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!


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!

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.


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.


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?

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!


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

Orin Starr, Citizens Ashamed of The Nest

Local activist and Lesbian swinger Orin Starr leading a group of anti-rude bingo night protesters outside of "The Nest" a bar in Portland, Oregon.

When most people think of bars in Portland Oregon good times and good beer come to mind. Even The Nest, Alberta street’s hot-spot for local well dressed liberals such as Orin Starr has been known for it’s comfortable atmosphere, cheap beer, and loud music set against a backdrop of fine rotating artwork curated by local celebrity Chris Haberman. What happens, though, when a local hangout, once a meeting point for well-cologned, high-class hipsters goes south? It becomes a Mecca for disgusting, disturbing, delusional,  racist, sexist, classist and homophobic outcries of slander and distaste masked by the power of the First Amendment.

On Sunday May 8th, 2011 Orin Starr entered The Nest like he does every other day of the week, hopped up on anti-depressents and exhausted after a long hard day of customer service at a local Co-Op. What did he want? He wanted what every other person in the bar wanted that night: a beer and an atmosphere that allowed him the opportunity to peep some fresh female clam as they say. What did he get, you ask? A first hand lesson in freedom of speech! Quietly enjoying his drink, Orin and his wingman for the night couldn’t help but notice it was Bingo Night, but what they failed to recognize was the well-posted and immediately visible signs stating “Sunday night at The Nest is we get to say what ever the fuck we want bingo night”. That’s right, readers, it was Rude Bingo Night.

After listening to the guy at the microphone berate gentle folks waiting for the bathroom with malicious slanderous comments, Orin turned to his wingman (a person who intelligently chooses to remain anonymous) and says, “Fuck this piece of shit with his whole I have a beard and balls attitude, I’m gonna fuck his shit up!” Orin’s wingman, Christianly as a kitten’s vagina, chose to turn the other cheek and ignore the barrage of bingo inspired insults, and quietly sipped his or her beer. Orin, however, could not just sit by while the ears of decent folks everywhere were subjected to  such harsh and vile abuse, and cried out, “Hey dumb fuckin’ dick for brains! This is Portland! We don’t hurt people’s feelings here you fucking piece of shit!”

Unfortunately Orin had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Being that he had completely ignored the well-posted signs describing the event of the evening in clear and vivid detail, the man-bear at the microphone took this as someone wanting to play along with the evening’s festivities, and really gave Orin a piece of his mind…. (Here at we strive ourselves to bring you up to date slanderous bullshit without censorship ,but the words exchanged in that moment at the bar were so degrading and shameful that even WE couldn’t stomach printing them in this article…….) Once the extended exchange of poetic hate had come down from its’ inevitable climax, Orin turned to the bartender to complain. The bartender ,though, had only this to say: “Bitch, put a dick in it!”

Disgusted by the entire situation and distraught by the not so sensitive energy at the bar, Orin fell victim to the violence and unleashed a flurry of ice cubes in the direction of Mr. Rude Bingo. A fist fight soon broke out, bottles were smashed, Starr’s friend was dragged from the bar by his or her front-facing ponytail and Orin, well… he was later found bloodied and hunching over in the alley like a lump of used dog shit (as opposed to brand new dog shit, straight from the ass).

Customers at the bar refused to comment on the situation, and even Portland’s finest were not able to get a statement regarding the scene of events that unfolded that evening. Was Orin Starr an unsuspecting victim of a hate crime or just a mild mannered customer pushed to the edge of violent rage by a tasteless lower then human life form holding the mic that night? Is this what our fair city is coming to? Bars that once housed the meek and sensitive now playgrounds for dirty mouthed trash talkers with a taste for violence against she-men? Is the first amendment really that important? Did Portland lose its sense of humor? Did it ever HAVE a sense of humor? Whatever the reason, whatever the justification, Portland has failed in the eyes of its’ citizens, and The Nest is the thorn that continues to break the CIty of Rose’s back.


Portland Craigslist: SAFE AT LAST

In 1995, Craig Newmark founded the classified website Craigslist with the best of intentions: to provide a safe haven for good natured Christians to exchange goods and services, arrange to meet on wholesome dates, and to announce family friendly community events. Like all righteous internet endeavors, however, it was overrun by the forces of Satan before you could say “Christ on the Cross”. As Newmark himself puts it, “One thing we found doing customer service is that there are not that many bad guys out there, that the people with good will far outnumber the bad guys. However, the bad guys make a lot more noise.

In most cities featured on Craigslist, the good guys have all but given up. That is not the case in Portland, however, where a volunteer watchdog group called Portland Citizens for a Cleaner Craigslist (PCCC) burst onto the scene bringing order and respectability to a website where even I with my Two Fists of Faith once feared to tread.

Formed in early March of this year by local artist Tanner Dobson, the PCCC has found a brilliantly simple way to use Craigslist’s built-in flagging feature to eradicate any and all filth immediately. “People in Portland aren’t going to stand around getting fucked in the mouth by indecency towards anyone or anything, and Craigslist is no exception. Free speech is one thing, but my grandmother, bless her heart, busted her ass for eighty fucking years, raised over three hundred kids into model, upstanding Christians, and I’ll sit naked on Satan’s fat red cock before I’ll let anyone bombard her computer screen with blasphemous ass, mean-spirited, liberal, communist, hate-mongering, ironic bullshit on Craigslist which she visits every day to sell her macaroni mosaics.”

Acting on a hunch, Dobson discovered that if a post got a certain number of “flags” from different people, it would be taken down from the  website immediately. Once he had the magic number, he took a trip down to his dear nana’s nursing home and recruited a small army of volunteers. “My volunteers were people just sitting around waiting to die, despite the fact that their facility is equipped with an activity room. When I had my grandmother read to them excerpts from some of the posts she had come across, dude, they were fucking pissed!”

For volunteer Howard Crosby, the PCCC has given him new meaning in life. “In my day, you’d get the belt for acting all filthy like these young people and their computers. I lost all hope once my grandson was taken by the homosexuals because of the internet, but thanks to Tanner Dobson I now have a way to fight back. I might not be able to give these kids the whupping they deserve, but I can sure as shit keep them from spreading their filth!

Dobson elaborates, “You see, what happens is these cock-sucking degenerates get on a computer at the library or some trendy coffee shop so you can’t track them, and because of this anonymity they feel comfortable enough to put up bunch of hateful, ugly, rotten garbage unfit for decent folks to see or read. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit they were getting away with before I started PCCC. Once I knew exactly how many times a post could get flagged before coming down, though, that was all she wrote. They are free to put up whatever they want, whenever they want, and in the same vein,  all thanks to the Lord Jesus Christ, we are free to take it down whenever we want. BAM! BAM! Down just like that.”

During my visit to the retirement facility which serves as the group’s temporary headquarters, I was able to witness several flaggings firsthand. In one instance, some smirking heathen tried to advertise her demonic face painting service, and had the audacity to target it at children! Like clockwork, the team sprang into action and took turns flagging the post until it was gone. Someone else tried several times to post results of their highly offensive drawing contest, but each time it was shot down in less time than it takes me to crack the knuckles on my Two Fists of Fury.

“These old people might not know a computer keyboard from Stephen Baldwin, but if you move the mouse for them and show them how and when to press the button, they get the hang of it pretty quick.” Dobson has every right to be proud of his group. Since they started monitoring up the classifieds, the life expectancy of an offensive post on Portland’s Craigslist has fallen to an average of 32 seconds. “I won’t be satisfied until that number is reduced to zero, to tell you the truth, but 30 seconds is pretty fucking good.” Is it safe enough for children? “You fucking bet, man.”

Next time you find yourself looking to Craigslist for an artist to decorate the kid’s play room, a flower arranger, pottery lessons, or even a tasteful live model, remember to take a moment out of your search to thank Tanner Dobson, his hard working, tireless band of upstanding seniors, and the loving spirit of Portland for keeping things free of bigotry, idolatry, hate, profanity, nudity, sarcasm, slander, and sin, and for making the City of Rose’s Craigslist a place that even our dear Lord Baby Jesus could visit with a smile.

Stop Crapping on Me: Toilet Violations

The people, and entities which compromise PCA, the supposed non-profit linked to numerous sex scandals and video-tape-hijacking, have been drizzling hot steamy shit down my porcelain mouth for long enough. I’m not willing to sit through even one more second of the barrel-waisted tyrants of Portland City Art squatting down over me popping shit flavored candy corn and telling me that it’s better for my teeth that way (cause I won’t want to eat the candy if it tastes like shit).


That’s what they are. Hairy knuckle-fucks. Never had to support such sheer weight from creamy, sweaty man-thighs before, and if you turn your back for one secone, guess what? Let’s just say that your plumbing gets a case of “illegal entry”. Shot out to Crispy Butt for having sweaty enough boobs to make the whole thing go down with plenty of lube. Double shot out to Jonny G-G-Time Je-Yell-Ell-oh (jon graeter) for having a tiny penis thing that doesn’t hurt much when it goes in. Fluffy. Still…


Seriously, people, when nobody is not around, these guys are inside me, constantly, touching each other, touching me on the inside. No gloves. Filthy, putrid. Thank god my bowl is painted white so you don’t see the jizz so much.

Disgruntled Toilet