Friday, August 26, 2011

Who’s Shitting in my Serenity Stable–Part Deux

Welcome to the second installment of the first recurring topic of this shitscape I call a blog. You may recall the inspiration for the first dung dropping under this heading was no other than the King Dick himself Tim Allen. God I hate him and his stupid overly-soothing, adjective-happy, tourism-pimping voice. (Look who’s complaining about adjectives, the chick who has the thesaurus opened to “fecal matter” all the time. At least it’s a noun)

Despite being a total Dick, Santa the Tool-Man Clause is not the only person I find to be a Pure Moron. (No I’m not an idiot when it comes to capitalization, read this and it will all make sense) Next on my shit list is none other than the trifling, tweet-happy twit John Mayer.

Having grown up in Suburbia, I’m perfectly capable of ignoring any pasty white jackass with an acoustic guitar. However, years and years of exposure to this moron have caused irreparable damage to my ears as well as my bowels.

Have you listened to the lyrics of these manure melodies? If you can get yourself past the suicide-provoking instrumentals, you’ll hear shit like:

“Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too”

Parenting advice from the same jackoff who tweets shit like, “I am the new generation of masturbator, I’ve seen it all. Before I make coffee, I’ve seen more butt holes than a proctologist does in a week…” to the world. Hearing this makes me want to beat my daughter, just to piss John Mayer off.

Do you think any man was just seconds from beating/molesting/walking out on his kid, heard this song, and had a change of heart? Listen to the rest of the song, where Douchebag Supreme reveals that he only wants fathers to be so super to their daughters so that he can fuck the shit out of them later without added baggage. Classy. A real eye-opener. Just think deadbeat dads, John Mayer could impregnate your daughter and you could be RICH, BEEYOTCH! Better stick around and see how that all plays out! For fuck’s sake. Shut up John, if we want advice on how to make our foreheads bigger or grow a creepy mustache we’ll let you know.

And then you have his sexual reputation. As in, he’s good in bed. REALLY good. (allegedly). I find this to be even more reason to hate him, because I want to believe such a vile human being suffers from dick rot or at the bare minimum crippling impotence. But no, his libido is world renowned. Fuck. This means he probably has kids (daughters) all over the world that he’s neglecting, that probably inherited most of his dunderhead genes, and within fifty years we’ll be living on the real life movie set of Idiocracy. (“Welcome to Costco, I love you.")

I’ve also heard that Mayer, or at least his dick, is a white supremacist. I choose not to elaborate on this, because I’d hate to see a libel case against this stool sample of a blog. Everything else I’ve reported is an indisputable fact. Or an opinion of a delusional drunkard. Either way, court protected. Bitches.

And that is all I have to spew at you tonight, my fine minions. But if you need me, you know where to find me. I’ll just be sitting here waiting, (waiting), waiting on the world to change….

Monday, August 15, 2011

Update THIS.



                Anyone who knows me (or has read this blog) knows that I’m technologically retarded. So this next rant, to any educated person, is going to sound even more whiny and dunderheaded than normal. I apologize now for my stupidity, though I feel my imbecilic rage is justified.
                Despite being a techtard, I (obviously) use computers every day. When I’m not feverishly fingering my keyboard, I have my so-called “smart” phone attached to my hip. (I’d HATE to miss an important email from my Nigerian prince, forcing him to give all his riches to someone else closer to the keys)
                But every time I turn on one of these “convenience” items, there’s some sort of god damn mandatory, critical, do-it-right-fucking-now-or-the-world-will-end SOFTWARE UPDATE.  Every fucking time.
                I understand that technology is evolving at a crazy fast pace. I get that. But I don’t recall Mother Nature requiring us to click “OK” and “Restart” when she introduced us to opposable thumbs and cleaner alternatives to feces-flinging, and those were WAY bigger deals than any of this petty bullshit.
                Every day I update something. And NEVER have I noticed a difference in how ANYTHING worked post-update. I think it’s a government conspiracy, much like the one to steal our feet. More on that another time, shhhhhh, they know I’m on to them.
                These never-ending enhancements don’t seem to stop my phone or computer from being obsolete once it’s six months old, so what the fuck is the point?
                I hereby vow to never update anything, ever again. New version of Adobe? No thanks. Update to navigation app? Eat shit, I’ll take my chances that the bridge is still standing.  Critical upgrade to Windows 7? Go fuck yourself, Microsoft. In fact I’m going to find my old Windows 95 disc and try that puppy on for size. Perhaps I’ll dust off the 2400 modem and start using dial-up from a rotary phone. That’ll show you progress-pimping mother fuckers.
                That’s all I have to excrete for today. Oh, and some of you have expressed that you’re having issues loading Turd Mountain. You may need a critical spyware antivirus browser cookie cache update. You should check into that, I hear it’s important.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Riding My Own Coattails -- An Exercise in Laziness

So throughout the development of that silly little Cracked article I can't shut up about, there was a lot of back and forth with editorial on what studies/evidence worked and what didn't. One of the segments that got axed quite early in the process was the one that actually inspired the piece to begin with.

Like the educated piece of excrement that I am, I was browsing The New York Times online when I came across this article:  http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/17/science/17tierney.html?_r=2&ref=science      (You don't have to read it, I've just always wanted to add a link to NY Times on this blog centered around poop.) I was amazed at just how fucking hard modern psychology was making it to be happy, therefore inspiring me to make fun of the whole concept in general.

While the genius editors at Cracked certainly know best, I thought the segment would be a perfect fit for a dung heap like this blog. Plus, it's already written, so I don't have to do any real work. Unless you count cutting and pasting, which was only truly hard in kindergarten. Even then the only true challenge was resisting the urge to eat that deliciously fragrant (and chunky!) glue-like substance. But I digress. Here it is in all it's glory, the segment not good enough to make the final cut on a REAL website, but deemed just right to fertilize the green pastures of Turd Mountain:


Reason #1: They're raising the bar.
                So you walk around smiling, humming to yourself, and you are generally content with your life. Guess what? That’s not enough. It’s not up to you to decide you’re happy, that’s what we have psychologists for. And they say you’re full of shit.
                Dr. Martin Seligman, president of the American Psychological Association and expert bubble-burster, has redefined what it means to be happy and it is a hard combination to crack.
                Seligman, who apparently doesn’t get enough kicks making shit up for a living, also created an acronym to measure happiness. P.E.R.M.A. – positive emotion, engagement (the feeling of being lost in a task), relationships, meaning, and accomplishment.  He says that all these requirements must be met to experience true happiness.
                That’s right, now before you smile you have to run through a checklist in your head using a ROY G BIV device to remember what the fuck you’re checking for.
                Dr. Poopie Pants also states that “life satisfaction” is NOT an indication of happiness. “Life satisfaction essentially measures cheerful moods, so it is not entitled to a central place in any theory that aims to be more than a happiology,” he states in his new book Flourish, clearly making a mockery of both cheerful people and the English language.
                So how does Seligman propose we get our happy on? He recommends that on top of building meaningful relationships with others and our environment that we set happiness goals for ourselves and monitor progress, actually tracking the time spent working towards these goals. Yes, we’re serious.
                Before you go grab your notepad and pencil, we suggest you read on to understand just how hopeless this pipedream of happiness really is.


<cue rest of article you've already read, because I've crammed it down your throat 40000 times this week>

So there you have it, the precursor to my first published work and my laziest blog entry EVER all rolled into one. Thanks for reading!

Monday, August 8, 2011

Turd Mountain Takeover!

My first Cracked article ran today, hope you fuckers enjoy it!

http://www.cracked.com/article_19376_5-scientific-reasons-your-idea-happiness-wrong.html


On a delayed side note, Turd Mountain also has a Facebook page! *Like* it to stay updated on the latest in pertinent poop.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Turd-Mountain/101222833309273

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Speling is Soooo Last Sentury!

                I don’t think many could dispute that typing and reading have replaced talking and listening in today’s world. Thanks to technological advances, mutant contagious diseases, and a society-wide disdain for actual human contact, face-to-face dialogue is basically obsolete. Plus, it’s much less confrontational to ignore someone by simply not reading a message than to stick your fingers in your ears and hum loudly until they stop fucking talking. Don’t worry; the anti-talking trend isn’t the part that bothers me. I hate having to wear pants to angrily debate politics and sports just as much as the next person. Of course in pre-internet days it was much harder to find a complete asshole stranger who wanted to argue about nothing, but I digress.      
                My point is your image now comes from your typing. And some of you fuckwads look like window-licking dolts every time your fingers hit the keys.
                I’m not talking about your basic typos. Remember that stupid email going around for a while, citing some probably imaginary study showing that as long as the first and last letter of a word were in the correct spot most people could read even the most mangled of sentences? Well bullshit study or not, I could read every sutipd wrod of taht tinhg. What’s defecating on my disposition right now is people who CAN’T FUCKING SPELL.
                Either we have a pandemic of undiagnosed downs syndrome in this country, or we just never realized how stupid some people were until we gave them a computer and an email address. Come on, I can’t think of one fucking computer program or social network site that does not have a built-in spell check. Which means when you type something that doesn’t even remotely resemble a word, a RED SQUIGGLY LINE immediately underlines it. If it’s somewhat close to an actual idiom, it even delicately suggests to the moron at the keys how to correct their lingual homicide. But apparently these dunderheads were too busy pissing their pants in second grade when a red line was introduced as an indication that something was incorrect and not a symbol of praise for how insightful they are.
                When reading your typing, people are imagining you talking. And here’s how some of you fuckers look:



And then there are those who CAN spell, but to fit in with the rest of the artards on the interwebs they purposely use “text talk,” or repeat the last letter of a word 5 times. Unless you’re under the age of 16 or Rain Man, this is unacceptableeeee. See? Looks fucking stupid.


                I feel the need to reiterate, I *love* that we’ve reached a point where we no longer have to talk to each other in person.  Not to mention if it weren’t for our great advancements in antisocialism I would never be able to unleash my childish rage for millions to read. (And for the three of you that do actually read this, I thank you.) But please, PLEASE, watch for those scarlet squigglies. You may think appearing uneducated is cute, but it really just makes you look like a duck*.

*Sorry, should’ve said DICK.