Argh, Debatey! Favorite Color Edition

Welcome to another edition of “Argh, Debatey!” the oped column where we take a controversial question, two fueding pirate guys, and one black powder pistol to see who comes out on top.

This week’s question was selected by Katherine Bixby of Eugene, OR. Katherine is a full time college student, but not at U of O. Whoever can correctly guess the name of her school in the comments below wins a t-shirt.

Katherine asks “What is your favorite color?”

Argh, Debatey!


pirate guy number 1 That be a fine inquiry, dear lass. I have always favoured green, although I could certainly make a case fer blue as well.


pirate guy number twoAhoy! Ye must be mad from slobberin’ thick Spaniard cock! Not blue and green be thee best! Nothing but black! After black nothing else!


pirate guy number 1 I respect ye opinion, matey, but I don’t be knowin’ that black qualifies as a color. I was taught that black be th’ absence ‘o light.


pirate guy number twoArrr! We be not here to discuss lighting or qualifications, we were asked for colour! Can I not paint yer house black? Can I not don a black sweater while raping yer clan? Can ye not use a black dildo on yer grandmother’s arse? Thee answer to each of these questions is a resounding Aye! Certainly black colour, be the color of only the dreadest of the sea captains!


pirate guy number 1 I hear what ye be sayin’, particularly th’ passive aggressive threats involvin’ sexual misconduct wit’ me family, but I must respond wit’ some valuable information from Crayola in which it be stated that “while artists consider black a color, scientists do not”. If ye take a moment to consider their position rationally, I believe ye will be arrivin’ at th’ same conclusion as all ‘o th’ greatest minds on th’ planet. Black be simply not a color. Perhaps ye might be interested in Navy Blue? I could spy wit’ ye eye th’ merit in choosin’ that color as th’ best.


pirate guy number twoFool! Now look here, lather ye! I’ll not be entertainin’ another minute ‘o yer bilge! Admit that black color be best or prepare fer thee forced penetration ‘o me cannons rustiest!


pirate guy number 1 Thar be no need fer such speak, jolly matey. Put away ye cannons. If black it must be, then black it shall be. thar be no need fer bloodshed.


pirate guy number twoWell shave me belly wit’ a rusty razor! Well now be off ‘n do it! Thee only thin’ we can stand less than bright colours be a coward who can’t stand his land! Ye be off aft to yer objection ‘o me choice! I warn thee, recant or the number ‘o holes in yer hull will be filled wit’ sperm at thee same the hour!


pirate guy number 1 I… I don’t understand… Do ye want black? Green? I be so confounded, respectfully ‘o course.


pirate guy number twoFool! ARGH! Respect to be taken by force, not by invertebrates such as yourself! Take it aft, or ye be thrown aft in thee womb ‘o yer dear ol’ mum along wit’ a sword ‘o dynamite!


pirate guy number 1 Blue? Can we just shout blue? Black? Green? Any color ye want. Gold, how ’bout all ‘o me gold? Here, take it, all ‘o it!


pirate guy number twoNo quarter! I have never seen such a display ‘o wretched piratin’ in all me years! nay! nay! be off away! What kind ‘o scurvy sea monster be ye?


pirate guy number 1 ’tis yours, please don’t hurt me! I be beggin’ ye! I do whatever ye want, I suck ye dick!


pirate guy number twoShiver me timbers! Unhand me ye jellyfish! It was not I spent thee best years ‘o me life rapin’ ‘n pillagin’ me aft off just to return to thee land lubbers to be subject ‘o ridicule! Unhand me wench ye, ‘n let me finish ’tis debate as a scurvy sea monster!


BANG!


pirate guy number 1 No… No… Jim? Jim? be ye thar Jim?


pirate guy number two


pirate guy number 1 Why won’t ye speak to me, Jim! ’tis me, first mate Tony. Please, Jim, I gunna do whatever ye want! Don’t ye leave me!


pirate guy number two


pirate guy number 1 NOOOOOOOOOOOO! *sob* *sob*


Well, there you have it. Black is officially the favorite color. Better luck next time, Tony! Now remember, anyone who can guess what Katherine’s current school is in the comments below wins a tee shirt. Good luck!

The only thing worse than a Nazi is a vegetarian.

Nazi Vegetarians abort baby chickens.

Brothers and sisters of the ethical way, I know that we can all agree that meat-eaters, even the so-called ethical omnivore or localvore, are sadistic death mongers, deserving of hatred and ridicule. And while these people are certainly the Hitlers of our time, I actually want to write today about a group of people who are even worse than serial murderers who call themselves omnivores. I’m talking, of course, about vegetarians.

Vegetarians are the worst kind of hypocrites because they claim to love animals so much they could never eat them.

“I love animals, I don’t eat them.”

“I never eat anything that had a face.”

“I’m a vegetarian because eating animals is cruel.”

Do you know what I have to say to these vegetarians?

FUCK YOU.

That’s right. Fuck you, you hypocritical scumbag. Don’t you know that egg COULD have had a face if only you hadn’t forced that sweet, harmless momma chicken to abort her babies so you could have a fucking omelet?

You say you love all animals? Really? Really, you do?! Because if you love cows as much as your precious dogs and cats, I’m wondering why you don’t get your cat pregnant and then ship those sweet kittens off to slaughter so you can enjoy some cat milk on your cereal in the morning? Huh, asshole? How about forcing your cat to stand in a cage all day, while high powered suckers are attached to her little kitty nipples and the milk is squeezed out so forcibly that a small percentage of blood and puss comes out with it? How would that be on some fucking Cap’n Crunch?

Oh, I’m sorry. Am I grossing you out? Well maybe you’d prefer some Dog Butter? Or how about Horse Cheese? I’m sure your beloved pet bitch wouldn’t mind living in a tiny cage and spending long miserable days having it’s titties sucked dry so you can make a couple of grams of Dog Butter, right? Do you think that seems cruel?

Guess what, dickhead? It is cruel, and you’re no better than the meat-eating Nazi’s. You have no right to call yourself ethical, or merciful or a lover of animals. Remember that lonely forgotten kitty hooked up to that cold, hard milking machine next time you get a hankering for cheese pizza, and for the love of God remember that all that melty, gooey cheese is nothing but pain and suffering incarnate.

Once again, we can only conclude that everybody who isn’t a vegan is a Nazi.

Heavy Water: a Tragic Tale of Seduction in the Vocal Styling of Patrick Stewart

Body hotter
no need to bother
with Estée Lauder™
heavy water.

Name dropper
serial stalker
phone number swapper
heavy water.

Flower shopper
dinner and movie proper
another glass of wine for the lady?
heavy water.

Hungry like Donner
for your vagina locker
time to Frogger
heavy water.

Bone you harder
than your father
gasm stronger
heavy water.

Lamb to slaughter
womb marauder
in your daughter
heavy water.

Pillow talker
frequent yawner
exit plotter
heavy water.

Nine months yonder
at the doctor
broken water
heavy water.

Shook the toddler
jurisdiction hopper
now a pauper
heavy water.

Cannon fodder
life squandered
no need to go any farther…
heavy water.

 

Fraternity Guidance Counselor Spotlight

A young sales professional only needs one thing to succeed: a dick.

Like a lot of Americans, I went through a rough time when the recession hit four years ago. At that particular time in my life, I was enjoying the fruits of my Ivy League education and my well-connected family members by working on Wall Street as a successful financial analyst, but then tragedy struck. I lost my job during the banking crisis, and after that I was forced to make some pretty tough choices. First I had to choose between maid service and my Rolex collection, but it only got worse from there. Before long I had to sell three of my four Mercedes in order to keep my beloved vacation home, Chateau Debauchery, from being repossessed. Eventually I was even forced to part with the Chateau just to keep the Italian leather loafers on my feet, so believe me when I say, “I know hardship.”

It was then that I took to praying, and ultimately I discovered that Jesus Christ is indeed my personal savior, and he sent me on a mission to the front lines of the American Education System. Our Lord, Jesus Christ, spoke to me and he said, “Bradley, I am sending you on a mission to help the young people who are lost in the midst of recession. I’m sending you to help all the God-fearing fraternity brothers of American Universities. You will give them guidance in this financially perilous world and it shall be your mission to make sure that young, white, Protestant men retain their rightful place as the financial, political, and moral leadership of America.”

As anyone who has had an intimate, career-focused conversation with our Lord and Savior knows, you simply can’t argue with JC! When JC tells you to put down the antique revolver aimed at your temple, the one that you bought in the middle of a 10K coke and hooker binge in 2000, and devote your life to a new enterprise in his name, believe me, you do what the man upstairs tells you. You put that revolver back in its velvet case, and you hock that revolver at the nearest pawn shop! Then you use that money to turn your life around, which is how I went from being Bradley Cunningham: washed up financial analyst to being Bradley Cunningham: Fraternity Guidance Counselor.

I feel that I am uniquely qualified to guide the fraternity brothers of America because believe it or not, I myself was in a fraternity, and I know the unique challenges that fraternity brothers of today face. Challenges like alcohol induced brain damage, drug induced attention deficit disorder, police records, venereal disease, an aversion to hard work, and complete lack of ethics. As we all know, previous to the financial crisis in America many of these traits were a boon, but I am here to tell you that this is no longer the case. Gone are the days when a good family name and an Ivy League diploma were the keys to untold financial wealth and security. These days, a young fraternity brother really has to think hard about his options and what he has to offer to any given career path.

With that in mind, I’d like to give a brief overview on sales, one of the hottest careers today for young men with fraternal ties.  Sales is the fastest growing career choice for any young man who is looking for a quick and easy way to make money. I know the title doesn’t sound glamorous, and the base pay typically stinks, but consider the following list of perks:

  • Sales people don’t need any skills or intelligence. Quite the opposite actually. Studies have consistently shown that the only qualities a person needs to succeed in the field of sales are an exaggerated sense of self-worth, and the ability to accurately assess the wealth and gullibility of a potential customer at a glance. Now, I don’t know about you but to me that description has fraternity brotherhood written all over it!
  • Sales is a universal field. Take a look around you, young man. Everything from the chair your trustfunded butt is sitting on to the laptop your daddy bought you to do your “homework” on, all of those things were sold by a salesman, and chances are pretty darned good that your friend the salesman made a sweet commission off the sale of everything around you, enough of a commission to keep that sales man in sharp suits and private flying lessons, that’s for sure!
  • A good salesman never has to worry about finding work, because work finds him. Ever since Eve sold mankind’s innocence for an apple, people have been in the business of selling, and if you think about it sales is just about the only career that is never going to become obsolete because as long as there is a form of currency and goods to sell, the world will always need salesmen. And speaking of selling innocence for apples, there just about isn’t anything a salesman can’t barter for, if you know what I’m saying!

If you’d like to learn more about the exciting field of sales, please buy my eBook entitled, Selling The Dream: How To Kick Start Your Career in Sales. It’s chock-a-block full of tips from seasoned sales pros that cover topics such as, “How to dress like you’re important,” and “Keeping up appearances by talking down to subordinates.” Believe me when I say that my eBook is the first, and frankly, the most crucial step to preparing yourself for a lifetime of financial security.*

*results may vary.

Focus on Dicks: An Exclusive Interview With L. Wolf, the King of Inappropriate Art

In 2011, Dirty Treat Publishing set out to discover the World’s Most Inappropriate Drawing. A call was put out to artists around the world:  send us your filthiest, your most wretched, your most inappropriate black and white drawings. The judges had no way of knowing how deep down the hole of inappropriate visuals the artists would go, but they were certain that when they saw Denver-based artist, L. Wolf’s “Kiss the Cook,” they had one foot firmly planted in the dank recesses of what could only be described as the large intestine of art. Portland City Art caught up with L. Wolf shortly after receiving his trophy to talk about life, art and what’s next for the king of inappropriate.

So from the  photo you sent it looks like you got your custom Charlie Alan Kraft trophy. I heard it was quite a wait.

I finally got The Peluski Cup like a week before the new year, so I guess even though I was waiting for several months for that dude to finish it, technically it was still 2011.

Was it worth the wait?

I like the trophy, which was modeled after my winning drawing. My adolescent sister was there when I took it out of the box, and was all asking me what it was. It’s exactly what it looks like, you fucking whore. Yeah, it’s great, totally not what I was expecting. A handmade wooden cock crying into a teacup. There was also all this other odd shit crammed into my prize package. A car title for some old Buick Skyhawk belonging to some church in Oregon, a signed copy of the book Hate Mail, some Scorpion King collectibles, a letter to Cobra Commander, all kinds of random shit.

Don’t you mean Buick Skylark?

That’s what I thought, but it says SKYHAWK. Belongs to some Methodists or something.

I heard there was prize money involved as well.

Yeah, but I haven’t been able to do anything with the check seeing how it says “cash” instead of my name…

I’m pretty sure that when a check says “cash” anyone can cash it.

Seriously?

Like I said, I’m pretty sure.

Well I’m pretty sure Jesus wants me to nail him in the ass, then jizz all over his sandals just because he loves me and that’s what I’m into.

Is that how you would sum up L. Wolf?

No, I think the scene from the 80’s movie Wildcats starring Goldie Hawn where right before the game Wesley Snipes jumps up and says, “Let’s go eat some pussy!” That’s who I am.

That’s not exactly the vibe I get from your photo.

Well for my photo I was basically trying to put something together without showing my genitals… Although really I wanted to do one when it was cold outside WITH my tiny river dick genitalia and a mask on, considering how I just used a new pair of clippers to shave my cock and balls and kept nicking my sack. Needless to say, the inside of my underwear looked like a crime scene.

Right… So what’s next for L. Wolf?
I want to write a short story book based on all my most weird and gross sexual conquests.

Not necessarily in that order?

Did I ever tell you the one about the 69 chipotle spray fart fiasco?

Let’s say you did.

Nothing like getting a loud “FUCK YOU!!!” with spit in the face in the middle of Fred Meyer’s on 39th.

Were you shopping, or working as a stock boy when that happened?

Yeah, my favorite is the time when I was NOT drunk and “took one for the team”. Ugly ass girl that made me make-believe chase her around the breakfast island, and later on proceeded to not only fart mid-doggy-style, but made sure I was making her fart and then I saw her butthole open like a space hatch.

I guess you could call that a conquest.

To make it worse, and later on, she was an insomniac. First thing when I left in the morning, I found a bloody box cutter on the sidewalk. Still have it.

I had no idea you were the sentimental sort.

I went on to dress in full drag that night, being Halloween and all.

Did you get any candy?

No, but I had to wear an ex-girlfriend’s heels to make the costume, and well… Let’s just say I had a really bad, smelly, sweaty foot problem at the time, and I ruined her shoes.

I’m sure that’s not all you ruined of hers…

That’s the one that I dumped because she was 18 and had never tried eggs. Not because she was a vegetarian or anything, just based solely on the fact that she was scared of eggs.

They do come out of a chicken’s ass.

Yeah, that is gross, but she was literally scared of them. Speaking of assholes, they are the new black. That should be the title of my book. I should totally show my wiener.

Nobody wants to see that.

What? Nobody wants to see my river dick?

Maybe I’m wrong… Why don’t you go outside and test the theory?

I’ll do a few test runs and see what works the best. You know, I was trying to jerk off earlier to that stupid movie Soul Surfer before she got her arm bit off, you know, but it didn’t happen.

What do you have against cripples?

Nothing at all, but before her “accident” she wore nothing but bikinis.

So would you “take” a stump?

Definitely, and when I climax I would start yelling Ultimate Warrior-isms.

Have you seen his knife paintings?

Knife paintings? Fill me in.

Yeah, as in he uses a Rambo knife instead of a brush. In real life. The Ultimate Warrior.

Oh shit, are they expensive?

They’re like three thousand dollars.

God damn, I wonder if he is open to barter.

You should send him an eight by ten of this photo.

Yeah, I mean you can’t see my dick, but my taint area looks like a patch of dark elephant skin. Did it make you vomit?

Didn’t look that close.

Maybe I can paint him something with rare whale blood. Never been able to find any though, unless maybe some shady place in Chinatown sells whale meat, and you could just ask them for the blood?

I think you’d have to go to Japan for that.

Let’s do it then, and send The Ultimate Warrior a painting of Hulk Hogan sucking him off in rare whale’s blood. You can collaborate on it with me, that way if it pisses him off to where he wants to kill us it will be twice as hard. I’ll start sketching it out tonight.

So how do you feel about defending your title this year?

I think I’m going to win again this year. While everyone else is going to be drawing dicks, I’m already leap years ahead.

You seem pretty confident.

Dude, people will think all they have to do now is just draw a dick or a bloody pussy when in fact you have to give part of your soul into what you produce. Something like a human body with a cat-head-hybrid with six tits full of milk spewing into the air with a bunch of food depraved minions fighting to lap up the nectar, and probably a few side things going on.

Okay.

What’s up with people having more than one entry last year?

Last year was a dollar per entry, no limit. This year there’s a one drawing per artist limit, though, they’ll have to stand by whatever they think is their best.

Fuck that’s better. I have a feeling everyone is going to focus on doing dicks, or sloppy pussy with stink lines. They’re all trying to catch up to the champ, but I’m a million miles away. I’m in a different dimension, an alternate reality.

We have to wrap this up. Anything final thoughts?

How many girls do you think want to fuck L. Wolf?

Top 5 Reasons I’m not a lesbian

After I finally kicked my meth habit and divorced that ratfuck, Tan Peluski, a lot of ladies have been coming on to me in the check out line at the cigarette outlet store. Don’t get me wrong, I love tuna as much as the next bitch, but I’m not prepared to go chick’n of the sea for good, if you know what I’m sayin’. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. Every time I’ve let a liquored up sailor poke me in the nether regions with a half-wood, I’ve pondered what it would be like to dine on nothing but fuzzy pink tacos for the rest of my life. I could do it. I really could. Only these five factors are in between me and life of fisting happily ever after.

  1. Intelligence, or actually, the lack of it. I like to fuck stupid people. Let’s just say, I sure as hell don’t want to fuck somebody smarter than me. What’s the fun in that? Stupid people are more easily manipulated and misled. I like that in a person. Now, I hate to stereotype, but let’s be honest, if you’re goal is to nail something stupid and gullible, you want something with a dick.
  2. Looks. I like to fuck somebody uglier than myself. Now, again, I’ve seen some dykes out there that would give my grandpa a run for his money in a Wilford Brimley look-alike contest, so you know, just cause you have a dick doesn’t mean you’ve seen the fat end of the ugly stick. But it helps. Between the back hair, the nose hair, the ear hair and the fact that grooming yourself makes you appear gay, the odds are stacked against dudes in the looks department. Ladies are all, “does my butt look big in these jeans?” And guys are like, “I switched to suspenders so my gut could hang free.” Ladies wear makeup, perfume, heels and all manner of frocks while men just prefer to stay ugly, stinky and plain. For a woman as haggard and used up as myself, this is a definite perk. Next to most of the troglodytes I date, I shine like the Hope Diamond under track lights. Sparkly.
  3. Needs. Women have them in abundance. They need love, humor and understanding. They need romance and long walks on the beach. They need communication. They need affirmation. They need shopping trips and back rubs. Well I ain’t got time for all that shit. A man’s got one need and as long as I take care of it with one of my many orifices (or my hand if I’ve feeling fucking lazy or got a genital wart flare up), he’s fucking happy as shit. Men are the hamburger helper of relationships, you just add what you already had laying around.
  4. Dicks vs. clits. Let’s say you got one of them fancy new video games and you have your choice of controller. Would you want the one that fit perfectly in your hand, or would you want the one the size of a grain of rice? Yeah. Me too.
  5. Vaginas. Now again, don’t get me wrong here. Approximately 28 days out of every month, a vagina is a lovely soft, frilly little flower. But the other 3-5 days? A total fucking horror show. I know because I have one. It’s not just the blood people, but the blood in and of itself is enough to give a person pause. I mean really? If a man bled out of his dick every month I would have to think long and hard before I put it near my face, let alone in my mouth. But damn, it’s all the other crazy stuff that comes out of there. Chunky stuff. Gooey stuff. At least when you swallow a dude’s load you can position it at the back of the throat, but with a lady you’re just wallowing in it for God knows how long (see #3 and #4). No thank you, ma’am.

So, sorry lady with the amazing gray mullet from the cigarette outlet, but Marian Adcock is going to stick to cock and balls from here on out because she prefers to date stupid, ugly simpletons who tend to keep their blood inside the body.

John from Cincinatti: Fat Girl Jokes are More Popular Than Ever

Dear Editor,

Did you know many companies within your vertical are currently advertising under the term (fat girl jokes) and it’s costing them about (0.62) per click? Why not capitalize on the keyword match and drive organic traffic to your site? [ robot: you are severely overestimating our “vertical” ]

I’ve decided to sell the domain fatgirljokes.com, which is closely related to your keyword. [ robot: that must have been a pretty tough decision ] It will help drive organic traffic to you and provide an SEO boost. [ robot: which amounts to what exactly? ] This way you won’t have to spend anything on adwords because you can get organic traffic. [ robot: I am erect just thinking about all the money that we have never spent on advertising. ] Owning an exact match keyword domain is a great way to pick up additional targeted searches your current domain would never receive. It will increase your exposure for multiple keywords to bring you new business you would have missed otherwise. [ robot: Jesus, it’s me, robot. I know all you’ve been hearing from me for a while has been whining and complaining, accusing you of not loving me, but you know, this whole fat girl joke revenue thing that you’re basically throwing my way? well that changes everything! ]

I’m selling this domain for only $375 to the first person who replies to this email. I will be reaching out to other related businesses so please reply soon if interested. [ robot: three hundred what? dollars? american? ]

Best Regards,
John

1040 Hosbrook Dr.
Cincinnati, OH 45236

[ robot: dear john, what kind of shitty ass salesman pitches a domain as awesome as fatgirljokes.com without telling one? I mean, I know according to your figures they’re worth like sixty cents each or whatever, but throw like one or two fat girl jokes in there and I might have thought about it. you’re the worst kind of salesman, no please kindly go crawl into a corner and choke to death on your own feces you fat piece of shit. ]<

Occupy Portland… Poof! GONE!

Poof! Oh hey, hope I didn’t just scare you appearing out of a sudden cloud of smoke like I just did. I’d say it won’t happen again, but that would be a lie. Here, watch… I won’t surprise you again. Poof! Now I’m gone! Poof! Now I’m back! See, I can’t help myself. Forget that, though, I came to do a magic trick. Who’s ready???

Life is going good… Poof! Not any more! Your job…. Poof! GONE! Your savings account…. Poof! ZERO! Borrowing money from your family to file bankruptcy… .Poof! Not this time! Your wife….. Poof! Sleeping with your OLD BOSS! Your self respect…. Poof! ____ in 60 Seconds! Your ability to sleep at night… Poof! Gone! Friends buying you drinks… Poof! Support your own habit, you bum! Bus fare to get home… Poof! Spent it  all on beef jerky! Too tired to walk…. Poof! Free ride to the drunk tank! Wake up the next morning… Poof! Begging for change downtown! You see a protest, someone lets you borrow their blanket, you pass out fingers covered in orange Cheetos dust, happy for the first time in years and…. POOF! POOF! PU-PU-PU-POOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFF!!!!! EVERYONE IS GONE! They all went home to upload photos of themselves protesting onto Facebook!

POOF! GREAT JOB PORTLAND!!!!!!

C.O.C.K. G.A.G. Brings Portland Artists and Animal Rights Together

In the world of animal rights, no organization has done more for the plight of non-human animals than C.O.C.K. (Compassion Over Cruelty and Killing). As the world’s most perfect and pure vegan, I only support non-profit organizations whose message is for animal rights not animal welfare. If you don’t know the difference, then you’re probably the type of asshole who puts bacon on a veggie burger. The good people at C.O.C.K. know the difference. They know that farm animals are just hairy people who can’t talk or open a door. They know that in the peaceful world of nature an animal should never be food for another animal. It’s about rights people! Rights for all living, breathing creatures that don’t make their own food through photosynthesis. I mean, fuck, it’s not that hard to understand!

So when I heard that my old friend John Graeter is opening a new gallery this First Thursday, I knew this was the perfect opportunity to merge my dual loves of animal rights and Portland art. I will have my 100% vegan mandalas for sale tomorrow at Graeter Art Gallery (G.A.G.) and all of my profits from Thursday’s sales will go to C.O.C.K.’s campaign to end the senseless cruelty of chicken choking. I mean, even disgusting dairy eating vegetarians and the brutal Nazi’s who call themselves “omnivores” can all agree that choking chickens is sick and wrong.

So please come down to G.A.G. and buy one of my vegan mandalas in support of C.O.C.K’s efforts to end chicken choking for good. Thanks to John Graeter and his C.O.C.K. support, we may soon see the end of chicken choking.

G.A.G. Opening
October 6, 2011 from 5pm – 10pm
131 NW 2nd Ave,
Portland, OR, 97209