Dyslexic pageant queens, gypsies curses and waiting for the worst: Thursday’s 3 things

The lady and I joined the gym this week. This means my entire body has been sore every minute of this week. It’s excruciating but I feel like it just maybe a little bit is becoming easier to handle. God, I hope so.

When I get up from my desk at work to go to the bathroom or get some water, after long periods of being seated, I find myself walking like I’ve just been sodomized painfully. You’d think I kept a thick black dildo taped facing upward in the center of my chair. Yes, I am a true hunk.

The highlight of my week so far was covering a very rural 4-H Fair Queen pageant. It was held in a crowded barn with everybody sweating like crazy. I could actually feel my butt sweat running down my legs. I think this was all on purpose to set the mood.

The set was all mid-70’s wood paneling with a faded vomit green carpet from the same era covering the stage. Sparkly stars and crepe paper were strewn around the backdrop as if decorated for a 3rd grade class spring concert. The whole set up looked like half a rape attic. Like if Buffalo Bill ever got tired of hosing down fat girls in his basement, this is where he went to really strut his stuff with his dick tucked between his legs.

The competition itself, however, was very fitting for the setting. I’m pretty sure all the music came through a small, Walmart quality CD player and the format was extremely depressing. There was no talent portion because nobody cares if a 16-21 year old girl can do anything, yet there was a swimsuit competition billed as the “physique” portion of the contest. The girls did give a one minute speech at the end and were allowed to speak about any topic they wished, just so long as it was not political, immoral or controversial. And the best part? The scores for this section did not depend on the content of the speech but only the delivery!

And boy did that show. The speech given by the girl who won sounded like it came from a dyslexic, epileptic cocaine fairy. It made no sense and had no point, sounded like it was written by an overzealous 7th-grader trying to deliver a persuasive speech for english class, but the girl delivered it with energy and memorized well enough that she didn’t skip a beat. I cannot even share the horror on my face during this speech. Words cannot express.

Onto the meat and potatoes.

Reason to live: Revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge

You'll get yours, Bieber!

If you need just one reason, any reason, to make life seem like it might be worth the trouble, this is it.

So things aren’t going so well? And all those douchebags seem to always win, huh? Dawwwww. Forget about it, sonny. Those fuckers will get theirs. All in due time. You’ve gotta stay alive to see what terrible shit will befall them.

Hey, this is life and terrible shit happens to all of us. No one gets out of this shit unscathed.

Maybe that person you hate’s first child will be kidnapped and the grief will tear apart that person’s marriage. Maybe they’ll drive just a bit too fast in that sweet car they own after getting just a little too drunk at a swank party and have their arm amputated in a crash. Maybe that person will get a fuckload of AIDS. Sweet, right? Yeah, fuck that asshole.

So don’t kill yourself. Grab some popcorn instead, sit back, and follow those dicks on Facebook. The shit could hit the fan any minute now. The clock is ticking.

Reason to kill: You’ve been cursed

Damn, you, gypsie witch! You've robbed me of my ability to taste peanut butter! Die!

Goddamn voodoo curses and shit! How did it get you?

Did your dick shrivel up and die? Oh, you just wrapped it tight with a rubberband for a few days. Good call.

Are you doomed to die within a short amount of time and go to hell, like that shitty movie?

Do you have to judge 4-H beauty contests for all eternity?

Do you have genital warts? (No. A gypsie curse did this, honey. Honest!)

Well, most movie plots involve very long and involved processes for getting rid of curses. It’s all bullshit. The only thing to do is to kill the bitch that did this to you.

Is the person who did this already technically dead and eerie and shit? Well, then, don’t worry. Some strange figure will come along who has been dealing with this type of shit for centuries and will tell you how to kill the bitch. Don’t stray from this advice. If this advice doesn’t work, then steal a nuclear weapon and use that. Nothing survives a nuclear blast, I don’t care how creepy it is.

Reason to die: Your parents hate you

I wish I'd never stretched out my vagina for you, you stupid little rag.

Holy shit, dude. Your own parents hate you? You mean even the only two people in the world who are genetically predisposed to loving you? Those people hate you?

That’s fucked. What chance do you have of anybody else loving you, then.

And if they don’t fully hate you, you know they are at least disappointed in how you turned out. That’s bottom, buddy.

Man, just think how much better their lives would have been if they hadn’t had to spend all that time and money on you. And for what?

You clearly don’t deserve to live. You could at least have the decency of relieving these selfless people of the burden of being your parents.


About Ken Harris

I like whisky. And whiskey, too. And I like you.
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One Response to Dyslexic pageant queens, gypsies curses and waiting for the worst: Thursday’s 3 things

  1. L says:

    “dyslexic, epileptic cocaine fairy”

    caused silent room laughter explosion.

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