I realize it pussies. You little pussies think that I don't but I fucking realize it. You dubious, duplicitous, craven pussies walk in the fucking shadows and spit poison into the well from behind cloaks and shrouds thinking that you're sly or some shit. Well, I fucking see you. I see your inadequacies and your uncertainties stemming out from therein. You think your little acts of confidence and morality can mask your true visage but your subterfuge is a parlor trick. Pussies. Every single one of you. That's a bit drastic. Maybe not EVERY single one of you. But most of you. I'd say 99.86% of you exactly. Anyway, I don't like that you people . . . I lost track of what I was saying. Oh well, you know the rules; no editing ever. I love that people seriously think that they have the right to tell the entire public what children should be doing or allowed to see/hear when they are in a constant perpetuation of corruption and lewd audacity. I fucking hate adults. On average I'd say that kids are at least 56 & 1/3x better than adults. All statistics are taken from the Boston Journal of Medicine... or not. I'll have to check copyright law on that one.

What I find most interesting about the sad retaliatory attempts of, what appears to be someone recently enrolling in an Anthropology class is the excruciating lengths to which they go to give me more than enough credit. There were more accused concepts that I've never even bothered to consider trying in that raving lunatic's comment than I have had brain polyps, or two. Anyway, my mentioning these critics has severely limited my time that I've had to dedicate to this site. Of course, my dedication to this site has usually been wasted on drinking so I'm ACTUALLY pissed about this. I really like alcohol is the thing. Where was I? Oh yes. I'm sure that all of my readers such as the adorable That Slap You Hear Is The Bitch Slap of Reality, who seems to have had ironic parents or African parents, are eager to know. Do you think that sentence is a fragment? Well then you're either new to this site or just retarded. My flock doesn't just want to know some specific bullshit, they just want to know. And the newest know there is, is that we are actually being watched... by the vibrations of Middle Earth. Is that copyrighted? Team! Check that. I'm going to leave it until I hear that it is. Anyway, those little hobbits think they can just waltz around in the intangible dusts of interminability? Not on my watch! (And I have caught a few of them on my timepiece.) So, we're all getting together later to grab a quick drink and devise a superior plan to kill all of those little people. I saw one that broke the pandimensional barrier the other day in some Mike Myers version of Norbit. Something must be done. What would "Bitch Slap" do? Post meaningless blurbs to explain why someone's blurbs are so meaningless? As Chappelle once said, "What a biggity bitch." Seriously, I need a midget friend that'll let me kick it whenever I want. And as for "Bitch", well, you just go about your day of reading for whatever bitch meanings you wish to perceive and suck some more of that wonderful monkey cock you were rambling on and on about in that comment. I've got to find another outlet for all of my pent-up aggression. Fucking midgets.
Next time bitches.

ha! To all of the recent naysayers i've seemed to have randomly drummed up, much akin to the way i drummed them up the last time i went to peoples' sites and ridiculed their meaningless and rather ugly posts of pictures of their babies, or whatever it was that i did to piss these hormonal mid-life freaks into posting such mean-spirited things on my blog, joke's on you. Now i have made a full dollar thanks to your hits. And, quite truthfully, i think it just makes you all look like a bunch of mean ol jerks. No seriously, you pussy-faced, humorless pricks think that, somehow, by being able to type out your agression towards someone because they notice that your blog is worthless or that your child is ugly that you should? If you already had a meaningless blog, why would you think that your posts on someone else's blog would be something more than meaningless? Luckily, my blog was awesome enough before you bastards came and polluted it with your queefs of posts that you haven't denigrated it to the level of yours, because i've seen thousands of blogs destroyed by the thoughtless actions of people just like you who misconstrue the concept of community blogs as being a forum for your own personal jackasseries as though the idea that anyone can post on their blogs means that you should post anything you want wherever you want or whenever you want. From now on you should consider your ability to type as equivocal to your ability to shit. You wouldn't just spray your fecal matter all over the faces of small children, would you? Judging by the pictures I saw on that blog it seems like this route of logic might not be the most effective possible. Hmmm... let's see... you wouldn't piss on someone's face would you? I mean, would you? Like if I paid you? What was I talking about? I dunno, but i got me a sawbuck so it's party time at casa de Markel! Who wants to piss on me?!

I remember a time when I was about 16 or 17 and not 18 or 19 when everyone was completely fucking retarded but me. And now, 26 years into the future me, back 28 years into the past has written me two years in the future to tell me that it's still true. Everyone is still totally fucking retarded. And yet, here we are still documenting how great it can be to interact with one another despite our differences. Now do you see how it's done, JEWS? I'm just playing, I believe in the Holocaust and all that good stuff, that statement was actually directed toward JAPS, which can be easily confused with JEWS because they're both four letters, but you should always remember that at least you can see how much JEWS are screwing you over, whereas JAPS are always hiding in their VC jungles when they steal your money. How am I supposed to know what two things with all those numbers are when they are put together? One at a time! But, you see, they have so many letters that they have bred themselves to be great at combining a whole bunch of stuff. That's the difference. Sneaky bastards. I think you're talking about the Chinese, the Japanese have no money.

Party tip of the day- Don't invite jews, japs or chinks to your party because they'll always just steal your stuff. Also, just to be on the safe side, never invite Paul Lichdersien because he says "the Chinese and the Japanese" rather than chnks and japs which means that he's probably gay and you know how gays are always trying to get a sample of your chocolate pudding for their erect (usu. circumcised) penises. My chocolate pudding stays in my fridge (in little jars with paper towels taped over the top).

Flock: Consider the following: If friends were so important then why would I never bother myself to make any? For example, if you're so G-D great, then how come you don't have me for a friend. The answer couldn't be any more simple; you aren't that great. Because if you were cooler then you would have already made an effort to locate me, and having located me, with your badass hunting skills, you would have swayed me into becoming your friend. And yet, where are you? I don't see you. Wherever could you be? Oh! Holy crap! What are you doing here? Please go away from my window you dirty burnouts.

GO-LLY!

Well, like I was saying, unless you show up here and get me to be your friend then you still suck. The answer to it all is that I don't recall things when I've just experienced epileptic shock so what are you talking about?

You---- quit being so related to prosimians through branches which have split from the tree for literally billions of years!

And one more thing; I'm going to start punching people in wheelchairs. The illusion is gone assholes, I know all about your invalid conspiracy. I'm not just talking about punching people in wheelchairs who do something that's fucked up either, I'm talking about beating the shit out of people in wheelchairs just BECAUSE they're in wheelchairs. Games over and the gloves are off Hocking, you ain't foolin' me no more.

I don't particularly care about assholes. I've had my share of penises in mine, being an openly weak person who walks in alleyways late at night and I've had my own penis in a few as I don't mind cats. But enough is enough. Once I found out that buttholes are the source of dookies and AIDS I decided that I was against them... so I cut mine off. Let me tell you something, don't do that. A: Everyone needs to dookie. B: Boy, does it hurt!

I believe it was Teddy (or as friends know him "Tedious") Roosevelt that said, "An asshole can not produce offal from a jar in your garage, no matter how many tacos you put in the jar with it. It just isn't a living thing. No matter how hard you try, you can't make it a sentient being."

Take into context that Tedious was bipolar and prone to fits of Turrets. Plus he said that when he was well on the way to being senile, so it's not too surprising.

I don't want to mention anything that you might not have noticed about my site before today, but just look out for some VERY minor changes coming up pretty soon.
It's right there man, how can you not see that?!

Welcome back myself. Thank you myself. Anytime myself. No really, I genuinely appreciate your basic display of cordiality. Well, it's no big deal so don't worry about it. I'll worry about whatever I damn well want to worry about motherfucker. Don't tell me what to do, you sonuvabitch. Sorry, I was just trying to say that it wasn't necessary for you to thank me for an involuntary action. Oh, I suppose that it's possible that I misunderstood the purpose of what you were saying, so I offer my sincerest of apologies. That's okay don't worry about it. Fuck you! Don't tell me what to worry about! Okay, I'm going to leave now. Will you be joining us later. I don't know. We're just going to sit around and talk over some brand X Scotch. Hell yes, I'll be there!

No, now I'm fucking serious, fuck the War at Home!

Seriously, the War at Home? Fuck that!

You know what's starting to get pretty annoying; white people's act. Michael Rappaport? Come on (Trading Spouses)!

You know what? I'm starting to get pretty sick of this. That's it. No more jews. Let it be known.
What? Fine! Jews can stay, but no more slacker-fuck, mallrat, hapless Canadians. I don't care what you say, I haven't seen them do anything since the NHL's season was postponed. I've had enough, it's over!

Eli's coming. Eli's coming. Eli's coming. No wait, that's just my Russian mail-order bride. I so hate that that turned out to be a man. Not really. I knew, it was going to be a man. I just like to pretend sometimes.

The adventures of Johnny Question Mark, Part Whatever:
"Gee, I've really got to get these cock tanks scrubbed quick. If I don't keep up with that retarded monkey this month, my ass is going to get canned."
"Then why don't you shut the fuck up?!" A mysterious man had entered the room.
"Mom!"
"Hi son." Oh, my bad, but that lady really looks like a dude.
"What are you doing son; still being a little bitch?"
"Taking it up the ass from the man!" She put up her fist as though she wanted him to continue to do so in some sort of incredibly lame struggle against the oppressors.
"But I thought you were working for your friend Raja now."
"I am, but power has really changed him." Hey, I know, let's have a flashback!

1976, the cool dead of the night, my camp bunkbed.
"Excuse me, but we need to do a bunk check. We found some dopamine on a few of the campers persons earlier today, so we need to be sure that no more contraband is on the premises." He didn't leave my bunk for the rest of the night and I have never been more satisfied. In fact--
"Hey! Shouldn't this be a flshback that has something to do with the characters and the plot line, not you?"
God damn you're greedy! Everything has to be you doesn't it, asshole?
It just seems to me like it takes away from the cohesion of the piece.
Well, everyone's a fucking critic nowadays aren't they? Fuck it, I'll give you your gay little flashback.

1993, Seton Hall, someone's dorm room (they did not go to school).
"Hey, who wants to cast off the manacles of the oppressive government in a massive coup that brings the power back to the people," Raja asked.
"Are you going to help us smoke this joint or what," some burnout asked.
"Fine, but as soon as we're done with that, I'm going to throw off the manacles of the oppressive government in a massive coup that brings the power back to the people!"
"You are so gay."

"What does that have to do with anything, Johnny?"
"Well... you know?"
"Not really. Why has he become so blinded by power?"
"Oh mom, you're such a square! Nobody likes to be thought of as a gay! He had to become an imperialistic dictatorial boss that rules over his employees with an iron fist! Duh!"
"Oh. I knew that actually."
"Hey! What the fuck is going on in here? Why are you out of bed and why haven't you cleaned out the shit and gunk from these cock tanks? Retarded monkey has all of his tanks cleaned. Do I need to have him run a double shift on yours too?"
"Looks like you've got your hands full here son. I'll get out of your hair."
"It's okay mom, you don't have to pretend that I didn't sell you into slavery in order to get my job back."
"Get back in my bed! And you; your ass is fired if it happens again! Retarded monkey, get in here."
He strode in smugly, nudging Johnny with his elbow as he passed him, nearly knocking Johnny out of the tank.
"What's up bitch," the monkey seemed to speak through some complicated language of hoots and howls.
And Johnny cleaned those tanks. He cleaned them with tears. Not really, I was just saying that to emphasize the fact that he's a little pussy. He did cry. He cries too much. A little gay, a little very gay. Anyway, until next time!

I was walking to the ball field today because I enjoy playing a little of the old ball. I was even on the old ball club for a short period of time. I couldn't continue playing on account of my talent. Somehow I'd managed to become the first white person allowed into my school. t was awkward at first, but then I realized that I was special. It was probably the first time we got into the showers. Anyway, the next day I had quit and, thanks to Xanax and a suppressive memory bank, I've never been happier.
Go find a hole.

I'm sure you all know by now that I'm not one to brag, but if I were to brag I would say that I have got to be the only truly badass person left in the natural world. Just when you think you've seen the last of the sellouts, you get shit like Wedding Crashers which is a step down, even from shit like Dodgeball, for everyone involved. I don't care what you were doing before you were in Wedding Crashers,(shit, I don't care what you'll be in after it either) if you're in Wedding Crashers, it's a step down and you are a sellout. You deserve to be lined up with Johnny Knoxville and shot.
Anyway, that wasn't the point I came here to make. I wanted to say that... Fuck I forgot. The point is, stop making this shit. I will not stand for it. However, I will sit for it, and pay $12.95 for a ticket to do so.
MINDLESS DRONE!

Party tip of the day: 5- Make doorways and eaves lower if you expect to be entertaining people with buckteeth and speech impediments that confuse L's and R's.

and slant eyes

Why? What's the significance?

I don't know!

Party tip of the day: 4- Mexican decorators. Bright colors, cheap labor, visits from hunky customs officers, huge religious conversation pieces called "crucifixes".

Party tip o da day: 3- Watch for your darker guests; i.e hide your more expensive items.

I'm sorry

Party tip of the day: 2- Give all of your guests hard liquor and pain pills. Wackiness is guaranteed to ensue

Party tip of the day: 1- Don't let people with ginormo noses "hold your money for you".

And so, I found my way back to my mansion in Vermont. Of course, I'd never really left, had I? Well, I guess I had when I went to live in Bolivia for research purposes from 1996 to 1999. And again when I decided to be raised by wolves in a reincarnation attempt in the woods outside of the mining town of Screeglankton. Plus that one time that I was incarcerated in Australia for thirteen years for "manslaughter", AKA they didn't want to convict a wealthy American of murder.
Anyway, that was the summer of my preconsent-- or fall of misrepresent-- or spring of maldissent-- whatever, it's supposed to be something really intelligent, like Shakybeard. The point is that I was really uncomfortable, on account of, I was wearing these crotchless panties my wolfen mother had gotten me for my birthday and they were really riding my buttcrack like a zoophile who works in an animal refuge.
No wait, I was upset that year because my mother had died, like an animal who lives in an animal refuge where a sado-masochistic zoophile works.
Or was my favorite show cancelled, like a zoophile who works at an animal refuge, discovered by his supervisor, copulating with the mule.
Whatever, it's not important. What's important is that I get rid of the bodies of that mule and Lenny from the animal refuge. Because I couldn't afford another court case AND my mansion in Vermont. Not to mention my bi-monthly, worldwide vacations. Plus, what if they actually managed to convict me. That's, with my money, a guaranteed two to three years in minimum security prison.
If only I had lots of gambino friends with experience in getting rid of bodies that could be used against someone in a court case, like a partial fingerprint on the forehead of a man I'd recently killed and a mule who died during an act of passionate, wild beastiality. Wait!
Didn't I know the grandson of the greatest gambino that ever was, Bitchwuss Pinkerstein; Fagopuss Pinkerstein?
Yes; yes I did.
Good, then I'll just contact him in the past... -Ring ring-
-Click-
Hello?
Yeah, Fagopuss Pinkerstein in the past?
Yeah, this is he; so long as you're calling from the future with a future-call-to-the-past phone.
I am.
So, what is this call regarding?
Ah, yes, I just wanted to let you know that past me is coming over later to ask you for a favor. Believe me, I earn it in the future. I save your wife from dying of cancer while in a coma caused by a car wreck... which you caused by being so damn soused all he time. (side note: I never really did that)
Okay, I'll get my things ready. Thanks for the heads up.
Whatever
-Click-
-beep, beep, beep, beep, beep-
Uh, hello?
Oh, hang up; I need to make another call.
Oh, sorry.
-Click-
-Ring Ring-
-Click-
Yello?
Yello? Is this past me?
Is this Jeremiah Kazafekas?
No, but that is one of my Turkish aliases.
Then, yes, this is the past you.
Well then, stop being so gay. Look, you need to go to Fagopuss Pinkerstein's house to get help with that little murder and defamation of animal rectum.
Um, that hasn't happened yet.
Oh, sorry then.
-Click-
-Beep, beep, beep, beep-
-Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep-
Hello?
Yeah--
Get off the line, I need to make a call!
You get off the line, I need to make a call!
Okay, on three; cool?
Sure.
One, two, three
-
God damn it! Hang up!
You hang up!
No!
I'm not hanging up.
Well then, you're going to get thrown in prison in the future.
Whatever. It ain't like it could be any worse than Australia, or... what we do at night.
Yeah that's true.
-
Well, I guess I'll just go back and face the piper.
That's big of me.
Yes; yes, it is.
-
Damn it hang up! Prison fucking sucks!
Fine, fine. Fuck!
-Click-
-Ring Ring-
Yes'm?
I'm just getting gayer by the second... I guess that... that's pretty much true.
Me from the future?
Yep. Wait, how did you know?
I figured I'd think of something in the future to get myself out of this predicament. In fact, I've been laying around getting soused and running over people's wives who have cancer. (side note: I may have done that part)
Look, you need to get over to Fagopuss Pinkerstein's house.
Is he the grandson of notorious gambino, Bitchwuss Pinkerstein?
The very same.
I'm on my way!
-Click-
-Beep, beep, beep, beep-
What are you doing?
I'm just going to call an escort over so I can show up prominently. Don't want to have an embarrassing entrance to the house of one of the most notorious gambinos on Earth without a woman at my side.
That's a good point. I'll get off the line.
-Click-
Suddenly, the memories of what happened on that fateful night come rushing back to me in a blaze of light and pure, electrical force.
Apparently, that Fagopuss guy and his gay uncle Bitchwuss are nothing but faggoty accountants that keep people's money in books or something. I don't know, but they aren't gambinos, they're just plain gay. Gay, gay, gay!
Yet, when I opened my eyes again... I was still in goddamn prison! Man, fuck this space-time communication! It doesn't do shit!
Get over here "War-den"! Ha, ha! What a dumbass nickname! Seriously, I feel like some good old-fashioned sodomy!
Ha! I did not say gang-rape, "Lieutenant"!
I said no gang-rape! God damn it! No gang-rape! Ugh! This is Canterbury all over again, and over and over and over again. Ha, ha! Prisoner raping by prison officials!
The end

If you sleep 4 hours at night but you really slack it for like 20 of the remaining hours does it really matter?

You know what I don't get; jobs

My good buddy ass face mcgee gave me some good advice the other day.