Showing posts with label ten things i'm getting rid of. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ten things i'm getting rid of. Show all posts

Monday, December 29, 2008

TEN THINGS THAT WILL BE ILLEGAL WHEN AM I KING: PART TWO

SECOND: MOHAWKS ON SMALL CHILDREN

This may come as a shock to some of you, as I'm sure you've all assumed I make a living doing something like being a fabulous rock star or fighting crime with nothing but my cunning and my fists, but the reality is much more plain and embarassing: I work at Wal Mart. And with that job comes the harsh task of dealing with Wal Mart customers - Who just happen to be the absolute worst people in the world. A legion of slothful, half-crippled mental defectives; the worst sort of dog-kicking waterheads who in a just world would be pistol-whipped to death, because to use bullets would be a shameful waste of natural resources. And this is to say nothing of their unspeakable children.
But as much as I'd like to, I can't truly hate their children, or even wish for their horrible and violent deaths, because you see, I believe the children are our future. And if we can teach them well and show them all the beauty they possess inside, they just might lead the way. But I've noticed a dangerous new trend that has arisen among terrible white people in the last few years that threatens not only their futures, but the futures of all of us old folks, as well. It's a bizarre sort of development, in that it crosses all lines of social class, personal politics, and even race, just so long as you're only including terrible white people in your demographics. You see, no matter whether they're terrible white people who listen to Fall Out Boy or terrible white people who are into Toby Keith, whether their choice of terrible white people t-shirt slogan involves veganism, Jesus, the Insane Clown Posse, Barack Obama, Eli Manning, or even the blood-curdling phrase "who's your Baghdaddy?" they're all united by one thing:

They loves to give them kids some dang Mohawks.

And when I am king, I am stamping that shit right out.

WHY IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL:

Kids will always rebel. It's just what they do. And that sort of thing has snowballed over time, to the point where yesterday's rebellion is today's lame crap. I mean, if you came into the mall today, totally rocking greased-back hair to go with your black leather jacket and cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve of your white t-shirt or with a Dokken shirt, a teased mullet, and "bandanna boots" in full effect, they'd laugh you out of the place. You'd be shunned from society and forced to live in a cardboard box under a highway overpass somewhere, where people would pull over just to get out of their cars and poke you with sharp sticks for being such a lame pussy. Childhood rebellion is like the smell from a sink full of dirty dishes; it only grows stronger over time. But even through all of this, the mohawk has sort of existed outside of normal rebellion. Back in my day, the kids with the rat tails and magic marker-customized Bon Jovi jean jackets just got sort of a "those darn kids today" reaction, but mohawks were different.
The adult reaction to the mohawk over the years has been more along the lines of the way people in old movies would scramble to get off their front porches and run inside to peek through the curtains when some villain rode into town. That shit was dangerous, meant only for violent anarchists and professional wrestlers. Even on someone more or less righteous, like Mr. T, the mohawk signified that he was a serious man who would throw you through a window for any excess jibber-jabbering. But now, they've gone and made that shit mainstream. This begs the question: Once these kids get old enough to rebel against what their parents want them to be, where do they go from here? I mean, god damn, they've already got mohawks. I've thought long and hard about this, and I've come up with just two possibilities.
Possibility One: Anti-Rebellion - Faced with parental figures who want them to look like little Travis Bickles, they may figure that the only possible way to piss off their parents is to go to the extreme in the other direction. So when they get old enough, they'll style their hair conservatively, discover Jesus, get interested in golf and high finance, get a job with an oil company, and eventually get elected to Congress and start a thirteen-year war with Syria. Thanks a lot, soccer-mom.
Possibility Two: SUPER REBELLION - Rather than taking a turn in the opposite direction, they might charge forward on the Mohawk Path, becoming a super-powered, flesh-eating maniac; a man who eats broken glass like peanut brittle and shoots adorable puppies simply out of principle. These mohawked fiends will run roughshod over society, until someone like Batman or Robocop shows up to stop them. And since Batman and Robocop are fictional characters, we would be fucked.

THE PUNISHMENT:

That's an easy one. Take every one of those terrible white people and teach them a lesson. Take all those yuppies, rednecks, soccer moms, and other people whose most daring look to date has been wearing white after Labor Day, sit them down in a dang barber chair, and make them look something like this for no less than 12 months:



I'm guessing that it won't be so fucking "cute" when they have to be the one sporting the ridiculous hair, rather than living vicariously through their damn kids who have no choice in the matter.

Not that I actually like their kids or care about their well-being or anything; it's just the right thing to do.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

TEN THINGS THAT WILL BE ILLEGAL WHEN AM I KING: PART ONE

Introduction: This is a thing I was really planning on doing a Random Shit about, but never could bring myself to type out a whole long thing, so I figured I'd do it in installments here. So what that means is that it'll eventually get abandoned when I move on to bigger and better things, so just smile, nod, and enjoy the five-to-seven of these that I actually bother to type up.

FIRST: THE FORD MUSTANG.

This showed up on Google Image Search with he word "douche" under it, so I knew it was the picture to use.

THE REASON:
In case some of you had forgotten, on the eleventh of September in the year 2001, America suffered the largest attack on American soil in over fifty years, in a tragedy where 2,974 people lost their lives. In the years that have followed, new government agencies have been formed, wars have been fought, and entire ways of thinking have been changed in the hopes of preventing something like that from ever happening again. Meanwhile, the very next year, (2002, if you didn't know that) the number of highway fatalities in the United States reached the staggering number of 17,419 deaths, which is nearly six times the number of dead in the 9/11 attacks. And after careful scientific research of my own design, which has consisted mostly of driving around from place to place when I need to get some oatmeal or ham or something, I have determined to within a margin of error of 0.015% that every single one of these tragic deaths was caused by someone driving a Ford Mustang. It's simple a proven fact: Mustang drivers speed, they pull out in front of you in the rain, they make right turns from the left lane, they try to pass you ten feet before a stop sign, and chances are pretty good that they even hate freedom. Every day my life is subject to deadly danger at the hands of kids in these 3,500 pound death-missiles, who only seem to be driving for someone else's benefit; that is, Cody or Tyler or whatever yuppie-ass name the guy has probably figures that Amber or Skyler or whoever will be a lot more likely to put out if he just makes sure to bring her within a hair's-breadth of fiery incredible death at least once over the course of the night. Makes no sense, but it's true. If you doubt my research, go driving in a moderately-sized city on the days of Friday or Saturday after 5:00 PM. If you never have to stomp on the breaks or swerve to another lane to avoid a collision with a Mustang, it means one of two things: Either you forgot to swerve or stomp the brakes and were actually involved in an accident with one, or you're just a god-damnable liar. So the point I'm trying to make here stands, and will stand under any sort of scrutiny:

The Ford Mustang automobile is a greater threat to the safety of the nation than Islamic terrorists could ever hope to be.

And that, gentle reader, is why the Ford Mustang will be made illegal when I am king. What's that, you say? Mustang-drivery is merely the symptom of a larger problem, and the car itself is not to blame? Well, the act of baby stabbing is merely the symptom of a larger problem, yet baby-knives are still illegal, last time I checked. My logic is flawless. So yeah, the Mustang was a cool car in some ways, and I guess it had a good run there for a while, but I'm sorry, it's time for it to go.

THE PUNISHMENT:
From now on, in addition to having their chests forever marked with a damning letter M, (for Mustang) all current Mustang drivers will now be forced to drive one of these:

Well, unless it's a gay Mustang driver, in which case I'll give them some naked lady mud flaps or something.
My word is law, and I have spoken, for I am The King.

NEXT TIME: Mohawks on small children.