Remember when I wrote that blog post about how American Apparel totally blows and is constantly producing articles of clothing seemingly for the express reason of infuriating me with their stupidity.
Well, I need to make an addendum, and it’s this.
Fuck you.
I’m in France. I’ll give a detailed breakdown on that later. In the meantime I have five things to say to you, you worthless pile of ass hair.
First thing, bitch:
When I want to go to a website that I visit with relative frequency, I usually just type the first letter and glance at the first option Firefox suggests to me, and if it looks approximately like the one I want to go to, I just hit the down arrow and press enter. Works for Facebook, Google, imdb, u.northwestern, etc. When I do it for Stank Nugget, the address looks approximately right, so I go there, but it is, in fact, our rival blog, the Stank Nooget. So the first thing I want to say is DAMN YOU, PROFESSOR ASSPOD!
La Usurpadora
Second thing, motherfucker:
TV sucks and movies suck. TV sucks because if you want to tell a specific story, you tell it, and then your ratings are good, so you start turning out crap filler just to get the dollars, and then you’re a soulless L.A. TV whore making bullshit ad infinitum with no sense of structure. Movies suck because they’re not long enough to tell a truly deep multi-layered story, especially if they want to adapt an existing work. They can be totally shitty like Watchmen, while even the strong ones, like Lord of the Rings, are disappointing to fans of the book, while still managing to go way beyond sensible limits of how long a movie should be. TV sucks and movie sucks and mini-series are fucking awesome because they are not victim to any of the things I just mentioned. They are long enough to tell their story at an appropriate pace and explore the things they should, but they are self-contained so they can manage their own structure and they won’t extend it longer than they should. That said, watch The Pacific on HBO, it is off the fucking chain, even the title sequence makes me come.
Before he was on The Pacific, James Badge Dale was on Season 3 of 24, so you know he's got the goods.
Third thing, shit-eating sheep-bladder:
Let me tell you a little bit about shitting in France. The French are much more conservative about wasting water than Americans are, and one consequence of that is that the water level in the toilets is much lower. Whereas American toilets will sometimes fill the bowl almost all the way, in France, particularly in the countryside where I am, there is still enough water but it’s all down at the bottom of the bowl. Also, stylistically, French basins are deeper to begin with. The basic result of all of this is that the toilet water level sits a good few inches farther below your ass than it does in the US. So when you take a dump it falls a long way before striking the surface of the water, resulting in a deeply satisfying ker-plunk instead of a wimpy American splish splash. Today I took a triumphant shit in a restaurant and it sounded like throwing a big rock into the ocean. So the third thing I wanna say is that pooping in France is terrific and you should try it.
That's the French word for bathroom. Also, the French word for shower is douche. See, I just taugh you shit.
Fourth thing, fuck-face clit-for-brains:
My five favorite Radiohead songs at this moment, in case you were wondering, are
5. No Surprises
4. Karma Police
3. Fake Plastic Trees
2. Paranoid Android
1. Just
I was gonna put a picture of Radiohead but they all looked too wimpy so I'm putting up a picture of Cuba Gooding Jr. in "Radio."
Fifth thing, four-eyes, dick-nose, pus-monster, baby-raper, legally blonde, buzzkill, cock-mouth, fart-panties, ass-cock-fuck-licker:
Every time i do it makes me wanna die.
Do you hear that sound, Anthony Mucia? It is the scornful laugh of pity. It comes straight from my mouth to YOUR NIGHTMARES!
HA HA HA HA HA!
I read your “blog post.” Merely the next in a short, pathetic series spread out over months of your inexplicable inability to contribute to the web page you so hypocritically created. Your sentence structure. Is problematic. You’re grammar. Is questionable. [Asspod contribution:] Your Nintendogs. Neutered.
So you indict me for my maintenance of this BLOG. You recall the days when we fought side by side for the blog. Eh, say I. Your memory must be a bit hazy. Never has this blog been a side-by-side endeavor. I admit that you and, to the slightest extent, Ross were briefly willing to trudge slowly in my wake. That is the battle I remember. But you betrayed us! When I trekked valiantly onwards, you feel by the wayside! The Stank Nugget misses you. But you have abandoned your child.
This is you.
The Stank Nugget is H.W. Plainview.
This is me.
Understand? Because, Tony, every action has a reaction, and though inactivity seems to be your specialty you have now taken an action, a gravely miscalculated action, and you will now find your equal and opposite reaction in me. Except that I won’t be your equal. I will be your superior. And you will be my bitch.
Let me say this plainly. Any degree to which the Stank Nugget may resemble sheep bladders is not due to my desperate efforts to save our blog, but simply your cruel neglect. While I have sheltered this struggling web page and offered it crusts of bread to stave off its untimely death, you have scoffed and spent your nights out in bars, getting drunk and spending our money. I have been the only hope this blog has, the only friendly face. But now you return at long last, and you cast me as the villain. If you are willing to take this back, then I hope we might once more join forces and rule this blog as the heroes we should be.
But if you do not see the light… if you do not understand the way the world works, then I suspect you might persist in your benighted contempt. And you will cast me as the villain. But know, Tony, that if you cast me as the villain, you will find me as cooperative and agreeable as ever. For I shall play the villain. I shall play the villain with a greater degree of cruelty and depravity than you could ever have imagined. You will find my wrath and fury more scathing than your most cynical expectations had guessed in your darkest of nightmares.
Be afraid, Tony! I am always here. I am always faithful. But take heed what you do, or you will awaken the dark beast within. And you may shun cream-based lotions, but I’m gonna blow my cream-based lotions all over your face if you fuck around with me, THE ONLY FATHER THIS BLOG HAS EVER KNOWN!
God Bless the Stank Nugget. I love it so much I put cutlery in my top hat. What the fuck have you done?
Blow me, sweet prince.
I have returned.
Not to a prosperous kingdom. Not to one where my people are treated with dignity and respect.
I have not returned to a land of prosperity but, of greed.
This once noble land. Is now ruled by a tyrant. It’s purpose. The perpetuation of his ego. His self-centered rants have led MY people to the brink of starvation.
What has happened to the once noble prince who used to rule alongside me? Sword in hand, teeth clenched we defended our beliefs and fought for our freedom. We triumphed by our will and determination alone. It was not long after that I was called. I could not ignore the suffering abroad and hastily took to the wind and set off on a perilous journey, the story of which I shalt not recall but, better save for a more appropriate occasion. In my absence, Ned took power and dare I say that his corruption and greed has transformed the land of stank into a denizen of ego and whores? I DO! IN MY ABSENCE, NED TRANSFORMED THE STANK NUGGET INTO A PILE OF SELF-SERVING, EGOTISTICAL (And egoistical), SHIT-CAKED SHEEP BLADDERS.
I have returned to my kingdom without a crown. without a scepter or a staff. I shun the ointments and various cream-based lotions that peasants offer me when they recognize my face. I hope that there is some of my friend left in Ned. That the seed of evil has not fully overtaken his mind and body. It is time, my people. TIME TO BURN HIS EFIGY TO THE GROUND.
goodnight sweet prince.
The other day I snatched Krislyn’s laptop off of her lap as she sat facebook chatting in the 2-Green suite. What followed was a relatively epic caper of identity theft that lasted 15 suspenseful minutes before I got bored and gave it back. I have worked to exhaustively document the history incident as it seen in that greatest of primary sources: Facebook itself.
Meanwhile, on Ariana’s wall…
Ross suffers a similar fate…
Not even Lindsey is spared…
Meanwhile, back on Krislyn’s hi-jacked profile…
And that wrapped up that story. Or did it? I returned to my own Facebook and went to post on Krislyn’s wall for some debriefing. Herein follows an epilogue…
On my wall:
And on hers:
I will be back. Mark my fucking words, I will be back. And it’s gonna turn your brains into shit. You read it here first.
Finals Week sucks so much ass! Seriously. It is fucking driving me nuts. But from all of us at the Stank Nugget to all of you people reading the blog, whoever you are, if in fact there are any of you, hang tough. Hang tough like Tom Crean, today’s featured article on wikipedia.
When Tom Crean was serving as a sailor on the Polar Explorer Ship Discovery and the ship got stuck in an ice floe, and even Ernest “Good Standard of Badass” Shackleton went home on a relief boat, did Tom Crean give up? No, Tom Crean went and broke some records about the farthest South any human had ever gone. When Tom Crean went on the Terra Nova Expedition with Robert Falcon Scott, and, on a trip to establish a supply depot, he found himself and his party stranded on ice floes drifting away from their sledges, did that tough son of a bitch cry himself to sleep and freeze to death? No, Tom Crean fucking jumped from ice floe to ice floe to return to land and get help. When Tom Crean, William Lashly, and Edward Evans were returning to base, realized they had lost the trail, and now faced a giant 2,000-foot icefall, did they take the detour around? No, those crazy bastards slid down the motherfucking icefall on their sledge, dodging 200-foot crevasses and other crazy shit. When Edward Evans got “snow blindess” just from taking off his goggles and had to be carried, and then he got scurvy and started shitting blood, and there was no way to drag him back to base camp in time, did Tom Crean say a prayer and throw in the towel? No, that crazy fucking motherfucker walked 35 miles in 18 hours across the tundra to fetch help with only a piece of chocolate and three biscuits to sustain him.
So then when Tom Crean went on the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition with Ernest Shackleton on the good ship Endurance, and that ship bloody well sank, did they go down to the icy black depths of Davey Jones’ locker? No, they got off the boat and decided to fucking survive on the ice without a ship. And then did they decide to wait it out for a rescue ship that would probably never come? Nope. Shackleton, Tom Crean, and a small crew got in one of the puny little lifeboats and decided to just sail like that to South Georgia for 17 days through storms and snow squalls in what polar historian Caroline Alexander has called “one of the most extraordinary [god-damn] feats of seamanship and navigation in recorded [fucking] history.” And then when the lifeboat lost its rudder in a landing at the uninhabited southern coast of South Georgia, did Tom Crean fall to his knees, raise his tear-soaked face to the heavens and cry, “Fine, you win, I give! I understand that you are trying to kill me and I finally submit to your divine wrath!” FUCKING NO, MOTHERFUCKING FUCKERS, HE FUCKING DID NOT. Ernest Shackleton, Frank Worsley, and Tom “I am extremely good at walking long distances in the fucking Antarctic” Crean took a 36-hour stroll over the glaciated surface of the island, being the first people in recorded history ever to do so, without sleeping bags or a map, until they arrived at the nearest whaling station, from whence they organized the rescue missions that saved every single last motherfucking person who had been stranded by the crash of the Endurance.
Oh, and did I maybe forget to mention that Tom Crean took charge of the dog-handling team on the Endurance? That’s right. Tom Crean fucking loved puppies. Just thought you should know.
I think I love this man
So for all of those of you struggling to make it through finals week to Spring Break, I advise not to be a fucking pussy and wimp out. Be like Tom Crean. Fucking hang tough.
Chapter 1
“Ah, balls,” said Nancy, “What a shitty day.”
The sharply-dressed young sleuth stood on her front porch and sniffed the air distastefully. She hugged her parka tighter around her shoulders, scrunched up her face, and stepped out down the front walk. The door flew open behind Nancy and her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, came bouncing out, still buttoning his cardigan.
“Gee, Nancy! What’s the hurry? Don’t you want to stop to smell the roses?” Ned asked, as Nancy strode briskly away.
“No,” she replied.
Ned frowned, and then skipped after his sassy steady. He laid a hand on Nancy’s shoulder, and she slowed begrudgingly to a stop, turning to stare blankly at him with an expectant grimace.
“Hey, Nan,” he offered meekly after a moment, “What’s got you down? Something on your mind?” She began to turn, and he continued, “Didn’t you have fun last night?”
This caused Nancy to pause briefly. She looked at Ned, offered one of her rare smiles, and answered, “No.”
Ned mulled this over for a moment before chasing after the spunky young Nancy, who had continued on her way around the corner. As Ned wheeled around the corner, he let out a yelp of surprise to see Nancy stopped short right in front of him.
“Whoa there, Nan!” he chuckled fondly, “You startled me there.”
But Nancy didn’t respond to him immediately. Her attention was seized by something lying on the ground in front of her. Ned, still clueless, stared at her in bewilderment. After another moment, she said plainly, “Well, now my whole day is fucked.”
Gradually Ned followed her gaze to the floor, when he registered that the indeterminate shape was actually a badly mangled heap of body parts. Ned let out a slightly more pathetic yelp then before and clasped his hands over his mouth.
“Don’t be a gaywad, Ned,” Nancy murmured, rolling her eyes.
“Holy cow!” Ned exclaimed when he had regained a measure of composure, “I think we’ve stumbled upon the scene of a crime!”
“I know,” she replied, “What a fucking pain.”
“But… but Nancy! You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Don’t say it. Do not say it.”
“It looks like we’ve got another mystery to solve!” Ned said, fairly whimpering with anticipation.
“Fuck my life,” Nancy replied. Ned stuck his hands on his hips and gave Nancy a stern look, at which she gave a shudder of contempt. He wagged his finger and began to lecture.
“Nancy Drew! Now aren’t you the best detective in River Heights? And don’t you have a responsibility to use your God-given skill to bring resolution to every case, and justice to every citizen of our fair town? Well, don’t you? So why don’t you turn that frown upside down and get to work!”
With that, he turned and, hoping to set a good example, began scouring the scene of the crime looking for a clue.
“Don’t be an idiot, Ned,” Nancy said, “We’re not gonna find a clue here. Let’s just let somebody else do it.”
“Ha ha! You say that now. But what do you have to say about this?” Ned exclaimed, brandishing a bloody hacksaw from underneath a shrubbery.
“Great,” Nancy replied, unenthusiastically, “A hacksaw. Now what, you want to go to all the hardware stores in town and ask if they’ve sold hacksaws to any shady characters lately?”
Ned grinned affectionately, “Oh, Nan. You know me so well. That’s exactly what I think we should do.”
“God damnit, you can’t find a criminal that way!” she said, “That doesn’t work in real life.”
“Well, not with that attitude.”
“Oh, what’s the point?” Nancy shouted in response, startling a gasp out of Ned, “This stupid shit happens all the time! Don’t you get it, Ned? We’re just teenagers, we’re not gonna reduce the crime rate, we’re not gonna change this blighted fucking city! Why should I go on one of these inane mystery missions when I’m never going to actually accomplish anything? God, it’s all so fucking futile!”
Ned paused a moment, and then crossed his arms. He cocked his head to the side, and began to say in a sing-song voice, “I think someone’s being a negative Nancy Drew.”
“I just hate you so much.”
