July 22nd, 2006


God gives me oil because he loves me the best.

Certain people keep talking about "Peak oil" and "the energy crisis" and "the impending downfall of mankind." They have all kinds of charts and graphs and "numbers" they use to try and convince you that we're living at the end of the age of oil, and that if we don't prepare ourself for the coming transition we are going to see chaos, anarchy, and social upheaval.

Dumb fuckers.

What they don't get, what they don't UNDERSTAND, is that George Bush and I have already figured this oil thing out. We're not worried about "recoverable reserves" or "surging demand." Because we have an oil supplier with reserves that never run out, and a pump that never stops...pumping. We have someone who provides boatloads of hydrocarbons at rock bottom prices. We have Jesus.

Jesus invented oil in the first place. Did you know that? It's a fact. It's in the bible in the exact same place where it talks about abortion being murder. Yes, the "Scientists" will tell you that oil formed when a bunch of dead dinosaurs and other creatures got buried in the earth millions of years ago and blah blah blah. These same people will tell you that your mother was a chimpanzee, which is, let's face it, just highly improbable. The Earth's only been here for 6,000 years, there hasn't been TIME for the dinosaurs to turn into oil. No, my friends, the truth about oil is that just like Jesus could turn water into wine the lord, our savior, was capable of turning his semen into a highly efficient source of burnable energy.


Most of the oil in the world is in the Middle East. Jesus lived in the Middle East, so if he were to masturbate THAT WOULD BE THE PLACE WHERE HE WOULD DO IT. All other reserves are oil come from encounters with groupies during his post-resurrection world tour.

Oil gushes from the ground like semen from a believer's cock.

We get our gasoline, which is made from oil, from pumps. Jesus created oil by a different kind of pumping. Our pumps are an homage to him.

Over a decade of Jesus' life is unaccounted for in the bible. This leaves plenty of time for him to go around creating strategic oil reserves.

Jesus never slept with a woman, yet he is never once described as having blue balls in the entire bible, even hanging out with Mary Magdalene, who let's face it, had plenty of junk in her sainted trunk.

Oil is black. Semen is white. They are two sides of the same coin.

"But wait", you say. The evidence is overwhelming, but what does it matter? Jesus is not among us.


First of all, he's totally coming back. He said so himself. I'm fairly confident that within the next five to ten years Jesus will return to walk among us. We are living in the last days. When he comes back to fight the anti-christ we will have all the oil we need for the final battle. All we'll need to harvest it will be a large container of some sort and a bottle of Jergen's lotion. Secondly, even if by some miracle Jesus does not return in the near future, well, he can always send us a carepackage from heaven. Mark my words, before the United States runs out of oil Jesus will intercede for His People and send us a wonderful gift of combustible cum so we can keep our suburban homes and highways in tip top shape. Just remember to leave a bucket up to collect the glorious bounty. And ladies, if you wouldn't mind sunbathing topless a little more often, just, you know, to give him a boost. That'd be great.

But worry about oil? Me? I think not. You can look at the rising price at the pump as a sign you should ditch your SUV or think about conservation or just trouble ahead. That's you. Personally, I've got all the oil I need...

On prayaway.

I am a toxic person

A pointless entry.

iconoclast called me fat last night* and said that we could never be together (Apparently caring about the sanitary status of your fruit makes you a "Huge fucking bottom." Who knew?)

And I am fat. But it's something I'm working on. Whenever I get even a whiff of an interesting female I immediately start to worry about my weight, hair, and various other inadequacies. It's loads of fun.

Anyway, to work on my weight I am using my treadmill, which is really the only form of cardiac exercise I can tolerate for extended periods of time. I don't like bikes because they make my ass hurt, I don't like walking or running outside because it's boring (treadmill is in front of my TV) I don't like sports because I absolutely suck at them.

And the treadmill is fine right now and everything's going well. Except for one thing. The smell. See I am the kind of guy who tends to sweat a lot when I work out. And by a lot I mean buckets upon buckets upon buckets. I also get hot, and with the weather the way it's been the only way I've been able to combat this has been to strip down to my boxers and aim a fan directly at my torso, thus taking advantage of my sweat spray to cool me off. The problem is that as the sweat dies it leaves residue on my skin and in my boxers, and by the time I'm done with my first session I smell like a ginkgo nut suppository that was recently discovered in the rectum of Chris Farley's corpse. By the time my second session's done I smell like chemical warfare.

So I strip down and shower, but then when I leave the shower there's the question of what to do with the clothing left over. See you don't want to pick it up right after a shower because that'll just get you FILTHY with sweat stink again. But you don't want to leave it on the bathroom floor because, I swear to god, it will eat right through. So I usually try to use some sort of tool or stick to move them to the laundry. But once there I don't want them in contact with any other clothing, because let's face it, that kind of stink never TRULY leaves cloth. I usually end up putting them in on their own, but then I feel guilty about doing such a small wash, even as the scent wafts from the machine and tells me to GET ON WITH IT!

I have a towel hanging off the handle that I use to wipe myself down. I left it on for 3 days once without washing. The first day it was fine. The second day there were flies buzzing around it. The third day there were no flies. They were all dead.

It's tough being toxic.

*What he actually said was that I couldn't fit in a dress made for Paris Hilton, so I guess the correct term is "non-emaciated" but it STILL STINGS.
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