Happy New Year

As we usher in a new year I feel that I have taken enough time to reflect and look back at the year that was 2007. It was a year of ups and downs and I feel like I was able to come out smelling like roses as always. Around this time of year people seem to send it in and compile lists of what they found to be the best and worst that happened. I am no different and my laziness knows no boundaries. So I would like to share my best and worst of 07.

BEST

• Peanut butter
• Boobs
• Big Buck Hunter
• Drinking the souls of the non believers
• AC Slatering
• Jack Daniels
• Time Machines
• Unicorns
• Steak
• Cage fighting
• Golden State Warriors
• Jebus

WORST

• Pirate Ninjas
• Handjobs
• Rehab (it is for quitters)


That’s just a way for me to summarize what I think about this year and what made it so special for me. The only thing that I have to do now is decide on my resolution and right now it is a tie. Should I quit smoking or stop trying to search for the fountain of youth? That question has haunted me for weeks.

I farted and poo went everywhere

I own a few log cabins in different regions of the world. I usually go to these cabins by myself. One reason is that I can really just allow myself to enjoy nature in its most primitive form. Another reason is that I freak the fuck out when I do a lot of peyote and it is best that people aren’t around me. Last night I was enjoying a Elk steak dinner at one of these cabins (I would tell you where if it wasn’t for the Pirate Ninjas) when I felt a little butt bubble brewing down below. As I have already said I was alone. So I executed the half cheek tilt maneuver and let out what I was planning on being an award winning fart. How wrong I was. The second that the fart started to happen I knew I was in trouble. There was an overwhelming feeling that a fart should not feel like that. It felt a lot like something else. It felt like I had shat myself. Low and behold I had guessed correctly. There is an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness when something like that happens to you. Even if the bathroom is five feet from you the irreparable psychological damage has already been done. It made me think a lot about my mortality and getting older. Once I reach the age when it has become a daily occurrence that this could happen to me, I need to pull the plug. I will probably kill myself in some heroic fashion. Perhaps, a Viking funeral while I am still alive. Either that, or I could try to make a better effort to bring an extra pair of undies and stop doing massive amounts of peyote.

Merry Christmas Assholes

There I said it.

I did it again

I just hate it when I do this. I woke up this morning and was in a bit of a hurry to get to the terror dome. So tired in fact, that I had no idea I had put my underwear on backwards. Well, once I got out of my car I was quite positive I did. The first indicator is a general uncomfortable feeling that is on par with a wedgie. The underwear just doesn’t seem to be acting right. The second indicator is the unwelcome draft in the area of your butthole. All of a sudden you feel naked, almost vulnerable. For a man like me to feel vulnerable takes a lot, and having your underoos on backwards does that. I just need to be better equipped at handling this type of matter and I think I have found the answer. From now on I am only going to wear bicycle shorts for underwear. Think about the simplicity of this. Never again will the mistake be made of putting them on the wrong way. The front and the back are the same! I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this earlier. There is going to be a cost involved in purchasing said bike shorts but I think that the results down the road will more than pay for them. I am sure that many of you may laugh at my ingenuity, but who is going to be laughing when I can break into a dead sprint at any time, with little wind resistance? Yeah, that’s right, me. Good luck when the aliens or pirate ninjas invade.

Look whose back

I hate you Wednesday.

Do you ever get the feeling

That there is a merciless band of Pirate Ninjas chasing you, hellbent on destroying the lives of you and your loved ones by any means neccessary, thirsty for blood and willing to sacrafice their lives to take yours. I feel that way all the time.

What do I want

I never know what I want for lunch. I always feel hungry at lunch time but I never really have anything jump out and say “eat me you large female sexual reproductive organ.” I wish food did that, because I would eat that food specifically for its assertiveness. Maybe it’s because I have eaten food that is so exotic everyday normal food seems boring. You try comparing seared griffin meat to a lunchable. There is no comparison. I guess what I am saying is that I would like my own cook. If somebody was making stuff before I had a chance to pick something I am going to eat it. It would also be nice to bring home my kills and have them prepared by a trained professional. I would love to swap recipes for preparing Brontosaurus. Yes, I hunt, kill, and eat dinosaurs. What I really want is to not have to sit here and use up my precious thinking juice (jack daniels) on matters such as this. With my looming presidential campaign and avoiding female rapists daily, I don’t have time for matters such as cooking. Would someone please just help me decide what I want everyday for lunch? I’ll be your best friend.

Read my lips…More new taxes

If I am elected President that is exactly what is going to happen. I know that many people in the past have made that completely unattainable promise to the American public in the hopes of receiving more votes. Well I would like to follow in the footsteps of Abraham Lincoln in that I will not tell a lie, not for the creepy beard part. I don’t think that I have to emulate the man that much. The thing is that I have to be honest, because once I am in office things are going to change drastically. First things first, I am going to bring all the troops home. I will need to bring them home in order to surround the White House and Camp David with enough security during both work and play. Why would I need the entire fighting forces of America to protect me? That’s because I am sure some of my choices will not be taken very well both at home and abroad. I plan on raising the taxes for all Americans in order to fund the remodel of the White House. Let’s face it, it has grown outdated and tacky. I propose a 100 level mega White House with turret guns and a moat filled with great white sharks and porcupines. Nothing says America like animal abuse and guns. The next step is to build a telescope on the moon. Sooner or later Aliens are going to attack us. We need to be able to prepare for an attack in any way that we can, and I think that this telescope idea is a real winner. I bet those aliens think twice about trying to come down and drop a sneak attack on us. Trust me people. Aliens are secretive and shady when it comes to relations with humans. Finally, I am going to change the length of term from 4 years to life, so that I can safely see that all my ideas come to fruition. This will use plenty of taxpayer money for bribes and other types of dealing to make this a reality. Oh yeah, and if we have some time we are going use some of those taxes to help the environment or something like that. Can I let you in on something? That is going to cost money, a whooooole bunch of money.

BURT 08’

This lady owes me money

ohhhhh......MURP!

I am ashamed of you Murp. When somebody says that the cab is out front and "I'll wait for you", it usualy means that you wait. SHAME on you MURP ....SHAME.....what happened? Did you find true love? It pains me that our friendship has gotten to this point. Remeber when you broke up with that whore Wendy? Who was there for you? Me MURP......ME. It's hard for me to get mad at you, because i know that I you know the illegal kung-fu shit that i did back in NAM.....ooooopssss. Anyhoo, just worried about you.

PS Wendy's preggers! ;)

Vote for Burt

After careful thought and consideration I have decided to run for President of the United States. It will be a hard fought campaign that will go to any length to destroy the competition. I will discuss my platform and opponents weaknesses as we head to the election. Please let me know about your concerns and how much money you are willing to pay me to see that those concerns get addressed.

You guys are a bunch of sissies

For those of you who follow sports this is a momentous day. In a few hours the Mitchell report will be delivered. Senator George Mitchell will present his findings on his 2 year investigation of steroid use in Major League Baseball. The part of this report that has received the most attention is that some 50-70 players are to be named as steroid users. Many have speculated as to the type of big names that could be mentioned in this report. You know what I think? That anybody who used steroids is a gigantic vagina.

What ever happened to the days of old? When did we start to eschew the typical training techniques that worked for years? I’ll tell you what happened. People got soft. I remember when people used to chop down trees with their bare hands in order to get a better upper body workout. Did you need some more power and stamina in those legs? Well the old way used to be to strap that tree that you chopped down on to your back and run up a snow covered mountain. Yes, I came up with that well before Stallone used it in Rocky 4. No, I did not have a fake beard or listen to “Hearts on Fire” as I did it. Now all these pro athletes have all these fancy smancy diets that go along with their illegal supplements. When I was younger, my diet before a workout included the following;

A dozen eggs
One raw steak
A pint of Jack Daniels
1 apple

I would take those ingredients and put them into a blender to make a smoothie, but back then we didn’t call them smoothies. We called them death shakes. After that I would actually go out and train. It didn’t really matter what type of exercise was involved. Whether it was deep sea whale hunting, or pulling train cars up a steep hill without the tracks, I was doing work. This is not what I can say for these bums.

This report will have a major effect on the history of these players’ careers, a stain on the statistics and records that have been accomplished over the years. Regular blue collar guys like myself, will have their records taken by cheaters. It is sad to know that many careers will be tarnished over the use of these “wonder drugs.” It is even sadder to imagine the tiny testes of these men, while mine continue to have the problem of dipping into the toilet water when I crap.

Wednesdays are horrible

I don't know what it is about Wednesdays that kills me. I just seem to wake up every Wednesday morning and I want to kill someone. This could also have a lot to do with my rampant thirst for blood. Whatever the case may be I am usually not in the best of moods. Nothing seems to cheer me up. Just last week I thought that maybe a relaxing walk through the back alleys of chinatown to find cock fighting tournaments would make the day a little more bearable. I was sadly mistaken. Just once, I would like to be able to have something fun happen on a Wednesday. Like a hostile takeover by a group of Eastern bloc terrorists at a school for supermodels in the french alps. Only one man would be able to pull off their rescue without leaving one of those commie bastards alive. It would be a lot like Die Hard. Except, there would be a lot more knife fights and a lot less one liners. Yet, it isn't meant to be, because it is Wednesday. The single most life draining day of the week.

Had a nice little Saturday

When I woke up on Saturday I was not feeling good. I am not going to lie. It was one of those mornings when you take loud noises very personal and your mouth feels like an ashtray. I mustered the strength to climb out of my hammock and I headed into the living room. I grabbed one of those large Alhambra bottles from my neighbors garage, because fuck him. I made myself two packets of bacon, a dozen hardboiled eggs, and a pitcher of bloody marys. I sat down to find something worthy of my Saturday morning starter. Did I ever! Inexplicably, both the USA and TNT networks had decided to create heaven on earth for me by running duel Steven Segal movie marathons. This means an entire days worth of action on two different channels. Segal’s body of work is so large that they could have both of these marathons on the same day without repeating one movie…. AMAZING. What this day helped me realize is two things. That Segal is a master of Zen, and that he is incredible at knife fights and breaking limbs. What I noticed about all of the movies I watched during the day is that Steven pays little attention to emotion in his acting. It takes a great performer to remain the same calm, wise, and impassionate character. When he walks into that pool hall to fight fifteen guys does he even bat an eyelid? No, he calmly takes care of all those jerkoffs. Blinking is for the WEAK! The thing you notice about his fight sequences is that he operates at an incredible limb breaking, neck stabbing rate. I am sure that we could get some nerd at MIT to run the figures to determine his neck stab to limb break ratio. Without going into much of a study of my own, I can safely assume that this is an incredibly large figure. Although, I am a huge fan of Mr. Segal I must offer some words of criticism as well. For the love of God Steven, please never run in a movie again. Multiple times during the orgasm that is a Segal marathon the poor choice was made to show him running after a suspect, running away from a bomb, or just running in general. Just stop it. I don’t care what you have to do Stevey. If I have to have another cop revenge movie ruined by you flailing your arms like a drunk peacock while you make that diarrhea face, I will no longer support your films. Basically, if you could make that simple request a reality I will anoint you as the greatest movie star of all time.

Overall Marathon Grade = A-

Points were deducted for Mr. Segal running and using his own band on soundtracks.

Thoughts for the weekend

Well I for one am not sure. I seem to always get this way before the weekend rolls around. It’s not that I don’t have things to do, because I do. The problem is to make the choice and live with it. For instance, last weekend I decided that going down a ski jump on a Segway with a parachute was going to be fun. Turns out that the Segway just doesn’t have enough speed to get down the jump and provide the rider with any type of launch trajectory. I felt bad because I could have gone to an all day bungee jumping competition. I won the contest a few years back and felt like I had stayed away long enough to let some other people win. I thought why not give those wieners another year and try this Segway thing. Boy was I wrong. That’s why this weekend I am going to do something that I know will be an adventure.

I am going to get shit-faced drunk.

As you are reading this, I am having my first drink of the weekend. I like to start with an Irish coffee to get me started. The mix of whiskey and caffeine sends a message to the entire body that today is going to be a test of heroes. I will probably have two of those before I get into my early morning calisthenics (give myself and HJ in the shower / play a perfect game of darts). Next up, I think it will be time to leave the house and head out to greener pastures.

I like to head to a bar where you can spit on the floor and people don’t mind a little foul language at 11 in the morning. I will start with a shot of whiskey and a pint of their strongest ale. If they don’t serve beer I will have two shots of whiskey. After playing pool or getting into a bar fight I think I will head to the local liquor store and pick up some 40oz’s, kool aid, and night train. After I mix up the blood juice I think I will walk to a local park. I like to mix it up with the locals by commentating on their choice of dogs or asking them why they aren’t at work at this time of the day. People always seem to answer that question with the same question, to which I reply “BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAH BLAA BLAHHHHHHHHHH!” Once I have finished my “park” drinks I think it is time to head to the local sports bar.

I don’t care what game is playing. I just want two fingers of whiskey and a six pack of Pabste. Usually, when I watch the games at the bar I find the team that most people are rooting for and root for the other team. This leads to more bar fights or perhaps an intelligent conversation regarding the merits of both teams systems, most of the time it is bar fights. By this time I will have worked up quite an appetite for dinner. Notice how I didn’t eat lunch. If you don’t eat lunch you are going to be a lot drunker by the time dinner rolls around.

I will probably go to a fancy steak house and have a bottle of white before dinner. Before dessert I will have finished my post steak bottle of red, and after dessert I will have a glass of port, or something fancy like that. After all that drinking I think it is safe to say it is time to go to the strip clubs. I like to be extremely drunk and broke by the time I get into the strip club. That way I sober up a bit while these single moms work for my attention. After a few songs it is finally time to head home for the night. If I am lucky I will be taken home by one of the strippers or a limo driver. Its more likely that I will fall asleep in an alley and walk home the next morning. That is just part of the adventure of drinking on the weekend. If I make it out alive I will tell you all about it on Monday.

I think its time for a change

A timeless classic. By now I think it is safe to say that most people have seen some variation of the above photograph. The image of a kitten barely holding on to a string or rope with the encouraging words "Hang in There!" at the bottom. I get it. It's to help those of us who have a tough day at work from time to time. Maybe you are having a down day and need to be cheered up by some small animals plight. The thing that the picture wants you to think is that this cat is gonna be fine, and so are you. All you have to do is "Hang in There!" The cat is going to be fine even if it lets go of that rope. Why you ask? Because cats have nine lives silly. But that is besides the point. What bothers me is that there isn't a poster out there that takes other people into consideration, like myself. I mean, the phrase "Hang in There!" is fine in and of itself. My problem is that the image does not accurately reflect everyones level of stress for when you really need to "Hang in There!" Have you ever been in a 48 hour game of Russian Roulette in the basement of a bar in Bangkok? So high on methanphetamines that you see in hypercolor and have lost all control of your bowels? That is a time when the phrase "Hang in There!" might be a little more appropriate. I sure could have used a more timely poster when I was hunting bigfoot in the high sierras using only a swiss army knife and my bare hands. Therefore, I have decided to make my own version of the poster. I hope that it can provide inspiration for those who have tougher moments when they need to....

Top that geniuses.

Majestical

It's not everyday that you come upon art this beautiful. I was lucky enough to find this work of art on the world wide interweb this morning. I was searching for things to read while I take my first dump of the day, and I was lucky enough to notice this startling peice. As I disposed of the 5 pound t-bone steak I ate for dinner the night before I had ample time to examine the work. The first thing that strikes you is the complex purple hue of the skyline. It is as if the color beckons you to feel the cold of the night, yet at the same time providing you with the warmth of daylight on the horizon. I think that the next thing that I took into account was the fact that the artist chose to leave the moon in a crescent form. This shows me that the artist is contemplative. A person who is not sure whether or not they want the full power of the moonlite on their subject. It also could be that this painting was taking place during an eclipse. That makes sense because unicorns usually only come out of their mountain caves during eclipses or when they must sacrafice humans that have seen them. Anyways, the real focus of the peice is the unicorn itself. Notice the attention to detail on the tail, no wisp of hair was left unnoticed. The precise moment captured in time is the perfect apex of the majestic creature rearing back its head. And what can be said about the artists attention to making sure the homing beacon on the horn was at the perfect glow. Unicorns have those beacons in their horns to locate other unicorns, leprechauns, fairies, and midgets. I must say that I am thoroughly impressed and moved by the power of this painting. If I could offer any criticism I would have given the unicorn a bigger dong, and had fireworks in the sky. That's just me nitpicking though.

What happened to us?

What has become of us? How have we lost sight of what it means to be a real man. A man like myself. Not afraid to mix it up and wrestle anacondas in order to have more sculpted abs. We have a problem in our popular culture. That problem is that it is okay to be a sensitive pussbag like our friend Zach here. A new type of star has emerged in Hollywood and it is a far departure from the days of old.

I remember when I was just getting into the film industry as a personal trainer/stunt coordinator/fight specialist/cateror/hunk. I had been on the set of Sands of Iwo Jima for two weeks with none other than the Duke himself, John Wayne. We hadn't had much conversation over the few weeks I had worked there. When the film was wrapping, the company threw a party at one of local taverns, and I had a chance to meet John. Actually, what happened was that I noticed JW had insulted a few people in the bar and started a fist fight. As the Duke kindly mopped the floor with three of these pieces of cow shit (his words) I noticed someone trying to take a cheap shot with a pool que on the Duke. So I stepped in and hit him with a Burt special. After the hearse came to pick those gentleman up, I had a chance to sit down and talk with JW. We became close friends until his death, but the lessons he taught me have lasted far beyond that time.

Which brings me back to my point. People like olde sissypants up there are disgracing the legend that is JW. Do you think that the Duke would have been some kind of sheepish mooper when the girl he likes is around? No fucking way. JW would have walked right up to that broad and planted one right on her kisser. That also would be a binding contract of marriage as well, so that lucky lady would now be the Duke's wife. Would the Duke make a movie about how he is depressed and that the relationship with his father is desolving in an intense character study? Are you fucking kidding me? Of course not. He would have replaced Natalie Portman with Japanese gorilla fighting forces and he would have killed his parents in the first ten minutes. He also would have surrounded himself with a top flight military team to help take care of the rest of those exstacy eating butthounds. Finally, do you think that John would have even wanted to hang out with Mr. Braff? Maybe .....when hell freezes over and my dick jumps off my body and runs into an enchanted forest in my back yard. So no...he wouldn't. Even if they did, what would they do? I am sure that Zach would be asleep by the time JW was receiving his tenth finger of whisky and second raw porterhouse steak.

Basically, what I am saying is that the leading man of today has lost a step. I am sick of this sensitive stuff. It is beginning to overflow into all forms of pop culture and I for one am not having it. And a quick note to Zach; I am gonna find you one of these days , and it isn't going to be for a cup of tea.

It's Monday and I want to party

I hate Mondays. So sometimes I like to think about the next great party I will be having. What am I thinking right now? Well, first things first. We have to buy a yacht. I am talking about a yacht that is the size of one of those shiek's from Dubai. I want the yacht to be so big that there are three helipads on it. I want it to also have an indoor pool just in case the weather isn’t too nice on our way to the Bahamas. It will be filled with only three things; Cold beer, Jack Daniels, and fireworks. The ship will be manned by the Hawaiian tropic bikini team and the on ship chef will be decided by an iron chef type contest. The contest will be to the death, and we will throw the losers overboard. The winner gets to cook whatever they would like, and they get to live.

The theme for this party definitely has to be nautical. I would welcome people to try and find the finest blazers and cocktail dresses for this occasion. One thing though…Nobody gets to wear the captains hat. Only I am allowed to do this, and I think that is pretty fair considering that I put this whole thing together. I would advise that people try to wear darker colors because sea sickness can really stain.

Once on board, I will have a brief introduction to the crew and how the day will work. Everyone will be placed into groups and sent below deck. In the many staterooms below will be a series of different rooms. Each room will have an assortment of drinking games or physical/ mental challenges for the guests to participate in. This may seem a bit standard in that people always play drinking games at parties. Well, that is not the case here. I will be having my big breasted crew monitoring the successes and failures of each person in every room. Why all the monitoring? That’s because the guests score will reflect directly on their assignment for the ship. Think of it as the asshole higherarchy system. You want to be first mate so that you can tell all the assholes in the Galley what to do. Anyways, this leads to more drinking as we head to the culmination of the festivities.

As the yacht gets into the Bahamas we will enjoy a meal prepared by the last living chef. One last meal for everyone to enjoy on the boat, before stepping on land. I will probably spring for some fire dancers or something to keep my guests busy as I wait to spring the last twist of this party on them. As dinner is coming to a close I would like to walk to the middle of the dining room and politely clink my glass to start a toast. I will say some nice things about the day and how I enjoyed the company of everyone on the ship ….blah blah blah. At this point I would have my lovely crew bring out life jackets for everyone. Why the life jackets? Everyone will ask.

“The life jackets are here for the final event of the evening. You see my fellow guests I have grown tired of my mega yacht and the pains of its upkeep. I have planted charges on the bottom of the boat and have set them to expire five minutes from when I hit this button.” (Take out device and press button) “Now I know that there aren’t to many life boats but at least the water is warm. I think we are only about a mile from the shore, and there are plenty of life vests for all. So I thank you for your attendance at this party and I wish you luck on making it to shore. GOOD NIGHT”

Now I am sure that some of my drunken guest will think that I am bluffing. But I think it will be pretty obvious that I am not, when immediately after giving my speech I head to one of the helipads with my most big breasted…errrr…trusted employee. As the chopper takes off I am sure that people will try to make an effort to head for shore. As well they should. I would make sure that the blast was not two intense that the explosions will harm anyone. Just enough for the people who still thought I was joking realized that in fact, I was not. As for myself, I plan to sit on the beach at a large bonfire and have coolers of champagne for people as they make their way from the charred remains of my once glorious yacht. I am sure there will be some hard feelings, but isn’t facing challenges what life is made of.