For The Gentlemen: A Valentines Day Special

Gentlemen, let me begin by saying: Testicles.

Just enjoy that for a moment, and have a nice chuckle. Done? Good. Now, I am afraid that I must be the bringer of bad tidings. That most irritating of holidays is almost upon us.

That one day of the year where we must go out and spend preposterously large amounts of money and time, to buy gifts with the sole purpose of proving to our girlfriends/wives/favorite hooker, just how much we appreciate seeing them naked. And gentlemen, make no mistake, that is exactly what it’s about. You often hear the occasional feminist, snot-nosed brat, or middle-aged divorcee say that, “if women ran the world, there would be a lot less problems.”

Now, this statement, aside from being absolutely adorable, is complete and utter whale crap. For the simple reason that women do, in fact, rule the world.

But men should not be blamed for this opinion; for women have carried on with this little charade with such calculated perfection, that its nothing short of admirable . Or, as the urban gentleman so wisely says: “Bitches be frontin’ ”

But gentlemen, let me ask you one question: what is the one resource all women control? ………..EXACTLY SIR! Sex. it is perfect bargaining chip. They have the very essence of absolute power (boobs) at their control day and night, and women wield this power with a manipulative genius. You see, they know that men will spend any amount of money on jewelry if it means we will get even a short glimpse of -as the rural gentleman says- "them tig ole bitties",and so they invented Valentine’s Day.

Indeed gentlemen, women know full well that Valentine’s Day has nothing to do with love; it's really just a test. A test to see just how much you think they are worth. I’ll pause for a moment, because I doubt you can hear me over the sound of you crapping your pants.

Those of you who aren’t defecating on yourselves should be, because this test is the equivalent of asking an infant the question “how many shoes?” Where the only right answer is “purple.”

So now you’re probably wondering what you’re supposed to do. Well, the only answer is: spend as much money as humanly possible. I’m serious, start shelling out cash like a crack head on payday. You may be asking: “what if she isn’t really that hot?”;well, if you're slumming it a bit this year, then go ahead and spend even more money on her, because life’s gonna be hard enough on that uggo. She deserves something nice for once. However, if your particular wife/girlfriend/Columbian mistress has a wildly disproportionate intelligence/hotness ratio, buy her a plastic ring out of a vending machine from a Mexican Restaurant (you know, that one with the awesome cheese dip that has the peppers, yeah that one) and tell her it’s a new expensive light weight platinum, because let’s be honest, she’s probably not gonna know the difference. And gentlemen keep in mind that you can never win; you only lose less.

Although, if you happen to be single on the week leading up to Valentine's Day, just sit back and relax. Enjoy the bitter sweetness of being alone on Valentine’s Day, and watch your friends go into complete meltdowns. But whatever you do, DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, attempt to begin a new relationship the week of Valentine’s Day. Because my friend, Valentine’s Day does to a blossoming relationship what Miley Cirus does to music: That is to say, it cuts it’s throat, sets it on fire, it then pees on the fiery corpse, while cackling maniacally into the night.

So, gentlemen, I leave you with one thing to remember: "Roses are red, Violets are blue, if you get caught cheating on Valentine’s Day, she will cut it off… I’m serious, there’s no joke here. SHE WILL CUT IT THE F*** OFF."

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Andrew Johnson.

BRAIN FROM "PINKY AND THE BRAIN" SELECTED JOURNAL ENTRIES

JANURARY 5, 1995 12:00 p.m.

The new load of lab rats come in today. I very much hope that I will receive a cellmate with an actual mind this time, not like that imbecilic, and vaguely British cretin, Jenkins that I had to suffer through. I have been in this god forsaken lab for almost two years, and I long for a modicum of intelligent companionship, or at the very least someone whose name isn’t a ****ing adjective Maybe this new gentleman (or lady if he gods choose to smile upon me) won’t be as bad as the last one. He might actually prove helpful to my plans to take over the world. Oh that’s the new colleague coming in now. Wish me luck.

JANURARY 5, 1995 12:15 P.M.

#$%^@

JANURARY 12, 1995

Exquisite diabolical schemes. All of them worked out and planned to perfection. Weeks at a time spent on each of them in turn. I slaved away over every meticulous detail. I poured ever ounce of my substantial intelligence into each one as I crafted them with as much love and care as any mother ever showed her first born. All of this excruciating effort and love and all it takes is one ****ING “NARF!” for it all to go straight to hell. I have come to the conclusion that even if there is a god, he is cannot be loving and is by no means just.

February 21, 1995

I fear that I am taking leave of my senses. After having suffered the intense displeasure of that buffoon‘s company for two months, his mannerisms have become so ingrained in my mind that they irritate me even when he is not present. Just the other day, I was working on my plan of sabotaging the New York Times crossword making it unsolvable which would distract the masses long enough for me to take over the world* when I suddenly heard a loud NARF!. I looked around to see no one there. I returned to my scheming and heard pinky ask me a question to which I responded out of habit: “the same thing we do every…..night…..pinky……pinky?” but pinky was nowhere to be found. Throughout the rest of the morning I continued to hear a faint NARF every few minutes but I just told myself it was the ventilation…I wasn’t convinced.

March 19, 1995

2 hours. I spent 2 hours standing over pinky whilst he slept. In my hands I held a freakishly large food pellet that pinky had found earlier in the week. I was aware of its presence because he intruded upon me in the lavatory to show it to me. I was in the shower you see and- well, I digress. As I stood there watching him sleep, I imagined myself kneeling beside him and forcing that food pellet into his open drooling mouth and down into his throat and holding it there. I could see his eyes as they snapped upon in confusion and fear. I watched as he cried helpless, pleading tears and listened to his incomprehensible grunts and whimpers as his hands grasped at my arms trying desperately to stave off the inevitable. His hands grow weaker as his eyes become dimmer until finally the last bit of life ebbs away and all that’s left before me is the empty shell of a rat. When I snapped back to reality I was still standing over pinky holding the pellet with sweaty, trembling hands. I went back to my bed and cried uncontrollably until I finally fell asleep. I fear that I won’t be able to control myself much longer. There are long periods of time that I can’t remember where I’ve been or what I was doing. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on to my sanity. Someone help me…please

(This April 1 entry is the last. In between the entry above and the one below, there is only page after page of a single phrase repeated over and over: “what we gonna do tomorrow night Brain?” often with drops of dried blood sprinkled on the pages.)

April 1, 1995

What’s that pinky?............ Why, the same thing we do every night pinky......... kill you. He…heheheh …..MWAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA fifi.

This was the evidence displayed at the trail of Brain M. Rat. With these journal entries along with the testimony of the officers who arrived at the scene first (the regaled jury with their chilling account of how brain was found sitting on the floor of his cage, covered in blood, and wearing the skin of Pinky C. Rat and screaming over and over again: “NARF! NARF! NARF! NARF!”) the prosecution secured the death penalty. Brain is currently on death row at san Quentin prison.

* Totally a real pinky and the brain scheme.

BP had “Good hustle out there”

Disclaimer** this was written back before the well was capped but i wanted to share it with you all.**

After four months and billions of dollars spent on the gulf oil spill bp calls it quits after failing to find a solution but calls good hustle anyway. “ you just got to go out there and give 100% and somedays that’s just not enough.” Said BP spokesman Jason Smitherton. “We went out there, took on our obstacles-not the least of which was our own absurd lack of foresight in case of just such an emergency-and we left everything on the field...including hundreds of thousands of gallons of crude oil.”.

Even though the oil well continues to spew into the gulf and will for at least the next couple of years everyone involved will be getting a trophy at the banquet in September. “ because at the end of the day it doesn’t matter if you win or lose or whether you have permentantly and irreparably damaged an entire eco system possibly sending the effected area into a economic crisis, all that matters is that you gave it your best shot.” Said Smitherton while fleeing from an angry mob of gulf coast fishermen.

The Johnson's Comunity Collegiate Dictionary.

Andrew: (an-jrue) 1. noun. name for the accomplishing of a seemingly impossible task through sheer determination and witty charm. usually done under intense pressure and with a time limit that would make James Bond crap his pants. 2. verb. to bend the laws of physics in order to accomplish a seemingly impossible task.

For The Gentlemen II

Gentlemen,tonight I layed in bed (nude) and pondered the human condition. I pontificated over mankind's eternal pursuit of love and acceptance. How man is never satisfied with what he has and is always striving for more.I thought about the fine line between good and evil, and about all the evils of man and how even in the blackest soul of the most evil man in exsitence there always lies the tiniest bit of light and goodness, and how given only slightly different circumstances he could have been the most saintly man imaginable and done more good than any could ever hope to accomplish. Then I thought about fate and wondered aloud ( much to the displeasure of those in my house who were asleep because when i wonder aloud i talk in a very loud and incredulous voice. i also speak with a Swahili accent but thats hardly the point) if man is really in control of his own life. perhaps there really is some higher power directing everything and keeping watch over creation.

Then my mind wandered into other territories such as the world and how I could make it a better place with my few years here ( 56 btw. ive already planned it all out. mark your calenders cause its gonna be one hell of a suicide ). I thought about the actions I could take to improve things if only a litle bit and if only for a short while. I wondered if it would make any difference and if not; then why was I here? (i then wished fervently that it was to be a successful STRAIGHT porn star) I wondered why anyone was here. I ruminated on life, the universe, and every thing, and got absolutely lost within the limitless expanse of my own imagination. I sailed through galaxies and soared alongside comets. I sat awestruck at the vastness of the universe and stared in sheer wonder at it all. And at the end of all this, as I lay in my bed, bare ass naked, a thought came to me. A thought that made all of that seem totally and utterly insignificant. it was a realization of epic porportions and yet it was comprised of just one simple truth. and that thought? that grand nugget of truth and wisdom? THAT METEORIC THUNDERBOLT OF GLORIOUS KNOWLEDGE??????......... Simply this: The Shawshank Redemption is the greatest fucking movie ever made.

-Andrew