Who Would You Vote For?

All the recent primaries were dragging my mood down, then I was led to this site.
You may have to click on the picture above or visit the site the read it, but it got me to thinking.
"Why should I be worried about which complete dick head is going to get elected president when I can spend my time deciding which Star Trek Captain is the best."

Yeah, I doubt Hillary or Mitt could measure up to one of these folks an their best day, but it sure would be fun to find out who everyone else likes.

Candidate # 1:

James Tiberius Kirk - The original. The first. Kirk had two approaches to aliens which made his life simple; 1) Screw it or 2) Kill it. It takes a big man to sex up green alien women or blast them with phasers. He was THE MAN.

Candidate #2

Jean-Luc Picard - A French Captain? Does Star Fleet have no moral standard? I am pretty sure that Picard is supposed to be what Kirk would be like if he ever grew up. Picard was a talker and a negoiator. I don't think I ever saw him sex up an alien and he was very reluctant to blast anyone either. He isn't my favorite especially because I know they have the technology to grow hair and he still goes bald. Now on the good side, Picard got assimilated by the Borg. Now that is cool. He went to the dark side, killed 11,000 members of StarFleet and still got to be Captain. Not a bad thing if you think about it.

Candidate # 3

Benjamin Lafayette Sisko - I guess they used up all the secret Star Fleet Hair Tonic to keep Kirk in his cool hair. Sisko is the second captain with NO HAIR. I call this guy the "Angry Captain." The best I can figure is that he is angry over 1) Being bald 2) Not having a cool starship like the first two guys. Yeah, it has got to suck when your first two seasons all you have is a space station to use for blasting bad guys. Now on the good side, this guy hated Picard. I get it. Picard is french, I mean Picard is responsible for killing his wife. Sisko was also a full tilt alien blaster, almost on par with Kirk, but the man just didn't sex up the aliens like the first captain. So one strike for bald, two strikes for no space ship, but one check mark for hating the French Captain.

Candidate # 4

Kathryn Janeway - In my personal opinion she should have been the angry captain instead of Sisko. StarFleet gives her a new ship that gets sucked into a different part of the galaxy, it breaks down all the damned time. Her crew is full of whiners, her first officer is a reformed terrorist and has that funky face tattoo. She also isn't that hot. I would have preferred a hot female captain. Janeway also made an alliance with the Borg. Just not very captain like in my book. The ONLY thing she didn't do was cry. A crying captain is wrong on so many levels.

So here we are. Four captains. Four possible choices for "The Best Captain."
Who are you going to vote for?

Me? I prefer Kirk. The picture at the top says it all.

"Yes, it is perfectly reasonable that Kirk ahd the know-how to make the gunpowder and put together the bazooka to defeat the Gorn. that's why he's the goddamn Captain."

And for me he is THE CAPTAIN.

The Strangest Thing Happened to Me

If you have been around here long enough then you know the basic facts.
A) I am a teacher
B) I am a bit twitchy about scientologists and mormons
C) Kids make my skin itch.

This week all three combined together for an extremely strange and bizzarro incident.

One of my good students came in and announced loudly to me that "My Prophet Died Yesterday".
Yeah, kids say the strangest things when you least expect it. Of course I was intrigued because I figured that I was going to have to send this boy to the nurse to get checked for illegal substances.

Try formulating a politically correct response to that on the spur of the moment that doesn't include the phrase "Crack head" and you will know what my job is like everyday.
But I tried.
I smiled the smile of "What the shit are you talking about?"

The child opened the history book to the section on the mormons and said "That is my church."
My eyebrows went up. WAY UP. ALMOST OFF MY FOREHEAD UP. The kid understood immediately.

"Yes, we are the only brown people at our church."

I let out a deep sigh of relief. Mormons are one thing, but Hispanic mormons are something I have never heard of. At least the kid understood my confusion.

Of course I also had to get this conversation back on path, quickly.

"So your PROPHET died?"

"Yes sir, Gordon B. Hinckley died and he is the prophet of my church."


I was feeling much better at this point. Much much better.
It wasn't generic meth fueled crazy talk I was hearing, but a child sharing their concerns and worries with me.
That I can handle.
That I understand.
It may be uncomfortable, but I can handle it.

So where am I going with this?
Well, lets see.

One child confesses their concern over the death of Gordon B. Hinckley and this opened the flood gates. One child confessed that his father was in jail because of the family business. Of course the family business is drug dealing, but it is still hard to have your father in prison. Another student had her father and two brothers in prison together. Seems as if the brothers shot the store clerk they were robbing just for the hell of it and I have no clue what daddy was in for. At this point our time of sharing was way over.

I can only take so much confession and confusion from my kids.

A class period full of dead prophets, drug dealers, and murderers is about all I can handle, especially when dealing with children. All I needed for it to be a bang up day was for someone's father to be a drug dealing, serial killing, Hispanic scientologist. They are out there, I know it.

My Political Compass

While I personally think most of today's presidential candidates have their personal political compasses shoved up their asses so far that it is going to take a tow truck and a long length of tow chain to get them out, I decided to take a look at where I stand. Or at least where a six page internet quiz tells me that I stand. I found this Cynnie's Place and decided that it was worth just a little bit of my time.

So, lets get some background going here. This is how the current batch of self serving ass monkeys, I mean candidates stand on this quiz/graph.

Want to have some real fun? Here is where some historical figures fall on this moral compass.

I am going to have to take the quiz again because I was pretty sure that I would be somewhere up there with Hitler and Thatcher on this chart. The last place I figured I would wind up is somewhere near Gandhi and on the same side-o-the chart as Stalin.



So either I need to drink some more whiskey, take the test again, insert my head up my ass, or all of the above because I am scared. Gandhi just isn't my kind of guy, really.

January Sucks

I have finally reached the decision that January sucks. HARD.
Let me provide some data to back up my announcement that January SUCKS.

1) January 21 is officially the most depressing day of the year. Google that and suck on it.

2) I have noticed that my wonderful Piece of Doom Cake has dropped off a few blog rolls and link lists. THAT SUCKS. If I wasn't so tired I would track you all down and administer Indian rubs on your arms.

3) I have had 2617 visitors here this month (THAT DOES NOT SUCK) but only 22 posted comments (THAT REALLY SUCKS). JUST ONCE I want a post that gets 22 comments.

4) I am starting to realize that I don't read or comment on other people's blogs like I have in the past. WHICH SUCKS. I need a day with twenty seven hours in it.

5) I fear that I am losing my writing mojo. Maybe I have become offensive instead of funny? THAT THOUGHT SUCKS. No offense to the ladies, but my last post wasn't about them being stupid, just the weird concept of ownership at my house.

So I declare January the official month of sucking. As Ross Perot would say "I hear a great big sucking noise" and it must be the month of January.

I can't wait till this month is over and I can get back to my regularly scheduled funny.

The Human Scrotum

This is my sink. Now before anyone goes crazy and starts to wonder about the missus, we all know how the sink thing works. It it works like any part of the house or car in a marriage. It all belongs to the missus, till something is broken, then it is all mine. So if I own it, it must be broken down or busted up in some way.


This is the right hand side of my sink. The gasket that holds the center part of the sink in place and stops it from leaking was bulging out of place like a spinal disk on an 80 year old Thai pole dancer. Yeah, it was bad. The container of water that I kept emptying from under the sink was what tipped me off to the condition of the gasket.

Since I had the day off I figured that I would invite my father in law over and we would turn thirty minutes worth of man work into four hours of beer drinking. There are days when I know I am in the wrong business. I can lead the best of people down the path of drink and mirth at the last appropriate times and best of all, they take the blame.

Well, I explain the problem to my FIL and then we bust out the channel locks, pipe wrenchs, drop lights, and all sorts of cool toys and go to work. For those of you (women) who don't know, the cool little grate in the center of your sink is attached to the sink via a gasket and screw on collar. The whole process is pretty damned easy. Screw the pipes off, screw the metal collar off, pull of old nasty gasket, put new gasket on, put metal collar back on. That is the short version, but you get the picture.

After thirty minutes of cussing and banging and demands for "THE BIGGEST DAMN SCREWDRIVER YOU HAVE," my FIL and I were at a standstill. The metal collar was NOT coming off and we were pissed. Him more than me because he had taken it personally and was just about to take a hammer to the damned thing when we decided to run to Home Depot and ask for advice.
We had decided that maybe these new fangled collars were different and the guys at Home Depot would know. So off we went.

I really wish I could have snapped a picture of Walter the human scrotum. He was the sink/plumbing expert at Home Depot today and despite his title, he was useless. I am talking as useless as a scrotum on a dog who has had his balls removed.

My FIL explained the problem while Walter nodded his head and looked perturbed. My FIL is a perfectionist, so he went through EVERY step we went through and every thing we had tried. Walter nodded. FIL explained some more. Walter nodded. After a good twenty minutes of explaining, my FIL came to the end of his story.
He asked his question: "Have they changed the way the collars work recently?"

Walter nodded some more, then he spoke:"That collar should just screw off easily. No reason why it shouldn't."


I just about reached out and grabbed Walter by his ball sack and his throat at the same time. Twenty minutes of in-depth explanation that bored me to the brink of suicide and all Walter can say is "That collar should just screw off easily. No reason why it shouldn't." I wanted to scream in his face while I squeezed his nut sack and throat so hard that he couldn't decide which was the more urgent painful situation. Didn't this Human Scrotum realize that I was on the verge of taking a few sticks of dynamite to my sink?

My FIL is a patient man, but Walter pushed him a bit too far as well. We both shook our heads and headed back to the house. Walter lived, but only because my FIL is a better man than me and would have frowned on me killing him right there in the plumbing isle.

This is what the sink center, gasket, and metal collar look like when you finally get them out of the sink. We took Walter's useless advice to heart and tore that son of a bitch out. My FIL and I made a pact that we would burn it out with a cutting torch if we had to. WE would not be beaten by Walter and a tricky piece of plumbing. Luckily for us it was just a couple of pairs of channel locks and some hard twisting that finally broke that bad boy loose.

What was supposed to be thirty minutes of work and four hours of beer drinking turned into two hours of frustration. I hope Walter enjoyed my day off.

Evil Clowns Commandos

This story is just about as stupid as they come. It took scientists good time and probably HUGE amounts of money to discover that kids are scared of clowns? Give me a break.
Any sane human is terrified of those bastards. They are pure evil from the deepest bowels of hell. They could have called me and I would have given them the low down in ten minutes. In fact, they would have hung up on me after five minutes of my ranting and slobbering with a good grip on the reality of clown fear.

So after reading this thing, I started to think. I know that can be a bad thing, but after sitting in front of the nightly news and considering the evil and frightful nature of clowns, I found a way to end the war on terror.

That is right.
You heard it here first.
I know how to put an end to the war on terror.
NO, it has nothing to do with a high powered rifle, a grassy knoll, and the president. I stopped thinking like that at least a week ago.

So here is my plan.
Create a top secret commando clown unit.


Don't get too freaked yet. I am not done. A top secret unit of Commando Clowns isn't enough. You have to get them the best weapons.



You can click on the picture to get the details on this fearsome weapon from Howtokillpeople.com
Think of that.
Evil Terrorist Swine hiding in dank caves quaking in their boots as the EVILER CLOWN COMMANDOS arrive and blast them with radioactive scorpions.
Boy is that shit going to hurt.
And it is going to be scary too.

How are those terrorists going to hold their heads up when they have to admit that they shit themselves and ran because they were attacked by evil clowns with guns that shoot radioactive scorpions? They are going to get laughed out of their caves and evil terrorist clubs.

My only problem with this whole idea revolves around the question of "What are we going to do with the evil clown commandos when the terrorists are all gone?"

Yeah, think about that one awhile. Once the bad guys are gone, we all know, deep down in our clown fearing hearts, that the government are liable to turn them loose on good people like us.

In a perfect world the government would use them on 1) Terrorists then 2) Scientologists and then 3) Mormons, and then . . . .
You get the picture.

The bad news is that this world is far from perfect and after #1 is taken care of, #2 and #3 are too rich and influential to go after. So it is us. The good old fashioned, hard drinking American middle class tax payer.

All I can say is that if the clowns come for me, I am coming out shooting. A gun in one hand and a really sharp machete in the other. (Just in case there are any zombie clowns. You don't have to reload a machete).

So ponder all this for awhile folks.
Sooner or later, the government is going to send the clowns for us all.
Maybe not at first.
Maybe not quickly.
But they are coming for us sooner or later.

There is a Parking Space in Hell for YOU!

It has been a long time, but around here it is only a matter of time before it happens again.

Picture this.

COLD.
WET.
RAINY.
SLICK.
PRETTY DAMNED DANGEROUS.

This worthless son of a beotch jumped out in front of me at the last minute. Came across a lane of on coming traffic and fish tailed as he settled into position about six inches from getting a two ton blue steel enema courtesy of Ford and myself.

Part of me wanted to push down REALLY HARD on the gas peddle and ram this son of gun.
The inner me really wanted to scream "RAMMING SPEED" and become a full tilt road pirate.
Ram the bastard, board his truck ,and kick the living shit out of him.

One thing I can say about the whole situation is that it is a good thing I wasn't packing a shooting iron. If I had, I know I would have gone all Pirate on his ass and gunned him down right there in the "Mud ,the Blood, and the Beer" as Johnny Cash would have said.

Drive on buddy.
Satan has a private parking place saved just for you.

One More Lesson in Fatherhood

If you have been hanging around here very long, then you know I work really hard at being a good father.

Raggedy Ann Trouble

Ragged Ann: A Tragic Play

Produce Scales

Story Time

Kung Fu Barbie

Barbie the Beach Whore

Despite my best efforts, it seems that there are still lessons to be learned. This weekend I learned two more things that I should have probably already had a clue about.

A) No matter how much fun it seems to be, enabling your two year old to wear her pants on her head and scream like a maniac is good for one kick to the testicles by the missus. I don’t think I will be repeating that bit o fun any time soon.

And

B) Do not tell your two year old to refer to her five month old sister as Scooby Doo and have her scream at the top her lungs when ever her mother refers to her sister by her birth name. Once again, a kick to the testicles is the only response the missus seems capable of.

No one warned me that fatherhood was going to be so damned hard.

This hurts BAD

I am over halfway through my second complete day without a drop of caffeine. You read that correctly. For some strange reason I decided to just stop ingesting the one substance that gets me through the day.

I don't think this is a permanent change because I am weak. Last night about the 24 hour mark I am very surprised that the Missus didn't find me in the pantry curled up in a fetal position sucking Dr. Pepper out of a can that I had bitten a hole in. Yeah, it was that bad.

In fact, it was worse than that. I fully understand why crack heads will strip naked, paint themselves purple, crawl through your window with a knife in their teeth and then murder your entire family for enough spare change to get their next fix. That is how bad it was. I was fully capable of killing people I know for a fix last night.

The good news is that no slaughter took place and I held out despite the headache and need for a fix of the good stuff. Even this morning when I thought that it would be okay to have six or seven redbulls for breakfast, I withheld.

Now it is more of a contest than anything. I am going to break and fall off the wagon sooner or later, but right now I am fighting the good fight and staying away from the monkey on my back. If I get a week in I will consider that a victory, but if the Red Bull cans talk to me when I go to the store tonight, I might not make it that far. Yes, they do speak. They whisper to me and tell me how tasty and full of love they are. They tell me how much better I am going to feel after 80 mg of Caffeine. Damn, there I go. I gotta stop thinking about the stuff.

Wish me luck. I know I can't hold out forever, but damn it, I want to give this one a good run. Lets see how I feel in a day or two.

Good Bye Mr. Christmas Tree

The holidays are finally over at my house. The even that marks the end is the burning of the Christmas tree. Yes, once that beautiful green tree goes up in flames, the holidays are officially over at Casa Doom Cake.

The ceremony begins when I toss the first and only match on that damned tree. If I use more than one match, the coming year is full of bad, bad, bad luck for me. Good news is that so far I have never, no matter how fresh that fragrant tender box is, had to use more than one match. One good burning match and it goes up like Satan's own bonfire and that is without using any petroleum products.

The really terrifying part of the whole damn ceremony is that from first light to the end is probably less than four minutes total. That is one fast freakin flame of doom coming my way.

This darned tree sat in my house for over a month, just waiting for the spark to hit it while we were asleep.

Think about it folks. Less than four minutes, probably closer to three for this healthy fresh cut tree to do the fiery tango of doom.





I hope you sleep soundly next Christmas. I am staying on the sofa near the damned tree with a water hose.

You Sons-O-Bitches had better be clear because here comes the ELECTRICITY

This is an Automatic External Defibrillator. If you are going to fall over with a massive cardiac event you should pray to whatever meat you prefer that one of these little electronic monkeys is close at hand.

Every minute you lay on the floor flopping around like the human fish with no heartbeat, your chances of survival drops by 10%.

Today I was re-certified in CPR and AED use. You heard it here first. Someone trusts me enough to put the old current to people who are dying. It has to be a huge leap of faith since I am more than likely to lean over, laugh, and say something smarmy like "This is going to hurt, but shit, dying is permanent."

Yeah, I am a smart ass.

Today my boss commented that my CPR dummy was making strange noises and it was probably because I was pushing too hard during the chest compressions.

ME: "I have always said that a few broken ribs are better than being dead."

Yeah, I can't seem to keep the smart ass part of me under control.

Which makes me wonder why my boss chose me two years ago to be on the AED response team. You heard that right too. If anyone drops dead at my job site, I am coming for you with case full of electricity and a bad attitude. Most people who work with me would rather see the angel of death than me with a smirk and permission to shock them with electricity.

So why me? I asked the medical team this two years ago and here is what they said; "The boss said you are really calm. You don't over react and would be good in a crisis."

They nearly had to use the damned AED on me right then and there. The more I thought about it the more sense it made though. Most people who see me coming at work and realize that a) Their heart isn't beating and b)Here comes the village asshole with a big fucking battery and a grin on his face are liable to see Jesus and jump right up and go back to work. Fuck that faulty heart, they know bad news when they see it and I just might scare them back to life.

So folks if you ever see me swaying toward you with a bottle of whiskey in one hand a little read case case with a cross on it, check your pulse and run.

If you are laying there and flopping around, I am probably going to break a few ribs and put the old current to your heart. I may even save your life, but I am also going to mock you and talk some serious shit to you till the paramedics arrive.

I have a mean streak in me like that.

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What Would George Do?

With it being an election year and all the wasted money being spent on primaries and caucuses, it is inevitable that someone asks me “Are you are Republican or one of those Democrats?”

I fucking hate that question. I hate it with all the hate I can muster the day after a whiskey binge when my skin burns when exposed to direct sunlight. That is a whole shit load of hate my friends.

Within a few minutes of asking me that question, most people will never discuss politics with me again. All it takes is one carefully crafted discussion to make my point.

My answer is simple and if really puts a crimp in their preplanned tirade. The whole scene usually goes something like this.

Idiot: “Are you are you a Republican or one of those Democrats?”

Me: “I am an American, I don’t believe in political parties.”

Idiot: “What the fuck are you talking about? You don’t believe in political parties? Are you some sort of Muslim (pronounced MOOOSLEM)?

Me: “I vote for the best possible candidate. I don’t give a flying fuck which party they belong to. My personal belief is that political parties should be outlawed and anyone who tries to form one should be publicly flogged.”

Idiot: “You are a muslim aren’t you? All you keep saying is crazy talk. What the fuck is your problem? Do you hate America?”

Me: “No shit head. I love America. I hate political parties. George Washington said that political parties were full of shit too. Ever wonder which party he belonged too? NONE. GEORGE DIDN’T NEED A FUCKING POLITICAL PARTY.”

Idiot: “You must be some sort of faggot liberal or something.”

Me: “A M E R I C A N. That spells American. And by the way, the founding fathers were liberals. LIBERALS. How does that feel dumb ass? Going to Call George Washington a faggot? How about John Adams? Better yet, how about Thomas Jefferson? Should I go on? Andrew Jackson was a whole fuck-load of liberal and if you called him a fag I bet he would have ripped your still beating heart right out of your chest with his bare hand. Even better, I know a few places in Houston where you can stand on the street corner and yell FAGGOT at the top of your lungs all you want. Just be warned. Fags are men. Some of them are BIG BURLY men.”

Idiot: “You are just trying to make me mad aren’t you? You are a Republican. Everyone is a Republican, unless you are a fag and a liberal and a democrat.”

This conversation usually goes on till the questioner walks away or strokes out from frustration. In the old days I would hit them in the head with an empty beer bottle to smooth things over, but these days I just like to watch them simmer. The horrible thing is that it is men and women alike that try and lure me into some evil soul baring moment of hate with this question. None of them get it.

I don’t think liberal is a dirty word. I don’t believe in political parties. I vote for candidates, not parties. If you call me a communist I will punch you in the head with my super brain cracking Kung Fu Punch. I am kind of old school that way. I hate communists. I really hate Russian communists, but they are mostly dead or binge drinking themselves to death. I try and lead a simple life this way. It is the idiots who try and make it complicated.

A special day at Casa Doom Cake

Yesterday was a special day at Casa Doom Cake. The brand new 2008 Johnny's Seeds catalog arrived.

We clapped
We danced
We drank beer and ran in circles

It was a good afternoon.
The family spent hours pouring over pages and pages of seeds.
We dreamed of all the crunchy vegetable goodness that will spring forth from the ground.

Then I remembered how freakin sore I am going to be after I prep the garden.
Anyway, the official Doom Cake Gardening Season is upon us.

Planning now.
Planting seeds in March.
Prepping the garden in mid March.
Planting seedlings in the garden by late March.

So much to do.
So little time to do it.

My Coworkers

I have several new people in my department this year. After their "Teach us Jedi Master" remarks today I can't decide if they are sucking up or just being smart asses. Either way, A) sucking up gets you nothing and B)Being a smart ass will only make me like you for so long.

So to everyone in my department who wants to be me or at least snicker at me behind my back, this is for you.

Just wait till I collect my payment butt heads.

What happened to 2007?

It is a Monday and the monkeypox is almost gone. The horrible pain in my neck from sleeping in the recliner for three nights is almost gone and when I last looked, 2007 was gone.

Holy craptastic awakening!!!!

So how was last year?

Lets see.

229 posts at good old Doom Cake.
At least 17,000 page hits here. I will keep a better count this year.
44, 355 spam emails deleted from my main email account. Talk about a banner year.
Added one dirt urchin to the family.
Caught the Monkeypox.
Renewed my drivers license in person for the first time in 10 years.

Not bad.
Not bad at all.
My only hope is that 2008 is going to be a better year.

Hell, we are getting a new president, which really doesn't mean shit, but getting rid of Shrub does.

So until I start sinking into my pre-election depression, Happy Fucking New Years to everyone. Lets hope that I can take a running start at 2008 and not fuck things up too horribly.

Oh yeah, I declare 2008 the year of "Send Doom Cake All Your Whiskey". Got a spare bottle of whiskey in the pantry, send it here.
Only half full? Send it here.

I need all I can get stored up for election night. I feel a bender coming on that is going to be hard to handle.

Old Fat Rambo

When this movie first came out, I was too young to see an R rated movie without and adult escort. Well Bullshit Batman, I wasn't going to let that get into the way of my teenage eyeballs seeing the most talked about movie ever.

After sitting nervously through "First Blood" in the back row, just knowing that I was going to get caught and evicted along with my buddies, I walked out with a shell shocked look on my face. "First Blood" was so cool. I so wanted a knife like that. I wanted to kill people and wild pigs with my knife to just prove that I could. Shit, John Rambo was just a bit misunderstood and a cool dude like Colonel Trautman to save his ass when he goes on a little domestic rampage. Not bad.


Then a few years later, when I was more than legal to see R rated movies, Rambo II came out.


Okay, it wasn't the original and Stallone was really going over the deep end here. It is one thing to punk the entire Sheriff's department of some podunk Pacific Northwest town, but to raze the entire country of Vietnam with just a bow and arrow is a little much.

The one thing that really burned me here was the character of Colonel Trautman. In "First Blood" he was one cold bastard who was pretty much getting off to his pet Rambo terrorizing folks. In this one he gets a bit too mushy for me. I like the steely eyed killer that he was supposed to be.

Needless to say, I was a proud Americans. Communists were bad. We lost Vietnam and by GOD Rambo was going to take it back .At this point, even my interest in Good Ole Rambo was on the down slide. Using only a bow and arrow, Rambo had defeated the evil CIA and Vietnam and now he was moving on to Afghanistan. Funny thing is, a few years later it wasn't going to be so damn funny. Of course Rambo was fighting communists again, not terrorists.

I thought I was done.
No more Rambo.
Stallone was getting fat and old, but without the class or talent of Elvis.

Then I saw this:

Even worse, I watched the preview on the net.

I think it is either called "John Rambo" or "Rambo". Either way it should be called "When Fat Rambo Attacks".

Shit, at least Elvis had the dignity to die on the crapper at this point in his career.

So let me point out some things that I see as issues with this last movie

1. Rambo/Stallone is fat ala "Fat Elvis". He would look much better in a gold jump suit than topless with a knife.

2. The Rambo character is supposedly born in 1947. So not only is Rambo fat, but Rambo is fucking old. Where is the walker in the poster? Some how a 60 year old fat Rambo isn't going to scare too many folks.

3. Is he murdering communists? No. Communists are all gone, unless he is going to invade China. Is he murdering terrorists? Absolutely not. I bet he could have gotten Bin Laden out of Afghanistan by now. So who is he fighting? Who the fuck cares if it isn't a)communists or b)terrorists?

4. This one is really a compliment. It looks GORY. I ain't saying much, but in the previews he decapitates a man with a swipe of his giant Rambo Knife. I have been waiting twenty years or more to see that shit happen on the screen.


Here is a preview of Old Fat Rambo.

See what you think.

Brain Candy for the New Year

Here is a big dose to get the new year started.

Pop Teen

When Insults had Class

Juniper Gallery

Comics with Problems

More Fun in Bed

Popeye Walk

Curious Expeditions

Letter Dress

Obama’s High School Yearbook

Hair Growing Hat

Starving in the Belly of a Whale