RazzyBlog

Guess what? Noel Gallagher had a great idea for Bono back in 2007. Play "One" and shut the fuck up about Africa. That idea might be three years old, but it's still as timely as ever, now that Bono fancies himself the next Thomas L. Friedman and has taken it upon himself to encourage Times readers' participation in his dumb New Year's resolutions. Take a gander at this aberration and see if you want to follow the lead of a media whoring asshole so delusional he apparently thinks that egregiously making multiple self-referential "rock star" comments is self-deprecating.

Labels: assholes, celebrities, I HATE Bono, media whores, retard rage, scathing indictments

# posted by Razzy @ 10:52 AM 2 Comments Links to this post

That said, at least a teacher inventing an infuriatingly overpriced vitamin C supplement is still better than hearing that A SINGLE MOM (!!!) invented some kind of fabulous breakthrough in tooth-whitening or weight loss by accident. Granted, there are many women who are mothers as well as competent scientists. If you are talking about Dr. Carol Greider, who was awarded this year's Nobel prize in medicine and physiology and who also has a couple kids, then I might believe that she came up with such a novel discovery. However, the notion that motherhood alone is somehow so superior to rational scientific research that random single moms discover bullshit in ten minutes of their spare time is ludicrous and offensive. If child-bearing is qualification enough to make a person a credible inventor of fabulous new technologies, then any of the following people may as well have accidentally tripped and fallen on the ultimate secret to tooth-whitening:

Yeah, I'm sure Kendra or Britney are likely to stumble upon a cure for AIDS now that they've joined the ranks of intellectual elite by ejecting progeny from their wombs. I'm sure that when Stephenie Meyer isn't encouraging teenage girls to devote themselves unquestioningly to chaste, sparkling Mormon vampires, she dabbles in developing a unified field theory of physics. And that when Courtney Love isn't overwhelming Twitter with incoherent ranting, she's whipping up a time machine. That's plausible...because that's what happens when, despite your intellect or your maternal skills, you squeeze out a rugrat to annoy me with. Your vagina gets used as a human egress, and you become an instant genius.

What's even better is that, per countless other sidebar and pop-up ads, I've been informed that Obama would like to enhance our nation's inventive capacity by sending MOMS TO SCHOOL. After all, if being a mother alone is sufficient for being an innovator on par with Thomas Edison, then imagine how Obama's post-partum educational mandate will produce a veritable technology boom. Bitches are going to be discovering cold fusion and establishing the existence of the hypothesized Higgs boson in between making peanut butter sandwiches and turning on Spongebob Squarepants. Even worse, childless underachieving losers like myself will probably be out of work.

And it's just as well, because I'm obviously NOT qualified to make fabulous discoveries anyway. For example, I always thought moms were women with children. It turns out they were Jesus-esque, hirsute, barechested, male indigents this whole time:

Labels: destroy all children, gross, ranting, scathing indictments

# posted by Razzy @ 9:18 PM 5 Comments Links to this post

Oh, NO!!!! Now the rest of Europe might have to wait a day or two before they can plunk down their $250 to watch a gigantic Blackberry ad. Maybe Bono can do something about this. After all, he is singlehandedly solving Africa's poverty, political upheaval, and AIDS crises. However, when reached for comment after just stepping down from his private jet in Nice, France, Africa's savior sent his PR flunky out to throw down some bullshit about how the band feels "pure disappointment. It's just really put a damp squib (that is Irish for sponge, not a person with non-magical abilities born to wizarding stock) on something that was a fantastic experience and a fantastic show." He forgot to add, "It's treasonous for anyone of Irish heritage to disrupt, piss off, disappoint, mock, disparage, or otherwise speak in non-reverent tones about U2, and these freedom haters will be summarily labeled enemy combatants and sent to the Irish equivalent of Gitmo. Well, if such a thing existed anyway."

Clearly Bono, The Edge, and whatever other stupidly-named Irishmen are in U2 are devastated. However, Bono is mostly likely taking life's lemons and using them to make lemonade for those legions of starving, AIDS-ridden Africans he likes to lecture everyone about. Or maybe just being so incredibly disappointed that he can barely enjoy any of the earthly delights the French riviera has to offer. This is clearly what an extremely depressed megalomaniac with delusions of messianic grandeur looks like:

Poor Bono. I guess he'll have to drown his sorrows in a combination of sanctimonious lectures about the excesses of the developed world and some random Katy Perry-meets-Zoey Deschanel cooze. I mean, Bono knows hard times, and nothing is harder than depriving continental Europe of halfassed, corporate-retooled performances of "With or Without You" and "One." Oh, the humanity!

Labels: assholes, international intrigue, media whores, retard rage, scathing indictments

# posted by Razzy @ 9:42 AM 3 Comments Links to this post

HIV, fags, and tranny fuckers doing straight scenes in this business

So the time has came. Huge HIV break out in Los Angeles and I dont even live or run a business there any more hahahha. THANK GOD.

I have posted countless times about this issue and I want it to be known because the real news is about to come out.
I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO. I TOLD YOU ALL SO.

When you have a faggot agent that rep's trannies and faggots as well as more straight girls in this business than anyone you are asking for it. I am sitting in Florida laughing my ass off at all the idiots in LA that hire trannyfuckers for straight scenes and fag male talent for straight scenes. I wont even book from girls from the fags anymore because I have no need to and everyone that knows the agencies in LA know who I am talking about. All I can say is I feel bad for the victims of others stupidity, but I TOLD YOU ALL SO.

Anyone want some content from a place where we dont hire fags or trannyfuckers to fuck straight girls and or have HIV problems HIT ME UP!

Labels: epidemic geekery, porn, retard rage, scathing indictments, viruses rule

# posted by Razzy @ 10:22 AM 6 Comments Links to this post

Labels: celebrities, feminazism, media whores, ranting, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts

# posted by Razzy @ 12:40 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Labels: assholes, destroy all children, ranting, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts, TV

# posted by Razzy @ 2:51 AM 3 Comments Links to this post

The prospect of Kate's stretch marks alone should be considered a mitigating factor in Jon's adultery.  And you know this bitch hasn't given him a BJ in ten years (if ever.)  Instead, she uses her mouth to constantly berate and belittle him, so I can understand how a frustrated little fella like Jon might eventually get frustrated and look for a less fortified, non-industrial strength vagina to scribble on with his golf pencil.  I don't blame him for making like the Ying Yang Twins and deciding that he's sick and tired of listenin' at ya naggin'.  In these pictures from the past weekend, you can almost hear Kate's shrewish bossing-around.

And in this picture, you can almost see Jon's lips forming the words "you fucking cunt":

Labels: assholes, destroy all children, media whores, oh the horror, retard rage, scathing indictments, sluts, TV

# posted by Razzy @ 7:11 AM 0 Comments Links to this post

Dear Fake Bruce Hornsby,

For some time now, I have been enduring your presumptuous stomping on my ceiling whenever you perceive a stray bit of noise coming from the direction of my apartment.   I am constantly amazed by the acuity of your hearing, as you have on occasion woken me up with your imperative, obnoxious floor-pounding.  I can only assume that in such situations, your exquisitely sensitive audio detection skills have made it possible for my restful breathing to annoy you.  Either that, or you for some reason expect me to act as your emissary to any of my neighbors who might have the audacity to listen to music, watch television, open and close the doors in their apartments, and generally make the noise that occurs in the course of living.  Once a couple years ago you complained to me about one of my neighbors slamming a door too loudly for your taste, and still seemed to think that was somehow my responsibility despite my informing you that the door slammer was not myself. 

I am certainly not suggesting that I don't make any noise.  I listen to my stereo at a reasonable volume during daytime hours (never late at night), and have never had any complaints from any of my other neighbors.   In fact, if my other neighbors did ask me to turn it down (which again, they never have), I would gladly comply.  When you first asked me to turn it down, I did so.  I even accommodated your podiatric demands for lower volume when you have stomped so frequently and with such ardor that my light fixture rattled and it sounded as though a rehearsal for Riverdance was occurring in your apartment.  

Sometimes I listen to the stereo more often than I normally would, as I need it to drown out the incessant cacophony of jam-session jazz that pours down from your apartment on a regular basis.  As long as I'm being forced to suffer through your meandering, uninspired compositions whenever you get a hankering to practice, I figure I can at least block it out with something I enjoy.  I've heard you say numerous times that you are a "musician," as if this somehow means that you can commit noise pollution as a matter of professional necessity and everyone else has to not only tolerate it, but provide you with a quiet atmosphere in which to craft your ghastly generic jazz-flavored non-masterpieces.  

Granted, given the fact that you live in this dilapidated tenement and the fact that you apparently don't have a studio to practice in, your music career hasn't exactly been successful.  I feel slightly sorry for your pathetic attempts to parcel together what scraps of a career you can at any and all hours of the night.  However, since your tired, desperate grasps for relevance involve me being forced to aurally consume a largely rejected product such as your entire piano repertoire, I am completely justified in instead choosing to listen to something that the market apparently finds much more palatable, including such multi-platinum-selling artists as Lil' Wayne, T.I., T-Pain, and R. Kelly.  And Morrissey.  And Lionel Richie.  And Metallica.  You even got stomping mad about Chopin Nocturnes, and I really honestly can't think of anything quieter and less intrusive than those. 

Therefore, please believe that from now on, when you start composing your next dissonant snorefest of elementary jazz chord progressions, I will turn on my stereo JUST LOUD ENOUGH to drown you out so that I can exist in peace in my apartment.  I will not respond to any future stomping, except by possibly adjusting the volume accordingly.  And if you like, you can call the landlord, because I'm more than happy to explain that I'm not the only one who likes music around here.  However, good luck getting building management to care, since I'm moving in three weeks.  I am sure after that, you will enjoy the dulcet tones of ten loud construction workers gutting and converting the apartment into an illegal one-bedroom so that the landlord can fleece some poor college student WHO ALSO LIKES RAP AND/OR ROCK MUSIC AND/OR ANYTHING BESIDES ORDINARY, SOPORIFIC, INTERMINABLE HIPPIE JAZZ PIANO PIECES.

In short, sir, I demand that you cease stomping immediately.

Regards,

The Bitch Directly Downstairs From You 

6E,

From now on, whenever you rudely stomp on your floor/my ceiling in response to my music, I will turn said music up.  If I have to tolerate your music, you can tolerate mine in return.  Feel free to complain about it, because I'm moving in three weeks anyway.

Regards,

5E

Labels: assholes, Harlem world, overcompensation, ranting, Razzification, retard rage, scathing indictments

# posted by Razzy @ 3:58 PM 6 Comments Links to this post

Star magazine just advised me that Douchebag of the Geological Epoch John Mayer is planning to write a tell-all about his relationship with Jennifer Aniston.

I think it's now official that John Mayer is the worst human being in the world.  Not because he's writing a tell-all, which I'm sure will be excellent reading should you ever find yourself having a hard time falling asleep.  I can only imagine what sort of tawdry tales he can tell about how Jennifer Aniston's leathery old ass spends all her time being vain and obnoxious.  I'm sure I will be blown away when John Mayer regales us with the scandalous details of how an aging TV actress desperate to sustain her own relevance spends all her time doing yoga with some $400-an-hour private instructor.  NO FUCKING WAY, John Mayer!   STOP THE FUCKING PRESS!!

Labels: celebrities, John Mayer sucks, librophilia, ranting, Razzification, retard rage, scathing indictments

# posted by Razzy @ 4:21 PM 1 Comments Links to this post

When I travel, I have a ritual that I almost always perform. I stop at the airport gift/book/junk food/drugstore, and purchase a trashy piece of reading material. This is the only time I allow myself to read crappy paperback bestselling works of fiction. I prefer books with murders, sex, and an utterly predictable mystery to solve, particularly the Mother Goose-inspired titles of James Patterson. I’ve also been known to indulge in some Stephen King and John Grisham from time to time. Sometimes this ritual works out well, and by “well” I mean I enjoy this guilty pleasure, I finish the book right around the time my flight is landing, leave it in the pocket of the seat in front of me with the SkyMall for the next passenger to enjoy, and immediately forget about whatever the cookie cutter plot was. Sometimes it doesn’t work out so well, such as the times that I’ve made the foolish mistake of reading anything by Dan Brown. When I read Angels and Demons, I was literally reminding myself that audibly cursing out a book on a plane surrounded by strangers is probably not a good idea, even if said book is as offensively retarded as Angels and Demons.

When I decided that, in spite of the A&D debacle, I was going to read The Da Vinci Code, it was even worse. I had some hippie computer programmer with a fucking ponytail hitting on me via incomprehensible jokes about coding in Perl and inviting me on sailing trips through the San Juans on one side, and The Da Vinci Code pissing me off with every poorly composed page in front of me. I was only reading The Da Vinci Code because so many people, including ones who normally don’t read these types of books, were talking about this shit like it was the best thing since the Bible, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. As I read, I grew angrier and angrier that The Da Vinci Code, which I rated as the literary equivalent of a frost-bitten Lean Cuisine chicken cordon bleu , was something that a significant number of people had recommended to me as both mindblowingly awesome and educational. I was insulted that Dan Brown conned a lot of otherwise intelligent people into believing that a bland, patronizing, Grail Quest-flavored retelling of a Learning Annex art appreciation course is some sort of phenomenal contribution to the canon of great literature. I thought that after enduring The Da Vinci Code without either falling into some state of catatonia or murdering anyone, I had suffered enough. And then last month, I wandered into the Hudson News at JFK and purchased a book that made The Da Vinci Code look like War and Peace

That book, which may be the single worst book I’ve ever read, is called Twilight.

In case you aren’t a fat, ugly, bespectacled adolescent preteen girl and you didn’t notice hordes of the same swarming your local theater a few months back, you might not know about Twilight. It’s a Mormon vampire fantasy with legions of extremely dedicated tween girl fans. I normally don’t read books for children because I hate kids, and I normally avoid vampire stories, because I don’t care about what annoying goth fruitcakes get up to when they’re not exsanguinating random bitches.  I assume shopping for crushed velvet frocks or appropriately spooky wine goblets for their decrepit old mansions and castles, listening to "Toccata and Fugue," and practicing their Transylvanian accents.  However, several of my friends liked this trash, so I decided to give it a try.  After all, I’d spoken derisively at length about Harry Potter, but after reading it became a serious HP nerd so dedicated that I cut in front of children at the Lincoln Center Barnes and Noble TWICE trying to get my copy of book 7 . Maybe I’d likewise be pleasantly surprised by Twilight. At least I expected that it would at worst be solid trashy plane reading.

WRONG. Twilight sucks. Actually, “sucks” isn’t strong enough. Twilight is so bad that the very word should be stricken from the English language. I’d be happy to exclusively say “dusk” just to ensure that nothing could remind me of the mind-numbingly horrific experience of reading this shitty fucking abomination of a novel.  I think I would probably rather read The Notebook fifty times without stopping than Twilight once. I hate Twilight so much that I’m tempted to bring my copy into lab and destroy it with whatever kind of hardcore acid we have in our "Corrosives" cabinet.   Actually, I’d like to piss on Twilight before burning it and destroying the ashes with acid.  In fact, I think the actual paper the book is printed on is begging me to do so.  The book is that fucking appallingly terrible.

For starters, the story’s narrator, the protagonist Bella, is the dumbest bitch I’ve ever encountered in the world of fiction, and that includes legendary dumb bitches like Daisy from The Great Gatsby.  Daisy looks like a damn rocket scientist next to this hooker.  Bella spends the entire book pining away after Edward, her obnoxious vampire boyfriend.  In fact, Bella seems to have no interest in anything whatsoever besides obsessing over Edward.  Occasionally she takes a break from figuring out how to better craft her entire reason for living around her statuesque undead paramour to do some domestic chores around the house, but that's about it.  What kind of a personality devoid loser does fucking dishes and laundry for fun when she's not devoting herself slavishly to some dumbass guy?  Not any slag I would be rolling with.  The minute Edward and all the other devastatingly sexy vampires roll onto the scene, I was hoping one of them would bite the fuck out of Bella and call it a day, because I was so sick of reading Bella's utterly idiotic musings like "there's no way this godlike creature could be meant for me", "I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him," and (my favorite) "you're exactly my brand of heroin."  Oh, bitch, please.  Save it for some bad poetry in your diary and get a life, and that's real talk. 

The only sensible thing Bella does in the entire book is show disdain for Forks, Washington, where most of the action takes place. I have been to Forks on several occasions, and if given a choice between eternity there or in Hell, I'd strongly consider Hell.  It's a tiny, piece of trash town with absolutely no redeeming qualities, which is apparently why domesticated (ie: non-people-eating) vampires like living there.  There's not a lot of sun (which just causes the vampires to glitter like a bunch of really attractive disco balls, but it's apparently really obvious and distracting) and the place is populated exclusively with ignorant hicks, so it's clearly a great place for a clan of statuesque Volvo-driving (seriously) Mormon vampires to blend in.   Just as a further indication of the type of people living in Forks, the teenagers in the book all take time out from their parents by cruising over to La Push.  My family spent a couple summer vacations salmon fishing at this fetid shitshow of a Quileute reservation town, and those were the crappiest summer vacations ever.  La Push was always cold, I invariably got seasick from being on the north Pacific in my uncle's 20-foot Bayliner, and the beach was covered with broken glass, because the kids in La Push do what every other bored-ass teenager from a crappy economically depressed town: drink cooking wine stolen from the coolers outside tourist fishermen's RVs and smash the bottles on the beach.  This happened like four times before it occured to my aunt to keep her salmon poaching-grade chardonnay inside the trailer...and yes, note that we were the "rich," faincy out-of-towners and we were worried about losing four jugs of Gallo from outside the RV, which should give you an idea of how classy the denizens of La Push actually are.  However, that's not the way the kids roll in Twilight.  They go to the beach and there isn't a drop of liquor anywhere in sight.  They build beach fires and look at tide pools.  Those aren't the drunken Forksian/La Push hicks I remember.  UNREALISTIC.  FAIL, STEPHENIE MEYER, FAIL!

Apart from the lame setting and lead characters, Twilight may actually be one of the most poorly written, relentlessly cheesy novels I've ever read.  Half the fucking book is this bitch Bella gushing about how incomparably gorgeous her vampire boyfriend is, and how she literally faints when he pecks her on the cheek.  The rest is them exchanging lame dialogue while they smell each other because that's about as hot and heavy as they can get.  Apparently, though he is a boring Volvo-driving vampire who only eats random wild animals, making out too passionately with Bella will cause him to lose control and eat her.  Clumsy teenage boning is thus definitely out of the question.  So instead they just snuggle and sniff each other and have lame exchanges like this:

I could feel his cool breath on my neck, feel his nose sliding along my jaw, inhaling.

"I thought you were desensitized."

"Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," he whispered.  "You have a very floral smell, like lavender...or freesia," he noted.  "It's mouthwatering."

Seriously, dumb vampire, that is not the smell of your fucking destiny.  It's the smell of a $7.99 bottle of Bath and Body Works lotion.  Get with the century, loser.  And as long as Edward is learning about modern customs, he might read up on how the women of the present regard STALKING.  This moron vampire actually tells stupid-ass Bella that he fucking hangs out in a tree and watches her sleep every night.  Instead of being creeped out and ordering him the hell out of her life, Bella, again demonstrating her total and utter lack of any sense or intelligence whatsoever, thinks it's fucking cute and endearing after he assures her that she repeats an endless litany of "Edward" in her sleep.  Then again, I would expect no less from a bitch so completely clueless she refers to NyQuil as "gratuitous drug use" and thinks exchanging body odor with her man is hot.  Granted, I like a man to be on top of his hygiene and smell nice, but at the end of the day I want a dude who I can blow without him either whining about how dangerous he is or trying to exsanguinate me.  That's something Edward can fucking work on, and it shouldn't be THAT hard if he's so "godlike."

I could probably rage on about this abortion of a novel for hours, but I have to get back to work on my thesis, and frankly, I'm not sure the internets are big enough to contain all my anti-Twilight hatred.  I'll just try to work on getting my breathing and heart rate under control, and leave you with a reminder that all the bitches who love this trash look like this:

Before you start criticizing me for knocking on these children, let me remind you all that I am a huge nerd.  I can tell you that Gandalf's sword is named Glamdring.  I know Hermione Granger's middle name.  I can tell you who Cthulhu is and that in his house of R'lyeh he waits dreaming.  And I've been remiss with the posts lately because I'm on the home stretch doctorate in science.  My nerdiness is well-established, and is in fact my profession.  However, I am like the fucking captain of the cheerleading squad in comparison to these fugly, custom-shirt-crafting losers.  Even when I was a poetry-writing, morbidly depressed, Sylvia Plath-reading baby dyke wearing hideous Eddie Bauer fleece pullovers and ill-fitting Salvation Army khakis I was like a prom queen compared to these bitches in terms of our respective spots on the social hierarchy.  These are the bottom of the high school barrel.  These are the kids who lettered in band and got jackets made anyway.  They were the kids who you thought you would rather be stretched on the rack than kiss.  The ones who had bad skin and smelled weird and still wore stirrup stretch pants long after the early 90s were over.  They are the ones who read Twilight.  Don't be one of them!  Leave sexless Mormon vampire romance novels on the shelf (or better yet, the garbage can) where they belong!

Labels: destroy all children, epic geekery, librophilia, nerd alert, pro-apocalyptic zeitgeist, ranting, retard rage, scathing indictments

# posted by Razzy @ 8:29 AM 9 Comments Links to this post

 

Wait...Time magazine's business writers have decided to blame GOD for the imminent Greater Depression about to swallow the entire civilized world? I can understand why people still solvent enough to enjoy luxuries like print magazines read The Economist these days instead of Time, because that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. It's not like God took a break from being omnipotent to moonlight as an unscrupulous broker at Countrywide. Rolling my eyes, I went to the article expecting to continue audibly scoffing at my laptop. 

Instead of continuing to think about the author's stupidity, however, I was instead filled with annoyance and anger not at the author, but at those goddamned irritating evangelical Christians!  Apparently, this bullshit is all their fault thanks to something called the "Prosperity gospel"  that a bunch of them subscribe to.  This is the notion that if you open your wallet to Christ so that your megachurch can buy a new IMAX screen for in-service laser shows praising Cheese-Sauce Crasst, you'll be rewarded by getting approved for a mortgage that you can't afford and will assuredly default on should the economy take a downturn–kind of like the precipitous faceplant it's doing now!   

Granted, this policy isn't explicitly stated by most evangelical ministers.  However, an expert interviewed for the article explained that this is spelled out in facile Jesus-flavored suggestions that even the most slow-witted Pentecostal Joe Sixpack can understand: 

"The pastor's not gonna say, 'Go down to Wachovia and get a loan,' but I have heard, 'Even if you have a poor credit rating, God can still bless you — if you put some faith out there [that is, make a big donation to the church], you'll get that house or that car or that apartment.'"

The Catholic church was practicing the medieval equivalent of this back in the day, except instead of the faithful donating their cash for corrupt ministers to buy Mercedes to snort meth and bang underage boys in, the faithful donated their farthings for corrupt clergymen to maintain lavish residences for their mistresses and instead of being promised home ownership, they were promised a guaranteed spot in heaven.  Eventually, even the feudal peasants (the Joe Sixpacks of their time) of the Middle Ages caught on that this was a bullshit scam, and hence Protestants exist at all.  I'm just relieved that this time around the Catholics have nothing to do with all hell breaking loose.  Luckily, we learned our lesson about the dangers of selling indulgences six centuries ago.  Too bad these holy rolling heretics aren't up on their history, because if they had been maybe they wouldn't have tried to better their own financial situations via this Prosperity gospel bullshit and caused the global credit markets to fucking fail.

I am obviously a Christian being that I count myself among the O.G. Jesus worshipers.  Since the most holy and apostolic JP Dos was running things over at the Holy See, I was encouraged that we'd finally gotten past doing globally destructive bullshit like starting centuries-long holy wars and torturing Jews, intellectuals, and anyone else who did things slightly differently.  Unfortunately, it seems these evangelicals have picked up where we Catholics left off in the global shitshow department.   All these evangelicals love to talk about how awesome the apocalypse is going to be, and how great it's going to be when Jesus returns.  I wouldn't get too excited if I were them, because frankly, if I were Jesus, I'd be getting so sick of my followers perpetrating worldwide catastrophic disaster in my name that if I had to get off my ass and leave heaven because of it, I'd just wipe the troublesome losers off the map like John McCain wants to do with our nation's bad mortgages.  So quit doing anything in Jesus's name except praying, because I don't want to get Armageddoned along with economically fucked thanks to the investment strategies of the fundamentalist devout.

Labels: assholes, capitalism, Catholicism, crazies, Dear God, ranting, retard rage, scathing indictments

# posted by Razzy @ 8:21 AM 2 Comments Links to this post

Labels: Dear God, nerd alert, scathing indictments, science

# posted by Razzy @ 6:43 AM 0 Comments Links to this post