Let Me Set The Record Straight

I never said that people with peanut allergies should be killed. All I said was that they should be rounded up and sterilized or confined to camps before they infect the rest of us with their America-hating, racist bullshit allergy.

Probably some explanation is in order.

You've probably heard of peanut allergies, and how exposure to peanuts can cause a person to go into anaphylactic shock and DIIIEEEE!!! What you probably haven't heard is how powerful and controlling the Anti Peanuters are.

When we lived in New Orleans, my son had a child in his Pre-K class that had a peanut allergy. As a result, no one in his class was allowed to bring a PB&J sammich to school. Sure, we grumbled, but I guess it seemed reasonable - little kids will swap lunches and next thing you know, your kid's trying to give Little Johnny an emergency tracheotomy only he can't, because it's Pre-Kindergarten and DAMN YOU, BLUNT SAFETY SCISSORS! DAMN YOU!!!!

Our girls didn't have any such restrictions at their school, so we didn't think anything more of the matter - it was probably just a one-off, right?

And then we got to Canada. Don't even think of bringing peanuts or peanut-containing foods to school. You know what else, comrade? While you're at it, don't even bring any foods to school that have been processed in plants that had peanuts anywhere in them. Oh, but don't worry, our racially pure snack foods have these helpful, well... let's call them armbands to help you identify which treats are allowed and which aren't.

Pictured: Ethnic Cleansing

Now, what about the other snack foods? Are they made to wear some type of identifying mark, like a star or something so you know they contain peanuts? No, they don't. At least... not yet.

Right about now, you're probably wondering, "Well, yeah... I guess... but this is a pretty serious medical condition, Jeff. Shouldn't we be sensitive to the danger they face?"

Maybe so. Or maybe we should be asking ourselves why do people with peanut allergies hate our troops? Look, I served, damnit, and I know for a fact that every one of our fine warriors is issued a gas mask with a nerve agent antidote kit, containing three sets of auto-injectors. You got your 2-PAM chloride and you got your atropine, so when you get a lungful of nerve agent and start doing the Kickin' Chicken, you can jab yourself in the ass and get some relief.

What's the immediate treatment for symptoms of peanut allergies? An injection of epinephrine: also a chemical-sounding substance. What you don't see is anyone walking around with an auto-injector kit of epinephrine stapped to their thigh. And why is that, do you think? Fucking pinkos.

But let's say war isn't your thing. Let's say you're a liberal. Would it interest you to know that peanut allergy "sufferers" are some of the virulent racists ever to darken this continent's doorstep? Oh, yes!

All you have to do is crack a history book to look at who invented the peanut in the first place - George Washington Carver - A KNOWN BLACK MAN.

I find it a little too convenient, don't you? They could have attacked other ethnic groups for the produce they've invented, like the dagos with their eggplants or the filthy micks with their potatoes, but oh ho-ho-ho NO! They zero in like a fucking racist laser beam on the only fruit black folks managed to assemble out of molecules and shit at the Tuskeegee Institute right before hopping into fighter planes and fighting World War II for their second job. I mean, holy shit! That's a two-fer.

Can't decide who you hate more, Anti-Peanutters? Our troops or our blacks? Then fuck it, right? JUST HATE OUR BLACK TROOPS THEN, YOU SONS OF BITCHES.

Well I'm not going to just sit here and wait for them to come for me. Wait a minute, yes I am. I'll be sitting here with a bottle of Scotch and a case of Payday bars. You're pretty tough at the school board level. Let's see how brave you are against a man with no pants and the peanut farts. I'll be waiting.

In Which Jeff Shits on Your Taste in Music

Yeah, that's right: Fuck the Beatles.

I said it, and I meant it. It's time for all baby-boomers, douchebag retro-hipsters and general-purpose nutriders to face up to one of life's cold, hard facts.

The Beatles were a shitty band.

Look, I've heard all the arguments before about how I'm too young to understand the "importance" of their music, and how "pioneering" they were. They sucked, okay? They were not accomplished musicians. Their lyrics were simple, treacly dreck. And that's just the songs I hated the least, during their early period.

Eventually, you dumbasses put them so high on a pedestal that they started to believe they could do no wrong. Not that they didn't test you - I mean what the FUCK was Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band all about? They were fucking with you. I mean, get your head out of your ass - "Yellow Submarine?" They let fucking Ringo sing it, and what did you do? You drove it to number 2 on the charts, and then demanded that they make a fucking animated movie out of it!

No wonder they continued to smoke crack, crank, coke, PCP, heroin and whatever else they could get into their bloodstreams - it's not like anybody was going to call them on their shit.

Let me explain to you why your opinion is wrong. Your entire love of the Beatles revolves around one central argument: "They were the pioneers of rock, man! They influenced so many bands that came after them." Well guess what - your grandpappy thought the Model A Ford was a wonderment of modern machinery, but do you see anybody besides Jay Leno driving one around? And why do you think that is? Because it's a rickety piece of monkey shit, just like the Beatles.

Hey, you know what's better than having to walk everywhere and carry all your shit on your back? NOT having to walk everywhere and carry all your shit on your back. But you know what's even better than THAT? Driving with fucking air conditioning and satellite radio. When the Beatles were all you had, I could have understood, even tolerated your excitement. We've got options now. Quit trying to get me to listen to your fucking Betamax music. We're up to BluRay - are you hep to the jive yet, Gramps?

And no, John, I can't Imagine all the people, living life in Peace. It might be a little easier to Imagine if you hadn't been, you know, murdered. And not that Lennon deserved to die, but let's take a look at what his fans had to say about his murderer becoming eligible for parole: 6,000 signature petition against it. How many of these same libtards signed a petition to release convicted cop-killer Mumia Abu Jamal?

See where this is going?

Individually and collectively, musically and politically, the Beatles appeal to the worst segment of our society: liberals. From John Lennon's naive bullshit to Paul McCartney's prissy-assed "thanks" to the American people "for voting for Senator Obama." You know what Sir Paul? Go fuck yourself with a broken Rickenbacker. While the people of Nashville are busting their asses to rebuild their lives and the people of Louisiana wait and watch as a black tide of oil suffocates a vital seafood industry, Paul McCartney is going to be getting his dick sucked by the Leader of the Free World.

That right there should tell you everything you need to know about the Beatles. If fucking Obamateur the Incompetent likes them, they can't be worth a shit.

Oh, HELL no...

What the FUCK are some people thinking?

Dude, seriously. I saw the video of Nick Berg being beheaded by a bunch of goatfuckers and I was pissed, but the idea of someone being beheaded, while savage, just wasn't as disgusting as The Human Centipede (First Sequence).

In this movie, an evil German surgeon kidnaps two female American tourists and a Japanese ne'er do well and, well... sews one girls mouth to the Japanese guy's asshole and her friend's mouth to her asshole.

Like. A. Human. Centipede.

Hilarity ensues when he feeds the guy in front (who is, there's just no other way to say it, the LUCKY one in this scenario) and waits for nature to take its course.

And take its course again.

And presumably, take its course again, but by now, wouldn't you too jaded to be fascinated by the sight of someone just pooping, without it being... erm, recycled again?

Seriously, fuck you, John Osterlind of the 99.5 FM drive-home show, for letting me hear just the part where you mention "That movie, The Human Centipede", but nothing else, causing me to go home and say, "Hey, that sounds interesting. Wonder what that's all about?" No, fuck you, man.

Time to make the best of this, though, and come up with some alternate titles that may alleviate at least some of this uncleanliness. Here goes:

Two Girls, One Jap

DeGrASSi to Mouth: The College Years

I Know What You Ate Last Summer

Another Louisiana Embarrassment, What a Surprise

Whenever Louisiana makes national news, you just know it's going to be bad. It's always something that makes us look like the slack-jawed inbreds that we are, like the headline:

Police Search for Phantom Snuggler at LSU.

Yes, you read that correctly. Years ago, Louisiana State was terrorized by the Phantom Snuggler, who would creep into women's apartments and... snuggle. Listen to the tale of horror from one of the victims:

Freshman Kaylin Spence says she woke up last Sunday to find the intruder in her bed trying to embrace her.

"I woke up with a guy with his arms around my waist and realized that was not right," Spence said on ABCNEWS' Good Morning America. [...]

"Finally, I said, 'Who are you? What are you doing?' He's like, 'I'm Steve. I said, 'I don't know a Steve.' I said, 'Get out, I don't know you.' He said OK and got up and left," Spence said.

The. Phantom. Snuggler.

A mysterious fiend so awkward and gay that Scooby Doo didn't want any part of it. "Ruck your Scooby Snacks. Roo people are rucked up!"

And that brings us to Steven Seagal, Lawman. Seagal is getting sued by a woman who claims she was hired as a production assistant for him and was subsequently kidnapped and sexually harassed for days in his Lafiite home until she made a daring escape.

By calling a cab.

Traumatized, frightened and emotionally scarred, this young lady vows to bring this terrifying rape-crazed lunatic to justice.

By suing him for one million dollars.

Needless to say, Seagal's boss, Sheriff Newell Normand is taking the position of, "Hey, you know what would be neato to go along with your accusation of rape? Some fucking evidence. Or at least coming in and making a statement - ANYTHING. Until then, shove off, golddigger."

Oh, but there was a crime committed here, alright. A crime against decency. A crime against humanity. A crime that will sear itself into the annals of a state overburdened with embarrassing headlines.

That crime was perpetrated by a young lady who gave us the visual image of Steven Seagal peeling off his sleeveless maternity kimono to reveal his lumpy, misshapen nakedness while growling "it's not a job, it's an adventure!"

Look at this fucking doppelganger

And I'm not just talking about the flop-sweat, wire-rimmed glasses and the hair that looks like it's been combed with buttered toast. It's the constant evasive non-answers and feigning ignorance that reminds me of attorney Nathan Thurm. All this doughy, pasty bitch needs is a cigarette with an inch-long ash and the two would be indistinguishable.

"I'm not being evasive. You're the one that's being evasive. Why is it always the other person that's being evasive? [looks at camera] It's him, right?"

Fuck you, Chevrolet.

I guess that newly developed speedometer technology was kicking your R&D team's ass as late as 2005, because here I am on I-10, doing at least 70, with the speedometer pegged at zero.

I'd have loved to get pulled over.

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Now how the fuck would I know that, Officer? Look at the shitbox I'm riding in. It's five years old. Speedometers don't last that long, so quit harassing me, pig! BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!"

And then I would speed off. At least I think I'd be speeding, but how could I be sure - MY FUCKING SPEEDOMETER IS BROKEN.

And another thing for all you brand-humping NASCAR fans: the only, and I mean the ONLY thing Jeff Gordon and his "Number 24 Chevy" have in common with your shitkicker Silverado with the lame-ass decal of Calvin pissing on a Ford logo, is that they both have the same stupid "bowtie" logo on the hood. There isn't a damn thing made by Chevrolet in "stock cars." Those are handmade, million-dollar machines. Think about that as you carefully place the decal that reads "CHEVY" across the top of your Camaro's windshield, which already identifies itself as a Chevy ON EVERY SIDE OF THE FUCKING VEHICLE.

And who wears a fucking bowtie, anyway? And what kind of double amputee would tie it so ineptly that it would look like Chevy's stupid logo?

And another thing about that bowtie - Louis Chevrolet, the founder of this shitty company, took the design from the wallpaper in a French hotel room. On the Gay Scale of 1 to Richard Simmons, that's about a Lance Bass rubbing oil on Ryan Seacrest's back. Hopefully, you just swallowed your Skoal Bandit. And if that story's not true, then it oughta be, because nothing's gheyer than sitting around a French hotel room, admiring the wallpaper.

And before you start asking the obvious question - "Well, how come you have a Chevy?" let me just tell you. It is the first Chevy I've owned. It's also the last. The difference between me and Chevrolet is that I learn from my mistakes and don't repeat them. Chevy's been making the same shitty cars for 100 years AND THEY WON'T FUCKING STOP! Just when it looked like GM might go bankrupt and lance this boil on the ass of the automotive industry, our asshole president bails them out.

There is no justice.

Pimp my Ride Death Star

It may be a piece of shit, but it's a SHINY piece of shit. And as was proven on Mythbusters, you CAN polish a turd.

When we were in Canada for Easter, our Canuck friends were asking whether we noticed that most of the locals drive smaller, more fuel efficient vehicles. Oh, we noticed. So much for blending in to the local population. At least our Ford Expedition is a little bit smaller.

Welcome to The Empire of Jeff!

NONE OF YOU ARE SAFE