I’m going to submit a script to Netflix to make a Netflix original series called “Waffles” which is the story of the Waffle wars in the Southeast United States during the 1980s and 90s.


The awful Waffle

is an evil empire.

Pablo Escobar.

A Waffle kingpin named Pablo Escobar grew up during a time in Colombian history known as “La Violencia,” and rises to prominence in the seedy world of smothered and covered grits. It’s a shadow world that exists secretly, but in plain view of every major interstate in the Southeast.

Plomo o Plata,

Porque no aceptaste

Los grits Carrillo?

Pablo quickly uses the instability of the Colombian government for his own ends by bribing and killing all law enforcement officials who try to prevent him from moving his pre-mixed waffle batter through his smuggling routes north through the Caribbean and into his warehouses in South Florida.

Nothing can break their

Awful Waffle empire

except Los Pepes.

After forming the Waffle cartel, Pablo crosses the line one too many times and a death squad by the name of Los Pepes (los perseguidos por Pablo Escobar) begin to chip away at his carefully built empire. Except it’s Waffles. Get it? Neither do I. The truth is, I’ve been watching Narcos and I just ate at Waffle House. Wouldn’t it be funny if Narcos and Waffle House had a baby? Probably not.

Sometimes I call it

“Wa-Ho.” Sometimes I call it

“Ye-Yo” Carrillo!

It’s true, Wa-Ho is delicious and they’re always open. That’s why I think that they are part of an evil cartel. But not really. Really, what I think is that there’s far too much sugar in the Waffle batter, and there’s not enough protein options available there. If you rely on a diet of high carbohydrate/high sugar you will fucking die. The results are similar to a diet of too much cocaine. So in a way, really, the Medellin Cartel and the Waffle cartel profit by selling deadly chemicals to their clientele. Really.

La puta Waffle

y los malparidos grits

tambien la DEA.

The grits are pretty good, but don’t get me started on the DEA. Also, Narcos has permanently changed the way that I speak Spanish. That’s because I didn’t know that you could use “puta” as an adjective. See, Spanish doesn’t have the same kind of curse words that you get in English. Puta, Marica, Maricon, etc. Those don’t carry the same weight universally throughout the Spanish speaking world. But CUNT…oh man that one rings your bell no matter where you are in the English speaking world. Cunt waffles. Now that’s just funny.

The point is that the

Waffles contain trace amounts

of powdered cocaine.


Self Portrait, Pablo Escobar holding a waffle during his reign of terror circa 1988.

I mean, they don’t. But they are delicious. Have you ever had Colombian breakfast before? Oh man that shit is good. Arepa House. Now that’s an idea. I’ll move to Colombia in the aftermath of Donald Trump’s inevitable election to the presidency and open a chain of Arepa Houses in Bogota. Casa de Arepas? How do you make an Arepa? They also do this rice and egg and meat thing for breakfast. I think it’s Bandera Paisa or something. No, it’s Bandeja Paisa. Aparently Bandeja means “platter.” Humph. Learn something new every day. The point is, there is no point. My trench wife used to look at me right in the eye and say “Matt…ah where is the point…ah?” That’s because she was wop Italian. I guess she still is. What was this post supposed to be about? Oh yeah, Narcos. That shit isn’t very historically accurate. Also los Pepes were probably directly trained and aided by Delta Force. And I say, good. Good for Delta Force. Although you could have just made the puta waffles legal….

Chiropractic Medicine is not Medicine and Chiropractors are not doctors.

We established years ago that I’m mentally ill, right? I mean, all the evidence seems to point to mental illness, so why would we come to any other conclusion? Well, it turns out that I was exercising my mental illness today by watching hours and hours of Chiropractor videos on YouTube. “Why,” you might ask, “would anyone do such a thing?” Well I’ll tell you. It’s because I’m mentally ill, and Chiropractic adjustment satisfies my crazy brain in an inexplicable way.

Chiropractic is

a special kind of bullshit.

It sounds like it’s real.

And that’s why it’s so dangerous. Because if you dress up like a doctor and you learn a little doctor lingo, it just might be possible to fool people into thinking that you’re a doctor. If you do that but instead of doctor, you write “police officer” you will go to jail. And that’s sort of true for medicine as well. Let’s say that you’re an oncologist who had to flee from Venezuela because the country is imploding into a real life Hunger Games meets Mad Max meets Medieval times meets Venezuela which was already a little shitty and fucked up to begin with and you’re like “I gotta get out of here, I’m a fucking Doctor, but for real b.” What was I even saying? Yeah, let’s say that you’re a doctor and then you move to a different country, but you don’t speak the language in the new place and you’re not licensed to practice medicine, but you do it anyways. You’re totally going to jail. Or you could just be a Chiropractor, Naturopath, with a sub specialty in Reiki and cupping and not even go to jail for it.

Cracking someone’s neck

has no effect on their health;

well, there’s the stroke risk.

There’s evidence that Chiropractic manipulation can fuck you up. But there’s no evidence that it actually helps. So why are they still pedaling this horseshit? Because cracking your back is awesome. But the thing is, I wouldn’t pay anyone to crack my back. I might say to one of the whores that I have tied to my bed right now, “Hey babe, can you do me a favor and crack my back for me, or else it gets the hose again, please?” But to actually pay a person money for that service? Fuck no. For money to exchange hands, it has to look like a real medical procedure in an office with diplomas framed on the wall. And here we are, born to be kings, we’re the princes of the Universe. Bring on the girls.

I’m not a doctor.

Neither are Chiropractors.

Fucking full of shit.

So now imagine that you are one of these guys. Do you know that you’re full of shit? I mean, if you did know, that must be the most depressing thing on earth. If you don’t know, you’re a dummy. And ignorance is bliss. Like Cipher from the Matrix. See, I’m full of shit, but I know I’m full of shit, and the more I say that I’m full of shit, the more people gravitate to my bullshit to get seduced by it and before they know it, they’re tied to my bed, getting ready to crack my back or else they get the hose again.

My neck sort of hurts.

Maybe I should pay this quack

to fuck it up more.

See, don’t you feel like an idiot now for having ever gone to the Chiropractor now that I dropped all that knowledge on you. “What knowledge” you ask, your simian brow furrowed in a sign of deep concentration. Well, did you click on any of the links I provided you in the previous ‘ku? Do you know how to draw sounds? Speak the sounds I drew during the last ‘ku and enhance your simian knowledge. Chiropractors hate me, and I don’t even know why. I’m such a nice guy.

Now, you may ask me,

“How do you know it’s bullshit?”

The treatment’s the same.

I probably watched about ten hours of Chiropractic video today because I’m fucking stupid. And you know what I learned? The treatment is always the same for every single person. There’s only so many moves that the Chiropractor has. They can crack your neck like two or three different ways, they do the lower back with that bent leg over straight leg which everyone already know how to do on themselves, and they do some bullshit in the middle of your back. So how does doing those limited set of moves fix all forms of musculo-skeletal pain that exist? I guess what I’m asking is, if my neck hurts because I tore my trapezius muscle, doesn’t that need a different treatment than if my shoulder hurts because I have a slipped disk? No, the answer is joint cracking. Fuck you.

Why can’t you people

use evidence to decide

what’s fake and what’s real?

Because you’re fucking stupid. Look, go have a stroke, what the fuck do I care? Enjoy spending thousands of dollars and ripping off Medicaid to pour the money into an endless pit of magic ignorance, all the while complaining about the cost of healthcare. And after you’ve done all that bullshit, go ahead and read a book about the Philosophy of Science. Or keep dirking in the dirt like a fucking animal. Whatever. God I hate my audience. And humanity. Why won’t that skynet they promised hurry up and get here already?

Now excuse me while

I watch a full hour of

Chiro adjustment.

In memoriam: Prince Rogers Nelson

Prince is a big deal to me. Well, he was anyways. That’s because in the depths of my alcoholism and degenerate gambling and sex addiction and STD scares and hoarding and obsessive compulsive disorder and degenerate haiku writing, I usually had Purple Rain on in the background. It’s true. There was a time in the late 2000’s when VH-1 was playing Purple Rain on an infinite loop, and when they weren’t playing it, the uncensored version was playing on Cinemax. There were times when I’d have the one version playing on VH-1 and the other version on Cinemax, and then flip back and forth between the two just to get a second helping of “Darling Nikki”. And having said all that, you might think I’m a Prince fanboy, which I am, but I’m also a Prince hater, cause Prince was a fucking idiot. And a total dickhead as well.


I’m going down 2

Alphabet street. I’m gonna

be pissed Prince died.

My office called me to tell me the news. Oh boy did they love telling me that shit. Cause liking Prince is not cool. You get a lot of shit for liking Prince. And meanwhile, you can’t find Prince on YouTube. I’m trying to convert people into Prince fans, and I’m like “Just listen to this shit…” and nothing. There’s no Prince music on YouTube. Because Prince policed YouTube like a fucking Nazi looking for Jews under the floorboards. As soon as his shit was up, it was immediately taken down. And it was all for no reason. Listen to his Larry King interview from 1999, and you’ll see how he was a total dickhead ranting and raving about his “property”. Oh fuck it, here’s the link:

Dearly beloved,

we are gathered here today

to watch Purple Rain.

After you watch Purple Rain as many times as I have, you start to notice the patterns and the deeper meaning behind the movie. Like when Apollonia takes her tits out in front of Lake Minetonka. It’s just like when Apollonia takes her tits out for Michael after their wedding in Sicily. And now I’ve lost you. Goddamn fucking audience. Why do I even do these ‘ku? I guess it’s for my own entertainment in the end. Which explains why Prince had a vault of music and music videos that were never seen by anyone. Because we’re both dickheads and I’m just as talented as Prince is, except my talent is bullshit haiku and stealing.

I never meant to

cause  you any sorrow, or

OD on pain pills.

That’s because Prince was hooked on goofballs. That’s because he needed double hip replacement surgery. That’s because he walked around in high heels all the fucking time. That’s because he was short. And that’s why Prince made the choices he did. Because he was a tiny man. But goddamn was he a master cocksman. I tower over Prince, or I would have if he still walked the earth, but I never fucked a young Carmen Electra. Or Kim Bassinger, or Susanna Hoffs, or Sheena Easton, or Madonna, or even Apollonia for that matter. Apollonia didn’t even speak English aside from the days of the week, and you’d have to deal with her pain in the ass family and her brothers. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, goofballs. Don’t ever get started on goofballs.

Nothing compares 2

getting your hips replaced

so you’re not on pills.

It’s been seven hours and fifteen days since I found out that Prince was a degenerate drug addict junkie who killed himself on goofballs because he wouldn’t get the fucking hip replacement surgery because he was a Jehovah’s Witness, because he was fucking stupid. Did you know that only 144,000 spirit anointed Christians will be allowed to reach the kingdom of heaven? Do you have time to talk about the lord Jehovah? Did you know that Prince used to go door to door with these fucking retards and because it’s counter to Jehovah’s Witness bullshit to get the double hip replacement you so desperately need?

Wendy? Yes Lisa.

Can we see Prince on Youtube?

Yes, now that he’s dead.

And the irony is, now that Prince is dead, I can really enjoy his music and his work in a way that I never could while he was alive. I mean, I’m not happy that he’s dead, just that I can fucking get him on YouTube now.

Have you ever seen

Prince cover Radiohead?

It’s on YouTube now.

He covered “Creep” and it’s the best version of Creep that has ever been or ever could be. His voice is like an angel, and his skin makes me cry. Well, that’s all I’ve got. I’m going to try and bang out some more ‘ku this week, not like anyone gives a shit. If my so-called “fans” gave a shit they wouldn’t pirate my ‘ku and rip me off by uploading my property to the internet. Fuck my fans. Now I’ll perform these ‘ku, but I’m going to need to turn the lights off to get in the mood. Do you have a moment to talk about the Jehovah’s plan for this “system of things”? Did you know that the end of days is imminent and that it started in 1914? I have some literature, hang on, I’ll go get it.


Self Portrait, 1999.

Stocks (can suck my dick because the market is crooked as fuck)

So the market has been down recently. Good thing I quit my high paying job to live on my stocks after I struck it rich in the stock market…



and fuck you 3-D printing.

I want my money.

I’ve been fucked six ways from Sunday in the piece of shit stock market. I’ve been fucked more than an aging pornstar trying to hold on to her porno fame for another ten minutes by trying to set a record for most anal sex in one day: “The Candy Apples 900 — Deep inside Candy Apples.” But nobody could ever get fucked like SSYS fucked me. Who would want to print shit like magic from fucking cheap and easily available powder? Why would you want to build a machine that can make interlocking 3-D parts out of dirt and sunlight? “Yeah, better sell that stock boys, I see no future here,” said the literally millions of men who fucked me.


And fuck you Elon Musk.

Make more fucking cars.

And while you’re at it, could you go ahead and make the shits drive themselves? Oh, and also make that hyperloop. And if you could, be a dear and IPO Space-X and make sure that your gigafactory is powered by solar power supplied by FSLR. And also, could you give me a nice wet kiss before you fuck me? Cause I like to get kissed while I’m getting fucked. And goddamn your fucking oversold piece of shit stock is fucking me raw right now.


I thought you were Oculus

but you make skin cream.

I think it’s like special dermatology skin cream or some shit. The point is, it wasn’t Oculus rift, it was pharmaceuticals. I didn’t want to buy pharmaceuticals. I’m dumb as shit. Now I just need to dye my hair blonde, and my blonde bimbo getting fucked by big dicks impression will be complete.


Most valuable my ass

why does your price drop?

 So Alphabet inc., announces that they’ve crunched the numbers and it turns out that they are officially the most valuable company in the world. And then their price fucking takes a massive shit. It’s because of all the illegal bullshit that happens after hours among the Illuminati when they’re all done fucking each other at the eyes wide shut party, but before they decide to re-write the history books to conclusively prove that the Jews are the cause of all wars. The point is, the price skyrockets in after-hours trading, and then takes a shit when the market opens so that I can’t take advantage in the bonanza. Of course, I can still always get fucked. And who doesn’t like getting fucked?


I guess no one wants to use

3-D drafting now.

We already covered why nobody wants to have 3-D printing. So now that we’ve collectively decided that 3-D printing is for fags, we certainly don’t need to design things in 3-D models with computers. Because that’s for faaaags too. Man these fags are always trying to use science and technology to lift the masses of the planet out of crushing poverty by making prototyping and manufacture cheap to the point of universality. Fucking fags.


I guess you don’t want to print

new organs from scratch.

Fuck me right? If I ever need an organ transplant, I want to make goddamn sure that somebody had to die to give me that life saving shit. Because what’s the point in saving your own life if you can’t kill someone in your place. That’s the way that death works. For he is a powerful and jealous god who will not take kindly to being cheated by science. So I think it’s probably for the best that ONVO just go ahead and declare bankruptcy so I can go back to spreading open my gape for the camera. Did you know that I just learned how to prolapse? I call it my flower.


#goat.se #gape #flowerpower #lickmygape.jizz #gapeworshipersunite


Because who wants to 3-D

print complex metals?

Yeah, not me. I mean, I don’t even want to 3-D print organs for people that need transplants, so you better believe I don’t want to 3-D print metals. Because that would put millions of people in China out of work, and personally, I won’t really be happy until China can afford a nuclear arsenal every bit as grand as the United States. Oh and until they can build as man aircraft carriers as the US too. Yeah, that would be great. So let’s go ahead and keep them nice and employed. Oh hey, China? Can we export some more manufacturing jobs to you while we’re at it? Also do you like it when I press on your taint right before you’re about to come? Cause last time I was sucking your dick and you said you were going to come and I did that, it seemed like the jizz hit the back of my throat really hard. Harder than usual I mean. XOXO — TheRudeHaiku.com

Also fuck you guys:



I’m so fucking broke man. I might have to start getting fucked in real life and for money rather than metaphorically by faceless corporate entities that I hate when they don’t do their fucking job, which is make sure the price of every share I own goes up always and forever. Because I’m poor you see. That’s why I might have to resort to prostitution. To pay my bills. After I’ve paid enough bills and gotten out of debt, maybe I can put some money in the stock mar….fuck! FUCK! NO!

But most of all, fuck

me for thinking that wall street

wouldn’t fuck me up.

You guys don’t understand how wall street is when we’re alone. We have such good times together. And it’s funny! Sensitive too. It’s just that sometimes wall street gets angry. It’s my fault really. I made it mad this last time, and I deserved it. Wall street always told me not to make the spaghetti sauce too spicy and there I was again trying to use my spices that I keep on the rack that wall street made for me. In the dark, I like to read wall street’s mind. But I’m frightened of the things I might find. Oh there must be something it’s thinking of to tear it away. When I tell it that I’m falling in love why does it say “HUSH HUSH! KEEP IT DOWN DOWN! And give me all of your fucking money that you worked for years to save you skinny little bitch. Now hold still while I fuck you.”

Ἅγιος Νικόλαος

Last year at about this time, I made you dumb motherfuckers a promise. And now I’m here to collect. Just like our hero, I came here to do two things: Punch out those heretics denying the full and consubstantial divinity of Jesus to God the Father, and chew bubble gum…..and I’m all out of consubstantiality….


Νικόλαος ὁ

Θαυματουργός τῶν Μυρῶν

Ho ho ho dumbass!

Have you figured it out yet? Good. I know you still haven’t. Because you’re dumb. That’s okay though, because without dumb people like you we wouldn’t have Santa. See kids, Santa is bullshit, and there is no god. Sorry. But it’s true. How do I know you ask? Well put on a pot of coffee, cause we’re going icon slaying tonight.

You better watch out

you better not cry because

St. Nick will punch you.

Santa knocked a dude out one time because they disagreed about the nature of the divinity of Christ. You never heard about that? Well explain all these memes then:


Spoiler alert guys!

The heretic was Arius and he did it at the council of Nicaea. Donner and Blitzen were nowhere to be found. There weren’t even any elves. It wasn’t very Christmas-y.

I like to call him

Ἅγιος Νικόλαος

because that’s his name.

How do you get Santa from that shit? Well I’m glad you asked. See, that’s Saint Nicholas, which gives us Sinterklaas in Dutch which gives us Santa Claus in English. Well then, where the fuck does Kris Kringle come from? That’s from the German: Christkindl which means Christ child. So he’s baby Jesus then? This makes no sense.

He knows when you’ve lured

children to your butcher shop

to sell them as ham.

See, a famine had descended upon the Empire and a butcher lured three children into his shop and then killed them and pickled them so he could sell their meat and pass it off as ham, but jolly ol’ Saint Nick could see through the butcher’s deception and by the power of Christ he raised them bodily from the dead. I don’t know what happened to the butcher. Maybe he got a lump of coal in his stocking….you know…for murder.

Santa Claus is here

to unload wheat from a ship

during the famine.

And the sailors on the ship knew the specific weight of all the wheat. Despite taking off enough wheat to feed the city for two years, the weight of the wheat on the ship never changed. They called it a Christmas miracle and then a team of mailmen paraded through the courtroom and dumped out all the children’s letters to Santa Claus in the dramatic climax of of our holiday story.

Santa’s coming to

town on December 6th, his

usual feast day.

But only if we’re using the Gregorian calendar. If we use the correct Julian calendar, then it’s actually on December 19th. The point is, he doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with Christmas. Because this is all bullshit and there is no god. Unless of course, you count fucking money as your god, which is as good as any other bullshit man-made creation out there. People love their bullshit, I tell you what.

But most famously,

Santa paid all the dowries

of  three young maidens.

Because they were getting on in years, and in order to be married, their father had to pay a dowry for each daughter. The father was a poor man and could not afford the dowries. If the women were to remain unmarried, they would either be forced into prostitution, or would just be assumed to be prostitutes, since what kind of respectable woman remains unmarried by the time she hits 24 years old? Well jolly ole Saint Nick threw three bags of gold into their house one night, thereby saving the three maidens from prostitution. And then he got into his southern Anatolian sleigh and called out to his team of reindeer shouting “ἄρτι Δάσσηρ! ἄρτι Χορῖτις! ἄρτι Πράνσηρ, και Υίξεν! ἔλα Κομήτης! ἔλα Ἔρως! ἔλα Δόννηερ και Βλίζεν!” God I’m an asshole.

Let’s not forget his

faithful sidekick, Zwarte Piete.

He’s Santa’s black friend.

And you can’t have a Zwarte Piet in America because Zwarte Piet is always the whitest blondest Dutchman that ever was or ever could be who puts on an afro wig and blackface and then shucks and jives next to Santa in a deeply offensive way. Of course, he’s not really offensive, because he’s a black Moor from Spain. And even still, he’s not really from Spain, he’s supposed to be one of Odin’s black ravens, because Christmas is a pagan celebration of the winter solstice and there is no god.

Also remember

to throw in some Odin and

pagan wild hunt.

Oh you don’t know about the wild hunt? I’m shocked. Well the wild hunt theory is sort of bullshit in and of itself. The idea was that if you saw the wild hunt, you would die, best case scenario. Worst case scenario was a war or a plague. Odin’s black ravens would listen at the chimney for signs of the mortal’s behavior. Still and all, Zwarte Piet is probably meant to be an enslaved devil chained to Saint Nicholas. Wow this ‘ku got dark.

His bones were stolen

by the Venetians during

one of the Crusades.

I mean Santa, not Black Pete. But yeah, his bones are in Bari now. And it was during the first crusade. I couldn’t get the syllables to work so I had to say “one of the Crusades.” Whatever. You see how there’s no god and Christmas is bullshit? Let’s do one more to unfuck your head.

The point is, he’s new.

Santa as we know him dates

to 1850.

Shit is brand new. Just like one day the fucking Festivus pole is going to be a thing that people do like stupid assholes long after the memory of Jerry Seinfeld has totally faded from the public consciousness and only the nerdiest nerds will give a shit that he ever lived. And make no mistake, there is no Festivus. It’s just as made up and just as bullshit as Santa and Odin and Zwarte Piet and Christianity and god and Jesus. Although, and I want to be perfectly clear about this, Saint Nicholas was a real guy and he totally punched out that other dude because they were arguing over bullshit and there was no way to resolve the fairy fantasy argument they were having other than violence. Just like some guys I know in the middle east. Merry Christmas everybody and god bless us everyone!


I’m back motherfucker! Yeah, I took a little time off to sort out my shit. So what? It’s not like anyone really wants to read comedy poetry on a weekly basis. And I’ve got a backlog of years of ‘ku that fucking nobody ever reads. The point is, I’m here with shit to say. Shit about painting.


Titanium white,

and Alizarin Crimson,

and Yellow Ochre.

Yeah, that’s right, it’s the motherfucking Joy of Painting. If you were a real man, you’d know that as soon as you read Titanium. I study TJoP like the Toirah. “What’s TJoP?” you ask, your tongue lolling out of the corner of your misshapen mouth, sweat beading across your inhumanly broad brow as you struggle in vain to focus your widely spaced eyes on the page in a futile attempt to force the symbols on the page to form any kind of sense in your inbred mongoloid brain. Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, you were asking about the Joy of Painting, and I was calling you a mongoloid. You fucking mongoloid.

Bob, stop! What the fuck!

Don’t mix Thalo Green with red,

when there’s Midnight Black.


I mean, look at him mixing the shit! It’s madness!

I was watching an ep from season 6 the other day, and this crazy fucking guy totally did that shit. He didn’t even have the Midnight Black on the fucking palette. And I’m like, “what the fuck are you doing Bob?!” I mean we’re not savages. But no, the fucking evil genius that he is, just busted out the palette knife and mixed the shits together and then dragged a fan brush through there to start making his evergreen trees. So I guess my question is, did he only start using Midnight Black in the latter TJoP, or was it a function of circumstances particular to that episode? I must study this.

 Let’s go into an

almighty two-inch brush here,

loaded full of paint.

See, to my ear, that means we’re either doing a sky or a mountain. But then again, it could also mean that we’re about to do a foreground and we need to block in a shitload of color really quick because the old clock on the wall is telling me that we’re running out of time and we need to finish this fucking painting before we get cut by the hard out, but we need to do it without freaking out the audience by getting stressed out, because that’s not what painting is all about. Remember, there are no mistakes, only happy accidents.

When Bob uses red

handled brushes, that means it’s

pre season seven.

For at least the first seven seasons, Bob uses brushes with red handles, because those aren’t the trademarked and patented Bob brand brushes that he will eventually create. Those brushes have white handles. But that’s the whole thing; it’s not just the brushes. It’s the fucking paint too. That’s why in the pre Bob brand world, he signs his shit with Permanent Red, but after he signs with Bright Red. It’s fucking dastardly. Now, the real question here is whether or not Midnight Black appears before season 7. Oh my god, it doesn’t, does it. That’s why he was mixing the fucking Thalo Green and the Alizarin Crimson in Season 6. Fuck! I discovered it! Oh wait…this probably also explains why the spelling changes from Thalo to Phthalo in the latter TJoP as well. Jesus Christ, I’m fucking reading the source code of the Matrix here. I’m controlling it.

How does Bob make his

highlight colors? Indian

Yellow, and Sap Green.

That’s fucking child’s play. If you were a real fan, you’d know that. You’d also know that the shadow color will tend a little more towards the Yellow Ochre. I mean it’s elementary. Of course, you didn’t know that because you’re breathing out of your mouth as you read this now, all the while a thin strand of saliva works its way out of the corner of your mouth as you’ve put all of your mental faculties into sounding out the long words on the page, trying desperately to compare the sounds to other words you might have heard your caretakers use in the past, so that at this point in the sentence you’ve simply forgotten to swallow, which explains the drooling and the labored mouth breathing. God I hate my audience so fucking much.

If you see Thalo

Green, that means we’re doing a

seascape or water.

Psych! It could also mean we’re doing deep woods like the kind you find on the California or Oregon coast. Goddamn you people are fucking mongoloids.

Larry Owens wrote

“Interlude,” the theme song for

The Joy of Painting.

And that guy was in Elvis’ band. And that’s why the theme is hypnotic as fuck. Because Larry Owens is a genius. And you are not. And with that we’ve got a finished ‘ku. We’ll sign that one. And from all of us here, happy painting, and God bless my friend.

Politically Correct

There is nobody more politically correct than me. The reason is because I actually put my money where my mouth is. I’m not a hypocrite like the fucking trifling, jockeying, “look at me! look at me!” saying pieces of shit that buy cookies for guys in army uniforms because they “support the troops,” but would never in a million years join the fucking army. What am I talking about? I fuck minorities. I have unprotected sex with women of all races creeds and colors. And we all know that when you fuck a chick, you acquire her race. It’s science.

When you fuck a chick

of a different race, you

acquire her race.


It’s science….when you become a black man, your dick also gets much bigger.

Racists don’t like it when you say things like that. They hate it because they don’t like the idea of racial mixing. The races started separate, and they were never meant to mix. Now, racists like to masquerade as people who are concerned about race relations so they don’t get called racist. Luckily for them, PC culture has given racists a handy cheat sheet. All you have to do to avoid being called a racist is adopt the double think and “approved” vocabulary of the PC movement, and you can hate anybody you want.

I’m the most correct

politically speaking.

I’m Black and Asian.

Part of the PC movement is taking note of your personal PC currency and then stacking yourself up on the PC hierarchy. If you’re a white male, you are an “oppressor” and you go to the bottom of the pile. If you’re a bi-racial Lesbian who identifies as gender queer and also escaped from Syria, then you’re at the top of the pile. Just understand there’s a pile. Since most people who subscribe to the PC movement are virulent racists, they hate the idea of anyone moving up the ladder because they acquired a new race (by fucking).

Instead of fucking

you can acquire a race

via making out.

Now, I want to be perfectly clear here, you have to make out consistently with different people of the same race. Meaning, just because you made out three times with the same girl of a different race than yours, you do not acquire the race. You need to make out with at least three different people of the different race to acquire it. If you want to be Arab, but you were born white, and you only made out with TWO Arabs, you are still white. Sorry. The reason being that three is a streak. Two could be a coincidence, but three demonstrates intention. And we all know that while not every make out session turns into fucking, there needs to be other avenues to acquire a new race if we’re all going to survive as a country. Because at the end of the day, the only cure for racism is fucking.

Diversity is

a myth on most campuses;

not enough fucking.

When you go to a college campus, they have a diversity office. Because they’re racists. They feel the need to categorize everyone into a different race. They see a black guy from England as being equally disadvantaged as a black guy from Detroit. Racists do shit like that. If you want to fix this, you need to fuck. But PC culture includes feminist culture. And feminist culture hates it when men fuck women.

Not enough fucking

because of PC culture.

Get accused of rape.

PC culture, because it has adopted the plight of every minority on the planet (except for the Jews), can’t deal with a society in which men aggressively pursue women for sex as they have evolved to do over the course of millions of years of evolution. It also assumes that women will never have any sexual feelings towards men, and that virginity and chastity are to be jealously guarded. And if they regret a sexual encounter, they are encouraged to claim sexual violence (remember women can’t consent when they’re drunk, but men can). When you do that, you stifle the ability for the races to fuck each other, thus ending racism, thus PC culture is inherently racist. QED.

So PC culture

only serves to divide us.

It’s too dangerous.

The real enemy here is the Social Justice Warriors on Tumblr. It’s not me. It can’t be me. I’m polyracial.

It’s too dangerous

because I get into fights

yelling the N-word.

And I keep on saying “That’s OUR word!” And that keeps on making the fights more violent. I got my N-word pass the same day I made out with my third black chick. She wasn’t even American. She was the reason I stopped using the term “African American.” Because not all of us are from America, you insensitive pricks!

It’s not just the N,

but also the C and S

words; because I’m white.

Being polyracial is hard because the world sees my whiteness, but none of my other races. And it makes it nearly impossible for me to access all the racial slurs that I’m entitled to.

But you see, I’m not.

I’m Black, Asian, and Jewish.

Also Hispanic.

I’m working sooooo hard on Arab, because there’s a ton of shit I want to start yelling out in public that I can’t at the moment.

As the ultimate

minority, let me say:

Nigger, Spic, Chink, Heeb.

The struggle for equality continues in a world where leftists spout meaningless and false statistics like women making 78 cents on the dollar as compared with men. But the thing they neglect to tell you is that it’s total bullshit. We’ll never be equal until we’re all comfortable yelling out all the racial slurs because they apply to us directly. Now go make me a fucking sandwich you fucking guinea wop dago axe wound dizzy broad cum dumpster! Kisses XOXO


I’ve so thoroughly betrayed myself and my culture and my people and my heritage and my family and my society and my beard. If you’ll remember, there once was a time when I had glorious facial hair. That time has passed. But this ‘ku isn’t just about facial hair, and its tragic disappearance from my once proud face. No, this ‘ku, much like this whole website, is a monument to mental illness. Specifically, the kind of mental illness that makes you think, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing.”

I guess I’m a bitch

because I finally shaved

my chest, pubes, and balls.

I use the word “bitch” because that’s what they call a guy who gets fucked in jail. And usually when they’re converting a guy from a man to a bitch, the process isn’t fully complete until the newly minted bitch shaves all his body hair, because who wants to be reminded that they’re fucking a dude, am I right? See, you shave a bitch and you close your eyes half way, and it almost feels like you’re fucking a woman. There’s one thing I said I’d never do in my life, and that was shave down like a bitch. I said that up until the point I was making out with a girl and she put her hand on my chest (over the shirt mind you) and then recoiled in horror, making an audible retching sound. It was because of my thick chest hair. At first I was like “Well fuck you cunt, good luck walking home.” Then I thought about it. I put on my corporate hat and said, “If I want to maximize the vagina throughput, I should really shave this fucking chest, because, let’s be honest, this isn’t the first complaint I’ve had.” That’s a lot to say in front of a woman who just recoiled in horror, but at that point, really, fuck her.


See, that’s the clippers I used, because I was too afraid to do it with a real razor…just like a bitch.

Ever since I shaved

my glorious facial hair

I just needed more.

If I’m really honest, none of that bitch recoiling in horror really made me shave. No, it’s my florid untreated mental illness that made me shave. When you’re on the spectrum like I am, you get obsessed easily. So of course after shaving my glorious face, I had to keep going. I mean, the face went so well, why stop there?

Turns out that bitches

don’t give a fuck about hair

when they want to fuck.

After I kicked that first bitch out of my house, I found another one. At that point I had scorched the earth of my chest, and she didn’t give a fuck at all. She just wanted my dick. Which was hairy as fuck. Hair creeping almost halfway up the shaft. And long. Because it was pristine, and glorious. And you know what? Despite all that hair, she went ahead and put it in her mouth anyway…just like all the other ones. But now I’m staring down at the half that she can’t get in her mouth and comparing its hairy nature to the now hairless landscape of my chest and I can’t jizz because none of the shit matches up. Now I’m aggravated because I’m living the fucking logical fallacy of the slippery slope, which oddly enough is what I call my freshly shorn dick and balls.

Perhaps there is an

Aristotelian mean

to shaving your balls.

What’s the difference between an Aristotelian mean and a Platonic mean? Is that the same thing? Look, the point is, maybe I could just trim the hair and not shave it all off.

I’m paying for it

because my pubes, chest, and balls

are on fire now.

So after I scratched the itch of shaving, I was almost instantly filled with remorse because at that very moment I realized that while I felt great now, in about three days, my balls, upper thighs, stomach, and chest would erupt into a round of irritation and itchiness the likes of which I had ever known. And here we are. I’m writing this with my legs up in stirrups like a fucking pregnant woman at the gynecologist’s office, and I can’t wear a shirt. Why couldn’t I predict this? Why couldn’t I stop myself?

I have an urge to

shave my head and my eyebrows,

Syd Barrett style.

I reached for the secret too soon… This is an an intense fucking reference, and I’m guessing that exactly none of my readership, except for the most deeply troubled ones, will get it.

After a long day,

unwind with shave videos.

ASMR shave.

Maybe this is the reason I’m all fucked up. It’s probably not though.

It rubs the lotion

on its face, or else it gets

some irritation.

Not too much though, just enough to make it annoying.

Pants (fuck them)

Fuck wearing pants son!

I won’t be held hostage to

split-legged tyranny!

See, I say that, but I’m a bitch, and I wear the pants anyways. Pants have to be the single worst goddamn fucking instrument of control and domination that have ever been invented by the hand of man. Pants are worse than slavery. Yeah, I said it. Who’s gonna say it if I don’t say it?! Why do I hate pants? I’m glad you asked.

The whole pants design

is unhygienic and gross.

It’s fucked up and wrong.

Ok, so walk with me through the hell that is my life wearing pants. So there I am, wearing pants, and I have to piss. “What’s the problem?” you ask, your brow sloping in an uncomprehending mongoloid caricature of a thinking human being. Well, Tonk, I’m glad you asked. I walk to the bathroom and stare at the urinal. Now I have two choices. I can unbelt the belt and undo the top button of the pants to access the underwear, or I can unzip the fly. And that’s just the first hurdle. Let’s say I take the button option. In many dress pants, there’s at least two buttons and sometimes a metal tab and loop that secures the whole fucking waist together. While I’m spending a minute fucking around with the various contraptions, my belt is free to slap against the urinal. Not to mention I have to redo all this shit once I’m done with the piss. “Ok, so do it the other way,” you grunt, straining under the effort to enunciate both vowels and consonants.  I’ll explain the problem with the fucking belt.

Have you ever worn

a belt? It’s uncomfortable.

It’s a flawed design.

So let’s say I do it the other way, since, you know I’m wearing a fucking belt. First of all, why am I wearing a belt? I guess it’s to hold my pants up. Why do my pants need holding up? I mean, really, why would you make a garment that needed constant attention like this? You know what other garment needed constant attention? The Toga. You know why we don’t wear togas? Because they’re a pain in the fucking ass. So the pants are falling down, and if they do, you end up walking on the cuffs of the pant legs. Now the pants are ruined. Great job idiot pants makers. Where was I? Oh yeah, so if you try to pull your dick out the other way, you unzip the fly (and I’m only doing this to avoid undoing the belt, like somebody had this brilliant engineering idea to put in the fly since they knew undoing the belt would be a pain in the ass) and now you have to dig to find the dick hole of your underwear. Once you get it, you need to squeeze your dick through the hole, which is painful and constricting to urine flow. And now that it’s through the dick hole, you need to negotiate your dick past the sharp teeth of the zipper that makes the fly possible. And this is all before the urine starts flowing. Goddamn pants are pieces of shit.

The only good thing

about wearing pants would be

the useful pockets.

But even the pockets aren’t useful really, because they weigh down the pants, further necessitating the use of a belt. Not to mention, if the pockets should ever develop a hole, then the whole pair of pants is ruined, because you’re basically wearing them in order to have pockets. You want pockets to hold your wallet and your keys and shit, but you know what? There’s a better solution.

Even the pockets

aren’t that useful when there’s

leather fanny packs.

See, I always thought that the fanny pack was sort of gay. Then I realized that wearing an article of clothing doesn’t make you want to put cock in your mouth. So fuck you. Anyways, the fanny pack can be worn over the shoulder, or belted over the waist, and it totally abrogates (look it up) the need for pockets. All of a sudden, all of your shit is in one place that is easily within arms reach. The leather ones are tough to cut open, and therefore resistant to thieves, and they come with compartments so your shit is organized. And most importantly, it frees us from the bullshit of pants.

Why can’t we wear robes?

You bunch them up when you pee,

also when shitting.


See, you bunch up the front, and hold it with your chin. You don’t even need underwear. One day…

It’s just like when you were a little kid and you lift up your shirt while you piss and tuck it under your chin to hold it up while your hands are guiding your dick towards the urinal. The benefit is that if you need to piss, there’s no rubbing of your belt against the piss coated urinal, there’s no squeezing your dick through the metal teeth of a zipper, there’s no getting urine on your pants because you can’t properly shake out your dick after the piss. It’s next level clothing son. And we don’t get to have it.

Compare pants on a

hot and humid day to robes;

pants make your balls sweat.

Since I live in The South, I deal with heat and ball sweat like a moron because “society” won’t let me wear robes. Oh, don’t get me wrong, you can wear the robes, but you’re going to be the weird fucking robe guy. And that guy isn’t getting promoted at work. You know what doesn’t sweat in the summer when you’ve got circulation? That’s right, your legs. Also your balls. Robes provide that circulation. Pants suck my dick with teeth.

Make no mistake now;

When I’m talking about robes,

I mean Arab ones.

Say what you will about the tenets of Islam as a world religion, or their level of technology, or their ability to live in an organized modern state, or their hygiene, or their food (which can be pretty good depending on where you get it, but it’s pretty hit or miss for the most part), or their language, or their alphabet, but goddamn did those Arabs ever figure out how to be comfortable when walking around in a hot environment. And the hookah, they figured that out too. Aside from those two things, the Arabs have basically contributed nothing to world society. But I have to ask, who the morons really are when we know that there’s a better way to have clothes and we purposefully don’t do it because….you tell me motherfucker, why aren’t we doing robes?

I bunch up the robes

and then I squat while I shit.

It’s better for you.

Don’t even get me started on squat toilets.

Goddamn fuckin fans…

Goddamn fuckin fans

OK…alright already…

I’ll fix Star Wars…jeez!

Now I know how that pig fucker George Lucas feels. Besieged by neckbeards at every step, and the fucking guy just wants to make toys and shit. Well, since my last foray into this grand haiku experiment, I’ve been besieged by requests to fix Star Wars, because I’m a fucking moron and hinted that I could…

Do you want to know

the secret of good writing?

Use your fucking brain!

If you establish a universe with rules, then as long as you follow those fucking rules in a logical and well thought out manner, everything will be fine. Case in point: James Bond can’t fly. He doesn’t have magic powers. The world of James Bond is basically our world circa the cold war, so all the normal shit applies. We the audience can accept that as a starting premise, and then add in “He’s also the best spy who ever lived,” and we’re good to go with a ready explanation for why he can do all the cool spy shit that makes the movie worth watching. Now look at what that pig fucking pig did to Star Wars. He did the exact opposite of what I’m talking about.

The Jedi evolve

the way they do because they

kill by accident.

If you had the ability to kill a guy with your mind, then you’d probably kill at least a couple of people a day. You wouldn’t even be doing it on purpose. You’d be reading a book with a fight scene in it, and somebody walking buy would get beaten up just by virtue of what you were reading. That’s the Jedi. That’s the Jedi based on everything we know about them from the original Star Wars. They have psychokinesis. Vader chokes the shit out of a bunch of people and kills one on Skype. So if that shit were real, and you found out you could do that shit, then you’d have to meditate every day just to stop yourself from doing it by accident. That’s why the Jedi are a weird religion, and that makes sense.

Cowardly Jedi

slavishly follow the rules,

even if they die.

Because religions are weird, and because being a Jedi is being in the weirdest religion of all time, it follows that the Jedi are going to do some stupid or otherwise nonsensical shit just because of the nature of their weird religion. You could imagine debates and conflicts arising within the Jedi order among the most highly trained Jedi happening all the time. One might even be able to imagine long standing factions within the order coming to the fore especially when there is a major outside threat applied…just like in real life!

The clones should have been

from another galaxy.

Nobody can cope.

Imagine that a new alien force appears on the shores of the Galactic Republic, and they’re super fucking unfriendly, and there’s basically an infinite amount of them. They want to take over system after system for some unknown reason. Every system that falls to their forces are never heard from again. Some suspect genocide. Others hear rumor of assimilation into the new clone army. Nobody knows for sure. The Republic attempts to mount a response, and consults the Jedi for advice.

As the war drags on,

the Republic is weakened.

They demand action.

The Jedi have no answers for this new kind of threat. There aren’t that many Jedi to begin with, and there are those in the order that think the Clones are not as serious a threat as they appear to be. In fact, for the most part, the Jedi don’t want to get involved with any of this, as they further withdraw from society in order to perfect their knowledge of the force. However, some Jedi on the council see the Clones as an existential threat, and see themselves as the only actors that could possibly fix the situation.

Vader wants to stop

the clones from taking over.

He needs more power.

Anakin Skywalker is on the Jedi council as a senior member of the order, and delves into the archives. He finds ancient records that talk about a threat that sounds remarkably similar to what the republic is facing now. It was only overcome by the beginnings of the Sith movement and a powerful ability that they developed in response to the threat. Due to the ancient nature of this evidence, it is not quite clear what the connection between Sith and Clone really is, but Anakin’s curiosity is piqued. Are you interested by this yarn? Isn’t this a million times more interesting than the bullshit that came out 15 fucking years ago that I still have douche nightmares about?

In his quest to stop

the source of the clone army

Vader finds the Sith.

Let’s say he finds their hidden fortress, and there’s a ton of them in there. A whole parallel Jedi order that have banded together to further their own illegal research into the dark side of the force. They’ve created the clone army so that they can finally stop hiding and rule their various quadrants of the former Republic according to Sith principles. They believe that by doing so, they can finally unlock the deepest secrets of the force…secrets that the Jedi dare not attempt to discover. Goddamn, why don’t I do this professionally? I should quit my job and just fix Hollywood’s mistakes full time. Fuck you Hollywood for not hiring me.

By becoming a

Sith lord, Vader can access

the clone army base.

Vader is “seduced” to the dark side, because he believes he would be the best arbiter of this new world order. He reflects back on the incompetence and cowardice he found within the Jedi order and is embittered by the fact that he never was appointed to lead the Jedi council, despite his superior power and ability as a Jedi. He sees himself as a reformer. So he becomes a Sith Lord and then proceeds to kill every other Sith Lord to prevent sharing any power with them in the new world order to come. You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs amirght?

He stops the war, and

the republic falls to him

the Sith plan works well.

Vader is able to take command of the Republican army under the guise of Anakin. He uses his privilaged information to affect a series of stunning victories over the Clones. The other Sith believe that their plan will be greatly expedited with Vader in such a high ranking position, but privately begin to worry about the victories he is winning over the Clones, after all that wasn’t the plan. Vader returns to the Sith temple and kills all of his rivals only to be defeated in single combat by Lord Palpatine. After their duel, and because of the corrupting power of the dark side of the force, Lord Vader is confined to a wearable life support system. Palpatine only spares Vader because if he were to kill Vader, the Sith would become extinct, and their research into the dark side would be all for nothing. Together, they kill the heads of the senate, and Palpatine installs himself as Emperor. The Jedi try to intervene, but they are no match for Vader and Palpatine. Yoda and Obi-wan survive and the original series pick up right there. Boom. Fixed. Now is where my dickhead fans start asking “What about Luke? Where did he come from?” This is where I tell you, “Fuck off! I’m tired of fixing Star Wars! Do I have to do everything?” P.S. no drawing for you fucking fans, since nobody forces me to fix Star Wars without some kind of punishment being handed down. Next week, I swear to god we’ll go back to dick jokes.