunk, the mothers.

Hmmmmm. Bar incest. Never thought about it that way, but now that I am thinking about it, all those female sloshed-out drunken regulars I see daily better watch out.

Hell wedding, for real

Oh. My. God. I was at this wedding Saturday and it was flat out awful. I have been to funerals that were more fun. No kidding now, here's how it went down:

Bride comes walking down the aisle with daddy, sobbing. No kidding. At first it looked like she was going to throw up. Then it became clear she was crying.
At altar, bride can't stop crying. Flower girl goes to mother in aisle 2, gets a tissue, interrupts proceedings to allow bride to compose herself.
During vows, bride cannot bring herself to look at groom. Looks down at ground, then stares at his hand the whole time as she's putting on the ring. Never once smiles or looks at groom.
During the "you may kiss the bride" business, bride pulls away from groom.
At reception--no laughing. Just a tight, fake half-smile.
Groom is in a daze, doesn't know what hit him.

On second thought, regular readers of this drivel will know how I feel about marriage. So, in effect, the groom was getting a good taste of what the rest of his life will be like. Poor shlub.

Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Unbelievable! Click on the image...

Monday, July 30, 2007

Out of Iraq, NOW!

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Putting the "vic" in "convicted"

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Ice chewers of the world, unite!

Jim Davis is still not dead

Friday, July 27, 2007

Beware!

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Amazing, scary food discovered...

And the music we play is....

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

All You Need Is Cash

Monday, July 23, 2007

My radio's on in the embalming room....

Computer: dead

Friday, July 20, 2007

Order your Elvis license plate here!

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Yanni is...I'm just guessin' now... a 34C

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

I am asking for your input, shlubbies!

Monday, July 16, 2007

Texan Love Song

On my i-Pod, right now...

Friday, July 13, 2007

John Mark Karr has a girlfriend?

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Let's see a photo of Lucious, shall we?

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Paul Keating, my hero

Metal--it's what's for breakfast!

Monday, July 09, 2007

Metallica: Hatfield, Taliban; Ulrich, asshole

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Amazing Kreskin not dead yet. Amazing!

Live Earth musicians can buff my scrotum

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

The baseball team I sponsor....

Getting the pool done, months later

Monday, July 02, 2007

Rule #70, from "The 86 Rules Of Boozing"

Hell wedding, for real

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Friends of the Family, goddammit!

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