 |
|
         |
And so our adventure continues, and our eager Pope is ever vigilent in his epic quest.
So, right off the bat, wow. Zach really kicked it up a notch for this one. He had texted me earlier in the day before sending me the comic that he thought it was "easily top five" for Abomb Nation. After I had seen what he had done with the last panel, I quickly agreed with the entirety of my being, which can actually be a bit exhausting. The entirety of my being has been thrown around a lot lately for things like work, waiting for this comic, masturbating, work, and trying to appear sophisticated at my local book store so as to fail to meet women. So get used to this high-caliber comic quality, kids, because I have a feeling Zach found a new illustration ass-groove for years to come.
I just now saw the highly revered March of the Penguins. This, of course, is because of my acute ability to be at least five years behind in pop culture at all times. But after watching the film, I'm determined that my new goal is to somehow hire Morgan Freeman to narrate my everyday life wherever I go. You have to admit, when you get good ol' Morgan behind the mic, whatever he is talking about automatically seems interesting or at least worth paying attention to. I imagine my life narration would go something like this:
"Cale wakes up like any other young man, scratching his balls with the finger he had just dug out greasy eye-crust. He does this while, with the other hand, sloppily playing with his half-boner. It is a good time for Cale, probably the best part of his entire day, because, sadly, the rest of his day will not provide him opportunities for more ball-scratching or even half-boner adventures.
"The milk he puts in his cereal has far expired, rotten to the point where the CDC should be helicoptered in for immediate quarantine of his entire low-income apartment, an apartment which he is four months into a twelve-month lease. But Cale is not concerned about the milk he's chewing on, for he enjoys the color it turns his painful bowel movements. Indeed, it is quite a funny color, though he does not know that it is blood in his stool which could indicate a fatal, fatal disease.
"We do not know why this man tries to start fights with children. As we see here, he circles the child menacingly and occasionally tries to land a kick into either kneecap. The parent of the child comes to remove the 23-year-old threat that smells strongly of marijuana and broken dreams. After Cale tries to remove the pepper spray from his eyes, he runs back to a secure corner of the daycare and makes plans for tomorrow's battle."
And so on and so forth. It's like I've always said: the only thing we need in life is a distinguished black man to talk about everything we do while we do it. If that's not the very definition of Christianity, then I will eat my hat, sir.
Love and Light,
-Cale
"As Cale concludes his Abomb Nation post, he sits back in his semen-stained chair and feels warm after thinking about the dozens of people that will read the post on his failing webcomic site. In the meantime, he is to go out in the world and observe the loftier things in life so that he may make tired and tasteless jokes about them in the next blog post, the blog post that keeps him going, the blog post that gets him excited about life, the blog post that feeds him strength to fight even more children."
|
|
When you go through a drive-thru, you're usually thanked for your business. I mean, they don't say, "thank you for your business;" they just say "thank you," but obviously what they're thanking you for is your willingness to spend money on their establishment. You might say, "you're welcome," if you're kind of a dick and choose to disregard the fact that while, sure, you're providing them with money, they are also providing you a service. Or you might say "thank you" with the stress on the "you," as if to say, "why thank me? You are the one working so very hard for my ultimate benefit. No, sir, it is I who should thank you." I usually respond in that last way. But the other day, this girl handed me my tacos and thanked me, and that's fine, she can thank me first, but the problem was that her inflection was on the "you."
"But you went FIRST!" I later thought. "Bitch, that was MY inflection!"
She messed the whole thing up.
-Z
|
|
All content is © 2007 by Abomb Nation, Inc.
All rights reserved
|
|
