Sunday, May 31, 2009
What happens to a dream deferred?
I don't know if Chingy! knows the answer to that, but he certainly knows a thing or two about what a raisin in the sun looks like.
CHONGAY CHONG, Langston Hughes!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style
Thursday, December 04, 2008
CHONGingway
The other day, I looked over on the bed and caught my arrogant, obstinate, grotesquely fat Pug Chingy! actually doing something to better himself. My copy of The Sun Also Rises, my favorite book of all time, had fallen out of my bag onto my bed. Since I carry that book around the way some people carry Bibles, it's thoroughly broken-in and fell open to whatever page I'd stopped on most recently. Astonishingly, Chingy! actually pulled himself from his basal state of contemptuous torpor to see what all the fuss was about.
As Hemingway never writes "CHONGAY CHONG" once in the entire novel, Chingy! apparently didn't see anything of interest. He decided he had better things to do than reading about bullfighting aficionados or the tragic wound of Jake Barnes, and promptly passed out on the book.
CHONGAY CHONG, Ernest Hemingway!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, librophilia
Monday, November 03, 2008
Me llamo es Sarah Palin
Just in time for the election, I've got what you were all undoubtedly waiting with bated breath all weekend to see: my Sarah Palin costume. As promised, I did dress up as Sarah Palin in a flag bikini. The bikini arrived at work just in time on Friday morning, and I eagerly tore open the package to shout "USA! U! S! A!" at my coworkers while modeling it over my clothes. Unfortunately, I realized that it wasn't quite the same stars-and-stripes design I expected. In fact, upon closer inspection, I realized with horror that the online flag bikini store fucked up my order and sent me a Puerto Rican flag bikini by mistake. Luckily, that turned out even better, because as numerous people at the party I attended pointed out, Sarah Palin probably thinks she can see Puerto Rico from Alaska. The bikini goes great with the giant Obama sign in the background.
Also as promised, I dressed my morbidly obese Pug Chingy! up as Sarah Palin's infant son Trig. Several people commented that it was one of the most offensive things anyone had ever seen, but nonetheless everyone laughed at it. Chingy! quickly proved his disdain for the extra large (yet still too small) Pull-Ups I put on him and in his typical fashion, proved to be far more ill-behaved and uncooperative than I've ever seen Trig Palin.
Another very un-Palin-esque behavior of Chingy!'s involved him going rogue and showing his undying love for pork barrel spending. Pork Barrel Spending is one of Chingy!'s very favorite Pugsitters, and she promptly removed the barrel and spent the evening cuddling with him and whispering sweet CHONGAYs into his stank, tarry little ears.
I'd show more pictures, but unfortunately our party host GayMan got very drunk (when I left the party at like 3 a.m., he had exhausted all the beer in the fridge and was resorting to Mike's Hard Lemonade). Despite the fact that he is a professional photographer, at this point all of his photos got awfully blurry. Additionally, you can tell that despite his name, GayMan is as hetero as they come. For evidence, take this photograph of me talking to my friend Moss, who dressed as what Governor Palin would classify as an Inuit.
Nice titty picture, GayMan. I should know; I am a connoisseur.
Anyway, CHONGAY CHONG, Sarah and Trig Palin costume! Oh, and if anyone needs a gently used Puerto Rican flag bikini, holler at your Alaskan governor.
Labels: alcoholism, CHONGAY CHONG, hilarious shit, intentional buffoonery, politics, spooktiness
Thursday, September 11, 2008
HAPPY 9/11 EVERYBODY!!!!
Another 9/11 has come already?! Shit, and I forgot to hang stockings for Osama Bin Laden to fill with improvised explosive devices and box cutters when he drops down my chimney. Oh wait, wrong holiday. Oops.
Anyway, I tried to cobble together a festive 9/11 card for you all, and figured that there's not much that says "Fuck you, Al Qaeda!" than a reference to the current orgy of freedom known as ELECTION '08!!! Like all elections, this one is so far nothing but classy and honorable, with both candidates saying lovely things about each other. The latest demonstration of maturity and graciousness has been a debate over whether one candidate was just using an expression, or derisively calling the opposing team's vice presidential candidate a pig. I'm thinking it's probably just an expression, because if Obama REALLY wanted to insult Sarah Palin by comparing her to an animal, I can think of a worse one. So can LL Cool Jew, who Gchatted me this morning and wryly observed, "You can put lipstick on a pug, but it's still a pug."
Thus, in the spirit of the sophisticated American democratic process embodied by the current presidential race, Chingy! got all gussied up real faincy-like to wish you a blessed and joyous 9/11.
CHONGAY CHONG, 9/11! USA! U!S!A! U! S! A!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, intentional buffoonery, politics, terror, United States of Asskickery
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
The Matt Leinart of morbidly obese stank-ass dogs
I've been so busy laboring over Labor Day weekend that I've been missing lots of important news. I did manage to hear about Sarah Palin, but somehow I missed the fact that Chad Johnson legally changed his last name to Ocho Cinco! Such an oversight is inexcusable, so I resolved last night to catch up on much of the news I missed.
Another piece of news I missed thanks to my overworked state is the fact that Matt Leinart lost out on the starting job in Arizona to Kurt Warner. KURT FUCKING WARNER! I have a lengthy history of scoffing derisively at Kurt Warner, beginning in 2002 when I wasted my first round Fantasy draft pick on him, only to have him break his pinky and spend the rest of the season on the bench seeking solace in Jesus and pouting. I'm not sure what better says "first-round bust" than Kurt Warner's Chunky Soup-cursed, aged, Bible-thumping, power lesbian-controlled self is beating Leinart out for the number one slot in trading camp. Consequently, there are a few articles about boo-hoo, it's hard for young quarterbacks to adjust to playing at the professional level, and don't call Matt Leinart a first-round bust QUITE yet.
Even former Seahawk Trent Dilfer shows up in an article to make excuses for Leinart's lackluster performance so far, noting that he could never have won a Super Bowl with the Baltimore Ravens if he had listened to those critics. He omits the fact that his team ran roughshod in that Super Bowl thanks to total defensive domination that would have shut the Giants out if they hadn't gotten lucky on a kickoff return. The bulk of the Ravens' scoring in that game came from Jamal Lewis running the ball, long-yardage Matt Stover field goals, returned interceptions, and a stellar kickoff return to answer the Giants' sole return TD. Trent Dilfer won the Super Bowl by bringing the same mediocre offense he had been known for all season, so if I were Matt Leinart, I would encourage Trent Dilfer to cease and desist with the comparisons. The last time I checked, Ray Lewis, Tony Siragusa, and Sam Adams were not playing for the Cardinals, so unlike Dilfer, Leinart can't even pretend at greatness on the back of a more talented defense.
I've been calling Matt Leinart a first-round bust since he first blazed into the NFL, because at the very least I suspect Paris Hilton's crabs can wreak some serious havoc with a player's game, even if he is a product of the NFL-friendly USC system. Nonetheless, professional and amateur pundits alike have been defending Leinart as the future of the Arizona Cardinals. I can only hope that's true, because it's partly thanks to the Cards' perennial ineptitude that the mighty Seahawks have taken five straight division titles. The Cards' consistent ass-sucking has made the NFC West into the notoriously pathetic shitshow it is today, and any future in which Leinart is allowed to continue with his lack of offensive production is one I can eagerly anticipate. The Seahawks may have one of the hottest defenses in the NFL right now, but I'd be deluding myself if I made similar claims about their offense right now. We have no wide receivers, an unproven rookie tight end, a kicker controversy (which until now I had never fathomed would even exist), and an untested two-back (or three, depending on what happens with T.J. Duckett) running game that I'm frankly awfully nervous about. Nonetheless, our patchy offense is going to STILL destroy Arizona, because they can always be counted on to suck that bad. Thanks to Trent Dilfer comparing Leinart's weak arm strength to Joe Montana and Steve Young, there are still a lot of people who will doggedly expect Leinart to be a Hall of Fame quarterback someday, and this all but guarantees Arizona will be in the trash heap of the NFC for years to come. I disagree, and rather than a berth in the Hall of Fame, I expect Leinart will be known by the three I's: interceptions, injuries, and infections from Paris Hilton's herpetic cooze. The Cardinals have no hope. I look forward to this bright and cheerful future.
In all this contemplating Matt Leinart's already unremarkable career, however, I realized that he reminds me of something. At first, I couldn't think of what it is, but I knew it wasn't my jeep, my sound, my car, or my bank account (okay, maybe the bank account, since it's EMPTY). Then it hit me: Matt Leinart reminds me of my nefarious pug Chingy!
This similarity isn't because they really look alike, but essentially they are kindred spirits. Chingy! and Matt Leinart are both disgusting assholes. They both think they are hot shit, despite the fact that facts demonstrate otherwise. They are both useless in terms of making any meaningful contributions to their teams. They both stink, and I've never smelled Matt Leinart, but I have smelled eau de men's locker room, and I think it's a safe assumption that when he doesn't smell like sweaty jock straps, he submerges himself in Drakkar. Frankly, even if he smells like fresh baked cinnamon rolls all the time, his stats warrant the use of the term "stinks" so it all applies. They are both encouraged in their arrogance by fawning admirers who rave about how cute and wonderful and underrated they are and make excuses on their behalf. In fact, when they behave badly (by, say, eating homeless guy shit, vomiting up used tampons, ejaculating on my living room floor, or partying in a hot tub full of Arizona skanks instead of rehabbing one's shoulder), their admirers excuse and venerate it. If the aforementioned floor ejaculation incident hadn't motivated me to get Chingy! neutered, I'm certain that like Leinart he'd be fathering bastard Pug mixes all over my neighborhood.
I think I could go on all day about this, but unfortunately I now have to take Matt Leinart for a stroll around the park, where most likely he'll eat decomposing rodent, injure himself, or disdainfully wander off, forcing me to scale a hill or break into a construction site to retrieve him.
CHONGAY CHONG, Matt Leinart!
Labels: assholes, CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, gross, NFL football, retard rage
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Sleeping with the enemy
I have always wondered when I take random pictures of me doing standard Razzified shit with my dogs why I always regard Chingy! with such an obvious expression of "what the fuck, asshole?!" I thought it was always due to his Too $hort-esque tendencies, or his cacophagic inclinations, or his starfish pant-stamping, or his overall rePUGnancy. However, now I've realized that this has taken a decidedly nationalistic tone. Why do I look so annoyed in the below picture? Because Chingy! is not on board with freedom.
Chingy! is not rooting for team USA. LL Cool Jew and I were texting yesterday about the TOTALLY CHEATING Chinese gymsnatchtits team, and she suggested that my morbidly obese dog is rooting for the enemy. In fairness, Pugs were sort of appropriated by the Dutch sometime around the end of the Dark Ages as far as breeding goes, but I'm willing to work with the "Chingy! is an asshole, and thus is rooting for the nation that originally bred his assholish, incorrigibly lazy kind" a millenium ago. Sure, Pugs have occupied a place in the footnotes of European history. Some Pug saved William of Orange's life from assassins in the sixteenth century and Empress Josephine used Pugs to deliver secret notes to Napoleon, but I assume these outlying events are entirely stochastic. Relying on a Pug to bark a warning is more ill-advised than relying on Al Gore to admit that freon-containing appliances are critical to a sound energy policy. Chingy! cannot be relied upon to do anything besides snore loudly, sleep constantly, eat indigent feces, and sneeze contemptuously when rebuked. I am hardly surprised that he is rooting for our national Olympic enemy China, especially when considering that the Chinese are known to violate human rights, suppress free speech, and cheat at gymsnatchtits.
.
Last night, this "Chongay is pro-Team China" theory gained some credence when this asshole not only woke from his typical deep slumber to wag his question mark for "March of the Volunteers." The idea that Chingy! would volunteer for any type of people's work is laughable; however, he apparently likes the pinko tunes enough to actually work his tail a bit to the beat. He also had this look on his face when I asked, "Hey CHONGAY, what do you think about the fact that your Olympic women's gymsnatchtits team won by faking their ages?"
CHONGAY CHONG, Team USA!!
.
Last night, this "Chongay is pro-Team China" theory gained some credence when this asshole not only woke from his typical deep slumber to wag his question mark for "March of the Volunteers." The idea that Chingy! would volunteer for any type of people's work is laughable; however, he apparently likes the pinko tunes enough to actually work his tail a bit to the beat. He also had this look on his face when I asked, "Hey CHONGAY, what do you think about the fact that your Olympic women's gymsnatchtits team won by faking their ages?"
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, Olympics, United States of Asskickery
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Daily Douchebag: dog haters
Name: ASSHOLES
DOB: whenever assholes are born
Occupation: hating on man's best friend
Hometown: wherever assholes come from
Current residence: Toronto, Canada and New York, New York
Douchebaggery: This past week, Razzyphile L&L e-mailed me to inform me of some very disturbing goings on at High Park in Toronto where she lives with her super cute French bulldog Lamont. Apparently, there is an area of the "off-leash" section currently being contested by various factions. The dog people want this to stay a dog area, while some bitch-ass environmentalist types have complained that the area is getting "trampled." The debate has grown very heated, and as a result, some sick bastard has decided to up the ante in favor of the dog haters: by leaving out bread soaked in antifreeze.
If you don't have dogs, then you may not know that antifreeze is one of the most famous dog poisons of all time next to chocolate. Supposedly antifreeze tastes sweet and dogs particularly like it, so every year there are some accidental dog deaths resulting from dogs licking antifreeze that spills from leaky radiators. However, for someone to leave out chunks of bread soaked in antifreeze in the off-leash area of Toronto's version of Central Park is nothing short of a cold-hearted attempt to murder unsuspecting pets. Already two dogs have died from eating the poisoned bread, and four are hospitalized. The detective charged with investigating has said she believes the dog assassin is motivated by the dispute.
I am always astounded at the lengths some people will go to in order to express their disdain for dogs. The other day I was at my local park in the informal "off-leash" area (translation: an area that nobody goes to where I illegally let my dogs run around), when some guy came up and said "Excuse me, lady, but there ARE leash laws." I took a look at him and realized he was just some fat motherfucker who had been sitting around the chess-playing enclosure several blocks away.
"Yeah, well, they're not bothering anyone here," I said, shrugging.
"There are CHILDREN in this park," he said. "We can't just have dogs running around when there's kids playing." I turned to look at my dogs. Caesar was sitting chewing on a stick, and Chingy! was sniffing a tree trunk/potential urine target like a wine connoisseur with a glass of vintage Cabernet. Likewise, I didn't see ANY children anywhere nearby.
"My dogs aren't bothering anyone," I reiterated slightly more defiantly. "And they are very friendly. They don't even pay attention to children."
The guy started getting pissed. "That doesn't matter! You need to leash those animals RIGHT NOW. There are children here!"
"Yeah, I get that," I said, starting to get pissed. Where does this motherfucker get off telling me that these absent children are supposed to be my concern? I HATE kids. I WISH my dogs would start harassing them rather than ignoring them in favor of sticks to chase and bushes to piss on. Furthermore, I can see in the distance that the chess area table this tubby fucker had just vacated was filled with dudes passing around a blunt. Apparently, my dogs not bothering anyone is a big threat to kids, but OPENLY SMOKING POT NEXT TO THE FUCKING PLAYGROUND is not. "Well, are you a cop? Are you going to write me a ticket?" I asked bitchily. I figured as long as he was busy getting high with his chess-playing friends, he wouldn't snitch. I figured wrong.
"I'm calling the cops, you fucking entitled white bitch!" he snarled at me, pulling out his cell phone.
I gave him a venomous eye-roll, and leashed my dogs. Not that the cops would come in a rapid manner for such a complaint, or actually get me in very much trouble, but in New York City a leash law violations isn't a ticket; it's a summons that you HAVE to go to court for. Not wanting to deal with that hassle and not wanting to ultimately pay $100 per dog, I figured I would just end our morning constitutional there. "Fine," I said in my bitchiest tone of voice. "We're leaving."
Unfortunately, even complying with his request didn't shut this fucker up. "YOU FUCKING BITCH, YOU THINK YOU OWN THE PARK?" he shouted at me. "YOU FUCKING ENTITLED PEOPLE WITH YOUR FUCKING DOGS! IT'S NOT YOUR FUCKING PARK!"
"Oh, really?" I snapped back. "I didn't realize it was actually YOUR park!"
"THERE ARE FUCKING KIDS PLAYING HERE! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR FUCKING DOGS, YOU FUCKING WHITE BITCH!"
I'm not going to even attempt reasoning or shouting at someone whose argument revolves around the fact that I'm acting "entitled," I'm white, I'm a bitch, and there are allegedly children in the vicinity who can be somehow damaged by my dogs. Sure, my dogs were in violation of the leash law, but as I said, they weren't anywhere near him, his blunt-smoking chess friends, or any children. I always try to stay away from other people in the park when letting my dogs run around to be respectful of the fact that not everyone is dog-crazy, and to avoid such conflicts. Furthermore, there are a ton of people who let their dogs run around in this area, and to my knowledge no problems have occurred related to dog bites or anything of that ilk. This guy just hates dogs, so he decided to shamble halfway across the park to bark orders at me, threaten police involvement, and inexplicably bring my racial phenotype and supposed sense of entitlement to unleash my dogs in an unused green space into the matter. All I can say to a dude like that is "FUCK YOU, HATER!"
I can't understand where dog haters come from, because dogs make my life wonderful. Sure, they're a pain in the ass, but at the end of the day, my dogs are fantastic companions who bring a great deal of joy into my life and I love them dearly (even Chingy!). I can understand how someone like J-Sexy, who is a "tidy" person according to her, doesn't want to own dogs because of the problems with hair and slobber and poop-scooping that comes with the territory. Even she understands, though, how deeply dog owners bond with their pets and love them as members of their family. However, I cannot understand why anyone would go out of their way to ensure that my dogs have to stay on a leash in spite of not threatening or harassing anyone, much less resort to poisoning dogs for the crime of trampling grass in the course of exercising and playing. There is something inherently wrong with a person who hates a sweet, loving, completely innocent dog's existence so much that they would conspire to kill them with antifreeze-soaked bread (as well as any other unfortunate animals in the area, such as the raccoons that have died as collateral damage). Between the racist leash law snitch in my park and the underground dog murderer in Canada, dog hating is on the rise. I can only assume this means that the contemporary human condition is in even worse shape than I originally thought.
And on that depressing note, I'm going to go walk my dogs OFF-LEASH. Illegally. Fuck the dog haters.
Labels: Caese Doggy Dogg, CHONGAY CHONG, Daily Douchebag, doggity style, Razzyphiles
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
OS X is a fucking pussy
I should rename this website "HatingOnApple Blog" after this week. I thought that between my rants about Coldplay, the Apple Store, and the Genius Bar and TAFKAMA's indictment of the entire brand, the topic of anti-Apple sentiments had been thoroughly explored. However, today while rejoicing in the return of my computer and simultaneously Gchatting with LL Cool Jew, I remembered one other thing I totally despise about being a Mac user.
LL Cool Jew: is it [my freshly repaired computer] working yet?I'm hardly surprised that the Mac marketers in charge of selling new versions of OS X are cat people. I hate cats, and I distrust the motives of people who prefer cats over dogs. Dogs are a species of animal that overflows with loyalty, love, and usefulness, while cats don't give a shit about humans and would probably eat their owners if they could. Choosing cats over dogs signifies a major personality flaw to me. So once again, even though I have my computer back and am happy with its freshly functioning brand new hard drive and keyboard with a working "control" and "øptíön" key, I have to express my stern disapproval for the way those assholes do things in Cupertino. Stupid cat-named operating system-running Macs!
Razzy: yes precious!
Razzy: thank god
Razzy: but i can't transfer my stewpid files
LL Cool Jew: woohoo!
Razzy: from my backup thang
LL Cool Jew: you techie
Razzy: because the "Tiger" OS X that I have now has a stupid inept "Migration Asst"
Razzy: before i used the "Leopard" OS X
LL Cool Jew: tiger
LL Cool Jew: leopard?
Razzy: but i can't install that trash until my PI [boss] gets back from vacation
LL Cool Jew: what is this, kung fu panda?
Razzy: dude another thing to hate about apple
Razzy: they name their various versions of OS X after large jungle catsRazzy: OS 10.1 is "cheetah" or "puma"
Razzy: OS 10.2 is "jaguar"
Razzy: OS 10.3 is "panther"
Razzy: OS 10.4 is "tiger"
Razzy: OS 10.5 is "leopard"
LL Cool Jew: wiggity wack
LL Cool Jew: could they just make One that works?
Razzy: and OS 10.6 is gonna be "snow leopard"
Razzy: SERIOUSLY
LL Cool Jew: i hate how they come out with a better thing every year
Razzy: actually OS X works fine
LL Cool Jew: you can never have teh coolest gadget
Razzy: but this computer is built out of fucking recycled 6-pack rings
Razzy: luckily, my PI is a big Mac ho
Razzy: so i get all the updates without paying
Razzy: but the whole feline theme is definitely another "check minus" against Apple
LL Cool Jew: they should name them after doggers! :)
LL Cool Jew: 10.3 the pugRazzy: YES! CHONGAY!
LL Cool Jew: 10.7 the lhasa apso
LL Cool Jew: 10.8 the dingo
Razzy: although 10.3 would be the laziest operating system ever
LL Cool Jew: 10.9 THE D [the D=LL Cool Jew's perpetually terrified longhaired Chihuahua]Razzy: and THAT would offer NO protection against viruses and spyware
Razzy: and the computer would urinate on you when it crashes
LL Cool Jew: ooooooo
Razzy: that e-mail was RELLAY scaray
LL Cool Jew: the d would be the kewtest operating system ever.
Labels: Apple sucks, CHONGAY CHONG, computer incompetence, doggity style, LL Cool Jew, the D
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
A new item on the menu at Chez Chingy!
Last weekend, barbecue season started in St. Nicholas Park on account of the lovely weather and the beginning of summer. While I love summer and I love barbecues, I do not love when these things invade my local park. Barbecues in the park mean that there is often barbecue refuse around for my dogs to consume. This is very bad, because most of the refuse is chicken bones, which dogs aren't supposed to eat. Caesar is a notorious chicken bone hound, and he's extremely sneaky about it. Sometimes he'll act like he's sniffing something like he's going to piss on it, and the next thing I know, I hear crunching and realize that he's deftly scooped up some errant bone I didn't see. Then I have to pry Caesar's giant jaws open and try to fish the bone out of this throat before he swallows it. He is a smart dog, so he continues to refine his covert bone-consuming methods and I continue to fight a losing battle against his appetite for barbecue waste.
Caesar is so bad about consuming street food that I even made up new lyrics to the song "Soul Survivor" by Akon and Young Jeezy from several summers ago. Instead of singing, "If you're looking for me you can find me on the block disobeyin' the law...a real G, thoroughbred from the streets, pants saggin' with my gun in my drawers," I would sing "If you're looking for me you find me in the park disobeyin' my mom...real Caese, thoroughbred likes to eat, tail waggin' with some bones in my jaws." Yeah, I know it's corny, but anyone who has met Caesar knows how severely obsessed he is with eating discarded people food (usually chicken or rib bones, but also he enjoys crab claws/shells, squashed french fries, and licking candy wrappers), and the song is fitting.
Anyway, just because when we go to the park during barbecue season I have to keep a close eye on Caesar, that doesn't mean Chingy!'s fat ass doesn't get in trouble concerning his scavenging tastes. Chingy! is particularly bad, because rather than just eat food waste like Caesar does, he eats things that no other creature save flies, roaches, or rats are interested in. For example, I've caught him eating indigent diarrhea, decomposing squirrel carcasses, cicadas, and garbage. Even worse, sometimes he opts to vomit what he eats, usually on my clothing, bed, or some other treasured object that it's hard to clean rancid dog puke off of. Recently, I thought that maybe Chingy!'s park eating habits were improving. I caught him eating some acorns a while back, and I actually encouraged this, since acorns seem kind of healthy, and God knows Chingy! needs to lose weight.
This morning, however, I caught him chewing something and since there weren't any oak trees where we were, I had a bad feeling that it wasn't acorns. I wandered over to Chingy! to see what he was so busy chowing down on. Someone had emptied out their barbecue on the grass, and Chingy! was eating old, half-burned charcoal briquets. I yelled at him and pulled him away by his collar, and he sneezed black bits of charcoal rudely all over my feet and ankles, then tried to return to his pile of Kingsford. "Goddammit, NO! NO, CHONGAY, NO!" I admonished him repeatedly, and he continued to plant his little paws obstinately as he struggled to turn back to the pile of charcoal. Finally I quit fucking around with dragging him by the collar and leashed him back up. When we returned home, I noticed that the entire inside of his mouth looked like a fucking coal mine.
While I suppose that discarded barbecue charcoal is better than vagrant shit in terms of what Chingy! could be eating, I imagine that it's probably not very healthy, even for a garbage disposal of a dog like him. Besides, the idea of cleaning charcoal vomit out of my couch or duvet cover is not an appealing one. Chingy!'s achievements in foul culinary indulgences continue to ensure his reign as the most revolting dog in my household for some time to come.
Labels: Caese Doggy Dogg, CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, fat fucks, gross, oh the horror
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Beverly Hills Chihuahua
DOB: September 26, 2008
Occupation: 50% warrior, 50% lover, 100% chihuahua
Hometown: Walt Disney Studios
Current residence: during previews at a theater near you
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Normally kids movies are something I avoid like the plague, since I hate both children and the cutesy storylines that appeal to them. Furthermore, any movie with a talking animal (especially where said talking animal plays an integral role bastardizing the culture and history of a magnificent ancient civilization like the Aztecs) gets a big thumbs down in my book. I also generally avoid movies starring dogs, because there's almost always at least one dog death, and I can't handle that emotionally. I started crying during I Am Legend, and not just because it was a godawful time-squandering piece of trash, but because I just couldn't tolerate watching Will Smith strangle his sweet Caesar-y German Shepherd. I can't even talk about Old Yeller, White Fang, or Where the Red Fern Grows without choking up, and you had better believe that I unplugged the damn TV within watching the first 10 minutes of Amores Perros. In every respect, Beverly Hills Chihuahua seems like the kind of movie I would hate for myriad reasons, which is why I'm so shocked that I kind of want to see it.
Part of the reason for this may be due to the fact that when LL Cool Jew and I were roommates in 2005, I lived with her little long-haired Chihuahua, Dulcinea. Although Dulcinea (aka "the D") is not without her challenges (in particular, frequent medical problems, a tendency to urinate uncontrollably when startled or terror-stricken, and a sneaky habit of furtively shitting on various furniture and/or carpets), she is a very, very sweet, funny little dog and I am extremely fond of her. Obviously, LL Cool Jew is too, since she went and got ANOTHER long-haired wawa, Sergio, to keep the D company. Even if you hate dogs, you can't say that these two aren't pretty fucking cute:
LL Cool Jew told me that when she recently saw the trailer in the theater, she embarrassed her husband BigBagel because she actually started clapping delightedly. While I don't think I'd get so excited as to burst into raucous applauding, I wouldn't be embarrassed by LL's enthusiasm. If she's in New York when that shit drops, I'll go see Beverly Hills Chihuahua with her, even if it means sitting in a theater full of hateful children. After watching the trailer, I'm convinced that this movie might not make me homicidally crazed. In fact, in spite of the fact that it has none of the three elements I consider critical to a good movie (murder, explosions, people getting fucked), and many of the elements I consider terrible (possible dog death, musical numbers, shameless revisionist history) I think I might actually like it.
It's at least got to be more exciting than Beverly Hills CHONGAY, which would be approximately ninety minutes of this:
It's at least got to be more exciting than Beverly Hills CHONGAY, which would be approximately ninety minutes of this:
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, destroy all children, doggity style, LL Cool Jew, movies, the D
Friday, May 16, 2008
Tit for tat
Yesterday someone bitched that I'm supposed to put up titty pictures when I don't post. Well, I felt like there was some sort of Dickensian ghost in my chest rattling his chains mournfully with every breath and my nose was like a snot factory, so I was in no mood to flash for the camera. I realize my tits weren't sick, but when I feel crappy, I just don't feel like my exhibitionist self. Today I'm marginally better. My chest is rattling a little less, and the decongestants have done their appointed job, so I guess I'll make up for it. However, I can't really say I'm putting up a picture of my tits (plural) since that asshole Chingy! got in the way. Thus, here is a picture of my left tit (singular).
So sorry I failed to oblige yesterday. Hopefully you'll enjoy this 50% of my rack.
And CHONGAY CHONG, tits (plural)!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, excuses, nudity, Razzification, sluts
Saturday, May 03, 2008
The Call of CthONGAY!
I've gotten a few e-mails, comments, and the like asserting that my work in lab is "Lovecraftian." Since–ahem–I am a nerd, I know what this means, and I just don't think it's true. I'm not overwhelmingly ashamed to admit that I've read a few of the short stories penned by one Howard Phillips Lovecraft, and I guess they're okay. Most of them are about someone going nuts because they find out they are either related to or get a glimpse of these gross gods (they all mostly look like slugs, salamanders, octopi, lizards, roaches, puddles of goop, or some combination thereof) from other planets and dimensions. Granted, H.P. writes in a style as old-fashioned and pretentious as you would expect from an overcompensating xenophobe closet homo, and I get a little tired of the whole insanity-is-the-price-of-enlightenment theme, but if not for H.P. Lovecraft, we wouldn't be able to reliably buy Stephen King novels at any airport gift shop or laugh at Tom Cruise for being a dumb alien-worshiping Scientologist. So, kudos to H.P. Lovecraft.
However, while dripping cold virus into a mouse's nose, then gassing said mouse, cutting it up, and making smoothies out of its lungs sounds gross to the layperson, these techniques are pretty routine. Lots of people do similar stuff in the lab, and (with a few exceptions) their sanity remains intact. The only way my thesis project is going to drive me crazy is via boredom or frustration, not my stumbling upon its bizarre connection to slimy space deities. Hopefully nothing I do has anything to do with space-type SciFi nerd stuff. It's not like I'm one of these geeks who watches "Battlestar Galactica" or anything. Okay, MAYBE someone broke into my apartment and held my eyes open and forced me to watch last night's new episode with a gun to my head, but I was thinking about how I'm a badass who doesn't watch stuff like that EVER and not about how the crew of Lt. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace's Earth-seeking garbage ship or whatever were planning a mutiny. I mean, I don't know how I just wrote that...it just slipped out. It was an accident, I tell you, an accident! I DON'T watch "Battlestar Galactica" and I'm amazed you would think such a thing. ANYWAY! Back to H.P. Lovecraft and my thesis project. Talking about microbiology and the Cthulhu Mythos is totally going to make me seem substantially less dorky.
Per Lovecraft: Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men. A time will come - but I must not and cannot think!
Truly, the thought of Cthulhu rising up and grossing everyone out to death is a terrible one. Too bad Chingy! is already extant and doing just that. Chingy! may not telepathically communicate with the strange cults that secretly worship him to encourage his rising, but he has a sect of devoted followers nonetheless. As Chingy!'s human minder, I have been cursed with the status of high priestess in this cult, and let me say that only doom and sorrow awaits humanity upon spending some time with Chingy!, his bad attitude, and the ungodly smells that he produces. The idea of Chingy! waking up and taking on the world Cthulhu style is a grim one, indeed.
Per Lovecraft: from some undetermined point below had come a voice that was not a voice; a chaotic sensation which only fancy could transmute into sound, but which he attempted to render by the almost unpronounceable jumble of letters: "Cthulhu fhtagn."
I got to thinking about whether there is anything in my life that could qualify as "Lovecraftian," and frankly, only one thing springs to mind. This thing is disgusting, a source of unearthly horror and nastiness, and routinely drives me mad:
Yes, Lovecraftian horror at its most disgusting is alive and well in the form of Chingy! He is like Lovecraft's space god head-bitch-in-charge Cthulhu, who is basically a telepathic undersea Kraken with a lot of scales and tentacles destined to bring apocalypse with his awakening and subsequent move to dry land, in many ways. Observe the striking comparisons:
Chingy!
Cthulhu
Still not convinced? I'll just break out my analytical skills then.
1. Chingy! and Cthulhu spend most of their time asleep
Per Lovecraft: In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.
R'lyeh is where Cthulhu lives under the sea, and while Chingy! has never been to Lovecraft's version of Atlantis, he assuredly spends 99.99999% of his time "dreaming." And snoring. I assume that with all those tentacles on his face, Cthulhu is a snorer.
2. They're both disgusting, in manner and appearance.
Per Lovecraft: a sort of monster...of a form which only a diseased fancy could conceive. If I say that my somewhat extravagant imagination yielded simultaneous pictures of an octopus, a dragon, and a human caricature, I shall not be unfaithful to the spirit of the thing. A pulpy, tentacled head surmounted a grotesque and scaly body with rudimentary wings.
While Chingy! doesn't have scales or tentacles, and the thought of him possessing any kind of flight machinery is laughable given his sheer massiveness, but certainly his head could be described as "pulpy" and his body "grotesque."
3. Activity on either Cthulhu or Chingy!'s part yields tragic consequences for any humankind caught in the crossfire
Per Lovecraft: Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men. A time will come - but I must not and cannot think!
Truly, the thought of Cthulhu rising up and grossing everyone out to death is a terrible one. Too bad Chingy! is already extant and doing just that. Chingy! may not telepathically communicate with the strange cults that secretly worship him to encourage his rising, but he has a sect of devoted followers nonetheless. As Chingy!'s human minder, I have been cursed with the status of high priestess in this cult, and let me say that only doom and sorrow awaits humanity upon spending some time with Chingy!, his bad attitude, and the ungodly smells that he produces. The idea of Chingy! waking up and taking on the world Cthulhu style is a grim one, indeed.
4. Both emit revolting noises that defy conventional spelling.
Per Lovecraft: from some undetermined point below had come a voice that was not a voice; a chaotic sensation which only fancy could transmute into sound, but which he attempted to render by the almost unpronounceable jumble of letters: "Cthulhu fhtagn."
As I'm writing this, Chingy! is fast asleep on one of his many personal sofas (thanks to his devoted cult/dogsitters, he has like three personal beds to choose from, as well as a neverending selection of carob-chip and sandwich cookies from the Petco treat bar), and I'm pretty sure he's making a sound that could be characterized as "Cthulhu fhtagn." Either that, or "Cthulhu fhtagn" is an alternate spelling of CHONGAY CHONG!
5. Both emit revolting smells in addition to the aforementioned revolting noises.
Per Lovecraft: The odour rising from the newly opened depths was intolerable, and at length the quick-eared Hawkins thought he heard a nasty, slopping sound down there. Everyone listened, and everyone was listening still when It lumbered slobberingly into sight...There was a bursting as of an exploding bladder, a slushy nastiness as of a cloven sunfish, a stench as of a thousand opened graves, and a sound that the chronicler could not put on paper.
A thousand opened graves? More like ONE opened pug's mouth first thing in the morning. And don't get me started on the smells Chingy! can produce not associated with his breath. They are so disgusting as to defy prosaic description, although I would wager that "intolerable" and "slushy nastiness" give you an idea of what Chingy! is capable of.
6. The reality of Chingy! and Cthulhu are both capable of inducing insanity
Per Lovecraft: this test of my own sanity, wherein is pieced together that which I hope may never be pieced together again. I have looked upon all that the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me.
While Chingy! hasn't managed to fully ruin my appreciation for spring skies or summer flowers, he assuredly has driven me to the edge of reason with his tendencies to eat shit (literally), ejaculate on my apartment floor (thus prompting his neutering), and his love for destroying all of my prized personal possessions. If this dog isn't a test of my own sanity, I don't know what is.
Why Chingy! doesn't have a place in Lovecraft's pantheon of revolting gods, I'll never know. I guess not even Lovecraft's twisted mind could conceive of something so frightening and abhorrent as this beastly dog. Either that, or it was the one vision that finally did H.P. in before he could write a heavy-handed story about it.
CHONGAY CHONG, H.P. Lovecraft!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, epic geekery, gross, librophilia, nerd alert
Friday, March 28, 2008
Doggystyle glamour shots
It's been awhile since I've reminded you all what a pair of awesome dogs I have. Okay, CAESAR is awesome, and Chingy! is more along the lines of awesomely gross, but you get the idea. Last night the dogs were being especially cute so I took a couple pictures of them as they were occupying most of my bed.
I then decided to take some individual shots, primarily because I am always insecure on Caesar's behalf. Chingy!, being a generally bad dog who constantly disobeys, stinks, engages in shockingly revolting behavior (eating homeless guy shit, stamping ass prints on my friends' white pants, crapping on my kitchen floor immediately after being taken for a walk just to be a dick, unprovokedly ejaculating on my living room floor, etc.), has made it his life's mission to destroy every last bit of personal property I own, and yet somehow has still managed to command legions of fans (seriously, I once got FAN MAIL ADDRESSED TO CHINGY!), seems to get most of the attention here on RAZZY.org. Poor Caesar, who is a generally well-behaved, useful (at least in terms of stick-chasing and barking at the neighbors he inherently harbors deep distrust towards), and devastatingly handsome dog, gets way less press on this blog by virtue of his good dog status than that asshole Chingy!, so I figured I should take some shots of Caesar being adorable so he could claim his share of the love. Lord knows Caesar is more deserving, and last night he was giving some good dog face:
Because I am secretly a softhearted wimp (don't tell anyone, I don't want my reputation as a batshit crazy skank bitch ruined), I told Chingy! that I'd take a picture of him too. He was being a diva, though, and decided that as long as I'm going to call him an asshole, he would oblige by living up to the title:
If giving the camera a glimpse of his Eye of Sauron (a great eye, lidless, wreathed in flame) doesn't define class and elegance, I don't know what does.
CHONGAY CHONG, Caesar pictures!
[RAZZY Update: As if he knows I'm writing shit about him, Chingy! just came up, sneezed on me, and try to lay down on my MacBook keyboard. Fucking asshole!]
Labels: assholes, Caese Doggy Dogg, CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, gross
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
A gaggle of CHONGAY!s
You know how sometimes, when you're just about to wake up, you incorporate things from reality into the tail end of whatever dream you're having? This usually happens to me when my alarm starts going off, and I that horrible REE!-REE!-REE! alarm sound finds its way into my dream as a fire alarm or air raid siren or some other similarly disquieting noise, until I finally wake up and realize that it's something even more horrible: time to wake up. Well, this happened to me this morning, except I actually was jarred from slumber before my alarm went off. I dreamed I was gazing out my window in lab (dreaming about lab is a nightmare in itself) at saw flocks of Canadian geese practically blocking out the sun.
While some people might think that dreaming of migrating birds is pleasant, this was just as bad as amalgamating my clock radio with my sleeping subconscious. For starters, I'm from the P-N-Dub, and Canadian geese are as bad as fucking roaches. They're even meaner and more vicious than regular geese, and they shit EVERYWHERE. The Canadian geese situation is so severe in the P-N-Dub that there are literally Canadian goose death squads which go out with shotguns to thin the population enough to prevent them from taking over every golf course and public park in the entire Pacific Northwest. Generally, geese, swans, and other long-necked fowl in general are assholes. They honk and bite and will fuck you up if you get too close to them. Seeing the sky filled with geese reminds me more of a scene from The Birds than a pleasant experience. Furthermore, this dream reminded me of taking vertebrate biology in college. We were given several assignments to go out birdwatching and identify the various birds we saw flying around the Smith campus. I found these exercises so unbelievably boring that I'd usually just get stoned, sit by the pond, and make up sightings of birds from the Birds of Western Massachusetts handout the professor gave us. There is no joy in straining one's neck looking for a bunch of dumb birds flapping around, laying eggs, regurgitating vomit into their chicks' mouths, and whatever else dumb birds do to occupy their time.
Anyway, I woke up from this half-asleep dream to realize the source of inspiration for this geese-clouded nightmare. Guess what it was? OF COURSE it was Chingy!, softly honking with each contented snore right in my ear. That little SOB was probably dreaming about eating homeless guy shit in the park or something else he considers relaxing and fun. Truly, if there's anything more starkly terrifying than a swarm of Canadian geese invading Washington Heights, it's this:
Canadian geese got nothin' next to Chingy! when it comes to being fucking assholes. If I ever look out my lab window and see a sight like this, I'll just pray that these winged Chingy!s land in New Jersey, because that flying V would be more destructive and deadly than the Cloverfield monster if unleashed in the city.
CHONGAY CHONG, sweet dreams and migratory birds!
Canadian geese got nothin' next to Chingy! when it comes to being fucking assholes. If I ever look out my lab window and see a sight like this, I'll just pray that these winged Chingy!s land in New Jersey, because that flying V would be more destructive and deadly than the Cloverfield monster if unleashed in the city.
CHONGAY CHONG, sweet dreams and migratory birds!
Labels: assholes, CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, intentional buffoonery, NYC, oh the horror, sexy delicious animals
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Like Tupac said...
...you need a Pug in your life. Okay, maybe Tupac actually said "thug" instead of "Pug," but since Chingy! crawled up next to me and started snoring louder than the unmuffled Husqvarna chainsaw that spent several years during my childhood as my father's favorite power tool, I figured that he was being his usual attention-whore self and wanted me to take his picture with my MacBook webcam.
Apparently some people think this disgusting creature is cute. Okay, just MAYBE I think Chingy! is okay sometimes, and just maybe every once in a while he does something touching that makes me pet him and croon sweet CHONGAY CHONGs into his rank, tarry little ears, and just maybe I'd be devastated if anything ever happened to him, so I guess I can humor his request to show off his ugly mug here on this blog for the amusement of all you Chingy!philes out there.
Besides, Chingy! is in a posing mood, and it's probably because a new cycle of "America's Next Top Model" premieres tonight. I think ANTM exhausted its supply of potential top models long ago, because Chingy! is frankly better looking than 90% of the girls they've casted on the last few cycles. Now that I think of it, it would be awesome if Chingy! wound up on ANTM. I'd love to watch him leave anus prints all over the judging runway and sneeze contemptuously at Tyra while she instructs him on the finer points of "smiling with his eyes" and being "so wrong he's right." Besides, they always need a plus-sized model on there to prompt a few discussions with Tyra about maintaining a healthy body image, and I have no doubt that Chingy! is sufficiently portly to fall squarely in the Lane Bryant category. In fact, they could even replace Tyra's annoying ass with Chingy! The show would probably score record ratings, and if anyone knows how to displace sentiments of disgust and revulsion with a disarmingly photogenic ability to work the camera, it's Chingy!.
CHONGAY CHONG, Top Model!
Besides, Chingy! is in a posing mood, and it's probably because a new cycle of "America's Next Top Model" premieres tonight. I think ANTM exhausted its supply of potential top models long ago, because Chingy! is frankly better looking than 90% of the girls they've casted on the last few cycles. Now that I think of it, it would be awesome if Chingy! wound up on ANTM. I'd love to watch him leave anus prints all over the judging runway and sneeze contemptuously at Tyra while she instructs him on the finer points of "smiling with his eyes" and being "so wrong he's right." Besides, they always need a plus-sized model on there to prompt a few discussions with Tyra about maintaining a healthy body image, and I have no doubt that Chingy! is sufficiently portly to fall squarely in the Lane Bryant category. In fact, they could even replace Tyra's annoying ass with Chingy! The show would probably score record ratings, and if anyone knows how to displace sentiments of disgust and revulsion with a disarmingly photogenic ability to work the camera, it's Chingy!.
Labels: America's Next Top Model, CHONGAY CHONG, doggity style, gross, media whores
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Deadliest Pug
Yesterday it was very rainy, so I decided to deck Chingy! out in some weather-appropriate gear that one of his dogsitters bought for him. As if Chingy! isn't enough of an asshole, every time he goes to stay with one of his dogsitters, he returns with giant bags of treats, rawhides, bones (which are invariably appropriated by Caesar), personal furniture, toys, and doggity outerwear. I decided to see how Chingy! would like his rain slicker. As one might predict, Chingy! had zero interest in wearing this outfit out in the rain, and upon my putting it on him, returned to his previous position sleeping on my bed.
Somehow, I can't see Chingy! mining the vast and tempestuous Bering Sea for "red gold" like the ballsy crab fisherman of "Deadliest Catch." Chingy! is a far cry from the hotness that is Captain Sig Hansen, and he'd make for the laziest, least mobile, most useless greenhorn ever to set foot aboard the mighty F/V Northwestern. The only thing Chingy! would probably do right is the traditional Norwegian ritual of eating raw cod hearts to invoke favor with the gods of crabbing, and that's solely because Chingy! is known to love consuming disgusting shit. The only practical purpose I can see him serving on a boat is as ballast. His ass would be summarily fired, if he didn't get washed overboard first. Hell, even the Gorton's fisherman would probably fire him for sloth and incompetence, and the Gorton's fisherman is a made-up dude on a box of processed fish sticks.
CHONGAY CHONG, rain slicker!
CHONGAY CHONG, rain slicker!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, Deadliest Catch, doggity style, fat fucks, hilarious shit, ridiculous absurdity
Friday, February 08, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: wild turkeys in St. Nicholas Park
DOB: ???
Occupation: waddling around, Pug-ilism
Hometown: New York, New York
Current residence: New York, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: This morning as I was walking the dogs in the park across the street from my apartment, I was spending most of my time and attention throwing sticks for Caesar as usual. Chingy! usually just wanders around pissing on stuff, so I generally devote my attention to ensuring that Caesar gets exercised properly.
However, today I was distracted from my stick-throwing by something very unusual: a loud flapping noise coupled with the sound of enraged gobbling. I turned around to see Chingy!, his little snaggle teeth bared, facing off with a pair of wild turkeys. Why there are wild turkeys running around in St. Nicholas Park in the middle of Harlem, I have no idea, but they were not fans of Chingy!. These turkeys were strutting around, puffing up their feathers, and finally flapped away angrily. I didn't realize that wild turkeys can fly--or at least flap around in the air for short distances--but I got to see a demonstration proving that they indeed can as they tried to get the fuck away from Chingy! as he put on a hilarious show of intimidation tactics. I have to give the turkeys props for tolerating his standoffish, completely ridiculous bullshit as long as they did.
CHONGAY CHONG, wild turkeys!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, doggity style, sexy delicious animals
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
By popular demand
Except by "popular" I mean one person requested that I put an anti-Patriots slogan on my tits to commemorate their historic 18-1 season and Super Bowl XLII loss. Besides, it's Mardi Gras, and exposing one's breasts is a time-honored tradition.
Unfortunately, this didn't work out quite as well as the time I wrote pro-Pats slogans on my cans (because I lost a bet, not because I wanted to support the bastardly Patriots), because of a variable I didn't have to contend with when I took those photos over Christmas at my parents' house: CHINGY! As you can see by the splotches, he became very interested in the red lipstick all over my girls and noticed I was taking pictures. Apparently desiring to put the "fat" in "fat Tuesday," he wiggled under my left arm, smearing lipstick everywhere. He currently looks like he has some horrible wound on his side because there is a giant streak of cocksucker red on his fawn fur. Whether he did this just to disrupt my blogging or because he secretly loves the Pats (and as Chingy! is a grade-A fucking asshole, that wouldn't surprise me), I don't know, but anyway. I have to get to lab so I don't have time to redo it. Enjoy the boobs.
CHONGAY CHONG, Patriots losing and Razzy titty shots!
Unfortunately, this didn't work out quite as well as the time I wrote pro-Pats slogans on my cans (because I lost a bet, not because I wanted to support the bastardly Patriots), because of a variable I didn't have to contend with when I took those photos over Christmas at my parents' house: CHINGY! As you can see by the splotches, he became very interested in the red lipstick all over my girls and noticed I was taking pictures. Apparently desiring to put the "fat" in "fat Tuesday," he wiggled under my left arm, smearing lipstick everywhere. He currently looks like he has some horrible wound on his side because there is a giant streak of cocksucker red on his fawn fur. Whether he did this just to disrupt my blogging or because he secretly loves the Pats (and as Chingy! is a grade-A fucking asshole, that wouldn't surprise me), I don't know, but anyway. I have to get to lab so I don't have time to redo it. Enjoy the boobs.
CHONGAY CHONG, Patriots losing and Razzy titty shots!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, fuck the Pats, NFL football, nudity
Monday, January 28, 2008
Nothing says "murdering drug dealer" like this outfit
Meet William Torres. All I have to say is that it's a good thing Michael Kors isn't somehow involved in dispensing justice, because I can only imagine the snide remarks that would issue down from the bench to a defendant dressed like this:
He was just arrested in Allentown, Pennsylvania and charged with drug dealing and double homicide. He apparently didn't have a very high opinion of the cops' ability to catch him, because when they broke down his door and took him into custody, he didn't have time to change out of his giant fuzzy slippers. Seriously, each of those slippers looks like it should start belting out "In the ciiiiiiiircle of life, it's the wheel of fortune..."
Somehow, I don't think even the double murder rap he's facing is going to give him a lot of credibility with the hardened criminals down at the jail with that kind of footwear. Certainly if I were a violent felon looking to get my prison rape on I'd totally call first dibs on old Simba-slippers and make a beeline for the showers or the laundry room or wherever forcible sodomy between incarcerated criminals is wont to occur. I'm thinking William Torres is going to have a rough go of things if he can't post bail before his trial. Besides, it's not like those pussy feet have any air of real intimidation, like, say, THESE slippers would:
Frankly, no matter how long I'd been the slammer, I'd make a point to avoid dropping my soap anywhere near the vicinity of a dude wearing CHINGY! slippers, if only because they emit an aura of revulsion that can't be washed off.
CHONGAY CHONG, lion slippers!
Somehow, I don't think even the double murder rap he's facing is going to give him a lot of credibility with the hardened criminals down at the jail with that kind of footwear. Certainly if I were a violent felon looking to get my prison rape on I'd totally call first dibs on old Simba-slippers and make a beeline for the showers or the laundry room or wherever forcible sodomy between incarcerated criminals is wont to occur. I'm thinking William Torres is going to have a rough go of things if he can't post bail before his trial. Besides, it's not like those pussy feet have any air of real intimidation, like, say, THESE slippers would:
CHONGAY CHONG, lion slippers!
Labels: CHONGAY CHONG, comeuppance, crime and punishment, hilarious shit
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Sergio Cool Jew-Bagel
DOB: November 2007
Occupation: being sickeningly cute
Hometown: Covington, Louisiana
Current residence: casa de Cool Jew-Bagel, New Orleans, Louisiana
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I'm not so sick and depraved as to be into bestiality--especially not with puppies--so I don't really want to hit Sergio, but I simply had to weigh in on how FUCKING OBSCENELY, RIDICULOUSLY CUTE LL Cool Jew and BigBagel's new puppy is. I got a call from LL Cool Jew to check my e-mail a while back, and found this letter:
Hi,
My name is Sergio, and I am the newest member of the Cool Jew-Bagel family. I weigh about 2 pounds and like my new big sister, I am a long-hair chihuahua. I am about 9 weeks old and was born in Covington, La.
Here are some pictures of me.
In the first one, I am showing my ability to mug for the camera, or at the very least be really freaked out by that giant human shoving it in my face and making funny noises.
In the second photo, my new sister is showing how excited she is to meet me.
In the third photo, I take my first bath. It sucked.
In the final photo, there I am with the scary but warm lady who keeps making coo-ing noises.
Anyway, nice to meet you! I hope you make it to New Orleans soon to see me in person.Sergio is a hot, fluffy little piece. If my apartment weren't already overrun with dogs, I'd want one of those little 2-pound feather dusters for my very own. For one thing, it would be nice to have a small dog that is actually small (versus one that weighs in at a monstrous THIRTY pounds like Chingy! the Hutt, who is presently putting my feet to sleep and snoring loud enough to sound like a fucking wood chipper...CHONGAY CHONG, Sergio!). For another, I'm just a sucker for cute puppies. I can't wait until Sergio gets to meet his Auntie Razzy. Looks like a trip to New Orleans is in my near future.
-Sergio
Labels: BigBagel, Caese Doggy Dogg, CHONGAY CHONG, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, doggity style, LL Cool Jew, the D
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