Why The Earth Gets Cold

Every year the earth gets warmer, then colder. The ice melts, then freezes. The sun stays out for twelve hours in the summer but only 9 hours in the winter.  Why does this happen?

The answer fellow Christians and false religion practitioners is Satan.  Satan every year takes the warmth of the earth and brings it into hell.  He makes it so it stays darker longer so he can influence more souls to do evil.

The statistics are there.  There are more murders, thefts, and molestation of men during the colder months.  Internet Pornography usage skyrockets so women can heat up during their time of the month (I don’t like using the terms ‘period’ or ‘menstruation’ because those terms are inappropriate for speaking out loud or on paper).  The Jews also light candles more often during the month of December for an unknown reason.

I pray the rosary one hundred times a day whenever it dips below 40 degrees Fahrenheit.  I pray for the gays, the Jews, the Muslims, and President Obama to stop their evil ways and see the light of the one, true God.  I pray that John Mayer can finally stop his sexual urges and promiscuity to finally settle down with a Christian woman.   Same goes for Taylor Swift and her search for love (If she were to just understand that having sex before marriage only makes heartache hurt more, then she would finally start making the right decisions for her life.)

Sometimes angels appear to me during summer, but never during winter.  Why is that?

We all know that Satan was once an angel himself.  He was the top angel under God.  He had the whitest, widest, wildest wings of any angel.  But in his jealousy of God, he asked why God had to be his master and he got other angels to follow him.  It sounds to me like Satan was like my three year old son who asks why it is that I am the boss of him.  And instead of sending my son into timeout for a few minutes, Satan is in timeout for eternity in a place called hell.  If I put my son in timeout for eternity, he would starve to death.  But Satan does not starve to death because his energy comes from fire.

Hell is a place where fire is everywhere.   Except while normally firefighters would be hired to put out fires, there are no firefighters in hell.  Fire is relished there.  It’s hard to understand for us humans, because we did not make this place up.  But Satan mainly uses the hell-fire to punish us sinners who are unfortunate to die with mortal sins on our soul records.  And then he uses the screams to produce more energy like in the movie Monsters Inc..  It’s sad that had these sinners just gone to confession before they died, they would have at least made it to purgatory.

Purgatory is a place that is a little bit between heaven and hell.  In order to get to heaven, one must repent for his or her sins in purgatory.  No one knows what it is like, but there are rumors that it’s a little like earth and you have to make things right in the lives of the people you loved before you can get to heaven not unlike the movie, Ghost Town.

Now, that you have a better picture of the afterlife, you can hopefully understand why Satan would want to get more heat in his place of residence.  So, what can we do about this problem?

I have a little solution and it’s called Global Warming.  The secular, liberal Democrats want to prevent it, because the dark one that shall not be named has perverted their thinking to stop global warming and save the earth from getting warmer.  Democrats therefore want the earth to still have winters.  They like snowmen and abortions and that pill that let’s women not become with child (I do not like the term baby either).  You see we need more heat on the earth, so from now don’t try to use less electricity or more fuel efficient vehicles.  In fact, we need to stop planting trees so they do not use Carbon Dioxide to make sugar in photosynthesis.   Cutting down the rain forests completely and mining for gold, oil, and minerals for our breakfast cereals is not wrong.  It’s right. Whatever we can do to get more carbon in the ozone layer to heat our planet, we should do.  We need to stop these battles over the economy and focus on the one true battle: the elimination of winter east and west of the equator if you were to tilt your head to the side.

If you have doubts about what I say, do not fret.  Those are only natural to our corrupted, human minds.  The key is to this is to believe what I say to be true with no hesitation.

Thank you for reading, and I can’t wait to see you in heaven.  If you do go to hell, I can still see you through a telescope lens from one of the balconies in heaven.  So, I will be able to check up on you.


A Storied Affair

I was 25.  The year was 2012.  September. Late. Morning. Late.  I met the first woman who let me delve inside her.

At the time, I was still a Freshman in college.  On the side, I would work with people’s swimming pools to make money to pay for school.  I had been wanting to have sex for awhile, but every woman whose I eyes I stared into, whose words I would contemplate, whose naked body I would imagine, whose naked body I would imagine having sex with in many different positions, whose naked body I would then cover with a sheet, whose naked body I would massage while she slept, never allowed me to have consensual sex with her.

Then it finally happened.  I had been doing Sheila’s pool for years and yet I never had found her attractive.  She was in her 40’s, divorced, with 2 children.  Brown hair.  B-Cup Breasts.  Blue Jeans.  White Short-Sleeve Shirts. Green Eyes.  Glasses.  Thin.  Enough.

I was closing her pool, putting her pool supplies away in her garage, when I noticed her.  She was sitting down, reading a novel, when she took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes.  I immediately imagined pummeling her hard.  Those legs, smooth.  Bare feet.  The sun showed me her in a different way, as if its light rays bounced off of her and went straight to my inguinal region, forcing my red blood to rush into it.

I hid my display of flattery quite well, as I normally do about 30 times a day.  It’s a customer–I thought–I can’t embarrass myself like this and insult her.  Like it always does, the blood went back to my brain.

A half of an hour later, I was all finished with closing her pool.  She said she was going to get her check book.  She came back with a check-book and pen in her hand.  Blue Ink. Surprising Choice.  And that is what made me say this when she asked if I wanted anything else like a bottle of water for the road:

“HOW ‘BOUT A ****?”

She stood there blinking incessantly with a blank stare.  And I just kept on staring into her eyes.  For so long, I had been this passive, gentleman who would try to allure women through the qualities of listening, chivalry, and being kind.  But I think what made me say that to her was the thought that maybe what women really want is for a man to just take control–shock them–like I did Sheila.

It worked.  I moved towards her.  She went for my face like a homing missile and her lips accidentally touched my chin instead of my mouth.  I moved my tongue onto her tooth.  As I wiggled it around her mouth I was able to get out a piece of meat from one her teeth.  I spit it out of my mouth.  She was even more impressed now and turned on. I wrapped my arms around her back side and tried to maneuver her down to the ground.  But when I bent my knees, they kept on running into her thighs. And when I she bent her knees, I felt I was going to fall over.

“Here,” I said, “just pretend like you and I are doing the Tango, and I am holding you in that position where you are bent, but I am keeping you from falling.”  We did that position.  “Now, I will gently lower your body to the ground.”

“Okay,” she said, “be careful, I have a bad back.”

We both unzippered ourselves.  It took me awhile, because I always had trouble with that faulty zipper.  But eventually, I got it unzipped.

Then we made sweet, condomless sex on the wood of her pool deck.   We laid there for a few minutes awkwardly.

“That was a mistake,” she said.  “I am a mother.  You are so young.  What was I thinking?”

“I could sense that you were in heat by the way rubbed your eyes when you were reading back there.  You needed it badly.  I gave it to you.  There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You are right.  Thank you.  Anyways, I was going to ask you, would it be possible for you to hire my 14-year old son, Hove?”

“I don’t see any problems with that,” I replied, “I might be able to use his help, possibly.”

She stood up.  But I pulled her back down onto me.  She yelled, “Woah!”

“Not so fast,” I said.

“You are a wild man.  I feel like I am a woman again.”

“Only because you are a wild woman that I am a wild man.  But the world of motherhood subdued you into a haze, a haze of crotch tension.  At first, it was almost too much to live with.  But you went on, and through the years you just learned to live with the feeling as a normalcy.  It was almost like your hymen grew back.  And I came and de-flowered you for the second time in your life.”

“No.  I had sex last week actually with this guy I met on Match.com.  I’ve had plenty of sex over the years.”

“Oh…well, my assumptions about your love life were off.  You know this is the first time I’ve ever laid with a woman before.”

“What the hell? Seriously? You chose me? And the way you asked ‘How about a $$$$?’  That’s really odd.  How old are you?”


“And you were still a virgin before this?”

“Yeah, but now that I have compared sex to masturbation, I’d say I lost my virginity when I was fourteen.  Pretty much the same thing.  I’m really good simulating a woman.  I’ve built some contraptions.  Pulleys.  Axles and Levers.  And I use a some other stuff.  It’s all pretty unique.  It takes a while to set up.  My room would look really weird with a bunch a ropes around my bedroom.  I’ve also been able to give myself oral for awhile.  I’m really flexible.”

“Oh, I see…”

“Anyways, you want to go again?”

She said yes.  And I was again invigorated by her.  We said our goodbyes.  I asked to use her bathroom to urinate to avoid a urinary tract infection. I went onto the next pool.  I could still smell her on me at the next pool despite the foul stench of black colored water and dead leaves.

I got home around eight o’clock that night.  I broke out my weed.  And then did studying for my Algebra test for the next day.

A couple days passed.  I eventually called her through the use of my cellular phone.  I didn’t want my parents to find out about this, so I hid in my living room closet while I talked to her as my parents were sitting down at the dinner table in the room over.

“Hi, Shi-ela (a ploy of mispronouncing her name that I commonly did with all girls),” I said.

“Hi, Vince,” she replied.  “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you would like me to come over…(in a Sean Connery voice) your naked body tonight?” I imagined her giggling like a giddy schoolgirl and caressing her neck and breasts at the naughty thought.

“Not tonight.  I can’t pay you tonight.  I’ll call you tomorrow,” she replied.

“Okay.  I will talk to you tomorrow.” What the heck?

We just had made love twice the other day, and now she was pretending like it never happened.  What am I to her? Just flesh and blood.  And penis!  And nothing else?  NO, NO–I stopped myself–she is just probably in front of her sons.  This relaxed me.  I went upstairs after dinner and set up my room like I do every night, and watched other women getting banged by men whose faces are never shown, so I like millions of other men can pretend that that man is actually me.

I was relaxed again.  This is better than an actual woman anyways–I said to myself.  These ropes will never leave me.

The next day, Sheila called me.

“I appreciate what you did for me last night.  I’m sorry I had to be so discreet.”  This is what I wished she had said.

Instead, she told me that she did not see us really working out.  And she needs to think about her sons.  I was crushed.  But then I thought–WAIT! She is saying that, but she really means that she wants it again.

“Well, I need your son’s help I think,” I blurted out.

“You’re not going to feel awkward about this whole situation?”  she asked.

“Not at all.”

“Okay.  Sure, when do you need him?”

“This weekend.”


The phone was then just a connection with silence.

That weekend came up rather quickly.  I was fretting nervously of how to get in Sheila’s pants again.  I mean she wants it, but I just have to get her zipper down.  So, I went over to her house, and rang the door bell.  It was her son who answered the door.  Not her.  I looked quickly into the house as Hove shut the door, but I didn’t see any sign of her around.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah…yeah,” he replied.

Okay–I thought to myself–what the hell kind of response was that?  We got in the car.  I asked him, “So, what classes are you taking currently?”

“I’m a Freshman.  I go to Andrew.”  Does this kid not listen at all?  Or maybe this is just how his generation speaks.  I shouldn’t rush to judge.

All of a sudden though, I did notice his build.  He was really small.  Young looking.  He had the look of a kid you just wanted to bully, because he looked so small.

The day went pretty smoothly for the most part.  I had him do some simple tasks.  We didn’t say much.  I mean how was I to relate to this kid?  All I wanted to do was bang his mom.  I couldn’t tell him about how I already did.  Or should I????

“So, I can get you alcohol, if you want?” I offered him.  I thought that maybe if I warmed up to him by being like a cool dad rather than a cruel boss, I would get on his good side.

“Really? Thanks.  But I don’t drink,” he replied.  HE DOESN’T DRINK?  WHAT KIND OF LOSER DOESN’T DRINK IN HIGH SCHOOL?  I HATE THIS KID!

“I can get you weed if you want that?”

“I never tried it.”

“Well, I have some right now.  Just smoke up.  It will make the day go by faster.  I’ve been high since this morning.  When we were in Burger King earlier, I smoked a joint in the bathroom stall to freshen up.”

“Oh.  I don’t know…I probably shouldn’t.”

“Do you watch any porn?  I can let you borrow some DVDs.”

“I don’t know.  Maybe.  I mean there’s stuff online.”

“True.  True dat.”  I switched topics and asked, “So what does your mom do for a living?  What does she like to do?  Favorite movies?  Favorite bands?”

“Why?  Do you want to date her or something?” He was onto me.  I had to think fast.

“No. Of course not! I have an uncle who is on the market and I feel like maybe their personalities would mesh.”

So, he told me her favorite movie was The Passion of the Christ.  Her favorite band was Depeche Mode and Kei$ha.  Her favorite meal was sausage.  Of course, it was–I laughed to myself.  She liked to go running.  (I imagined those breasts bouncing and bouncing because her sports bra broke for some reason and then her breasts were loose.)  She liked to read Cosmopolitan.

I definitely had some stuff to work with.  Eventually, the day wound down.  I told him as I was driving him home, “Well, you did decent today.”

“Thanks.  And thanks for the opportunity.”

“You know I barely remember my first time.  I was probably pretty bad.  I mean it’s kind of like do you remember all the details of the first time you masturbated?  I don’t.  I don’t remember what woman it was.  What time of day was it at.  What made me reach down in my pants in the first place.”  I explained to him.

“Well, I will see you later.”

“Alright, Hove.”

I texted her a picture of myself naked when I got home with the message, “Your son did well today.”

She replied with a picture of herself the same.  I was expected some more hard-to-get, but instead I got what I wanted.  But then I realized, I really don’t need to sleep with her again.  I have  a picture of her naked.  I could just save it and use it for some nights.  My ropes do a good job.  I really don’t need her.

It was a couple of years later before I finally decided to call her up again.  We chatted.  But nothing came of it.  But then I told her I still had her picture and that I used it frequently.  Then we finally had sex again.  I realized that maybe ropes weren’t good enough, because they did not have the heart of a woman.  And they left really bad rug burn every time.  Maybe, all I needed was her.  That is the night I knew I would spend the rest of my life with her.

The end.

Proof That Being Gay Is a Choice

Since science has been indeterminate in finding whether being gay is caused genetic factors, it seems to be that the only real explanation is that it is caused by environmental factors.  To prove it, I chose to have sex with a man.

I had immerse myself into becoming a gay man.  I started using a penis pump to get it bigger for when I finally did the deed.  If I was going to pleasure a man, I had to do it right.  And if I was going to be gay, I had to have a bigger penis.

I had to shave my hair off my body so it was smooth to the touch.  Plus, during the licking-of-the-body portion of the foreplay, I didn’t want the man to get hair in his mouth.  I would only hope that the man would do the same for me.

Traversing the web for a date would have been too easy.  Still, I looked and it was the common sex party after sex party thing.  I wanted to shake things up.

I bought my condoms and my enemas for the actual act of anal sex.  Finally, I was ready to go.

I went to my first gay club dressed in pink leather pants with a bird-beak attached on the crotch and no shirt.  Instead, I attached pink flamingo feathers to my upper body.  I had red mascara around my eyes.  I had my yellow-lipstick on.  I put my hair into a fohawk position with purple glitter sprinkled among the follicles.  I changed my walk to make it so I didn’t swing my arms around or bend my knees when walking.

All the gay men took notice of me, immediately.  I went up to my first target.  A brutish, skinny man with wide-narrow shoulders, wearing a silver, reflective shirt and red jeans.

“Hush,” I said instead of ‘hello’, “What does the flower grow for in the ground among the weeds in a prairie?  What does a cactus live for in the desert with no sand to thrust into its pores?  What does a sheep with its tongue cut out do to ‘bahhhhhhh’?”  The man burst out laughing.  I knew I had him for the rest of the night.  But I didn’t want to choose him right away.  I had only just got there.  So, I said, “I’m sorry, I twirl to the stage to find a refresh to light my glow.”  He looked astonished as I walked away, knowing full-well I play hard to get.

I went over to the bar to work my magic on another man.  I asked the bartender for a ‘jack-of-semen-and-coke’.  He said, “Okay.”  He took a glass out from the shelf.  “No!” I yelled, “Pour it…in this.”  I stuck out my hand with my palm up and cupped.  He looked surprised, oddly.  But he did what I commanded.  He poured the black fluid into my palm.  I licked the drink once like a cat and smiled at the man.  He nervously smiled back.  It was cute.

I tapped the shoulder of the man next to me so he would pay attention to me.  He turned around and looked at me.  Staring into his eyes, I again licked the liquid in the palm of my hand.  He looked down at my hand.  I nodded.  I did it again.  I knew I had him when his eyes opened as wide as possible.   But again, I didn’t want to play it this easy.  I wanted a man to reject me at least once.

The next man I went up to was a blonde man with a completely bald head.  “Live!” I said to him.  Then I did a hand stand and told him to touch the tip of the beak.  He pushed me over, and said, “Not cool man.”  I burst into tears.  I could not contain myself.  All the red mascara was going down my face as tears.  I knew it!  I was so embarrassed.  Another man stepped in and said, “No violence!”  He went up to me and stuck out his hand.  I looked into his eyes.  Blue.  Perfect.  Almost no pupil.  His black allergy mask covered most of his face.  But all I needed was his eyes for that night.

We didn’t even need to say a word.  We went back to my place.  “Don’t touch the floor,” I told him, “We have to use the walls.”  I climbed onto the wall, so my feet didn’t touch the ground.  I climbed all away to the other way to the room.  He followed me all the way to my bedroom.  I didn’t even need to look behind my shoulder to know he was.  I could hear him breathing through that mask.

By the time the foreplay was over, it was time for sex.  He had me first.  I had him third.  It was just like the movie, “The Hunger Games”.  I screamed violently with a face like Arnold makes in Total Recall as he pulls the tracking device out of his brain and left nostril, “PUT IT IN ME.”   He took out his bottle of lube.  “DON’T YOU DARE PUT LUBE IN.  I want it dry, you mother******!”   He tried to put on a condom.  “No condoms!”  I demanded.  The feeling was INTENSE.  PAINFUL.  My adrenaline was rushing.  For such a pleasurable activity, the devil really was smart in tempting humans into this perverse act.

Next, it was my turn to pleasure him.  He cried as I pounded and pounded him.  The command of a man was great.  I could see the appeal now of why a man would want to have sex with another man instead of a woman.  Dominating such a physically superior specimen was much more satisfying.

I finally took the train home to my wife and two kids.  It was great seeing them again.  That night I lay in bed smiling.  I had just proved the cause of homosexuality.  And I proved it could be cured too.  People can choose to be gay or straight.  I just choose to be the latter.

In Defense of Todd Akin

“It seems to me, from what I understand from doctors, that’s really rare.  If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down. But let’s assume that maybe that didn’t work or something: I think there should be some punishment, but the punishment ought to be of the rapist, and not attacking the child.”
-Todd Akin from an interview on the Jaco Report on Fox St. Louis

Todd Akin say, in my mind, nothin wrong.  In front of my woman, howevr, I say dat itis.  And ‘dis is wat dis story is all for.  I no for FACT dat every man agreas wit Todd Akin on what he say.  What he say is completely for true.

Im sick of havin 2 be dis completely different person in front of my girl!

1st, she make me stop playin video games.  I used to play on dat Xbox wit my Xbox friends.  Wit Call uv Duty, she complain dat it was sick that I pretendin to kills people.  Wit Halo, she say same thing evin dough killin aliens are different.  Wit Forza Motorsport, she say dat it make no sense why I want to pretend to drive on dare when I can drive my ride.  Well, I cant drive at speeds over 80 on da street.  Make dat 70 mostly cuz I drive all do place wit her.  She say 80 is 2 fast & complainin if she sees that I drivin over 70.

2nd, she dont want me no watch no porn.  She say its same thin as cheatin on her.  I say dat it pretty much da same thin as if I imaginin nother woman which she has no control over cept much easier to imagine.  Plus, she never wants to do behind; she say it hert.  So how I suppose to imagine dat as easily as watchin it doin by 2 other people who love 2?

3st, she say dat she dont like me smokin my marry jane.  She say dat itis a disgustin habitat.  Plus, da cops dont like it.

I often ask myself wether havin a woman is worth it.  What dis deal wit dis hole mogonamy concept?  It completely unnatural.  If I have  urge to put it in, PUT IT IN, oda girls, I shouod beez ables to lisen to my body & do it.  & she shont care, cuz itis what men do.  Ive never had sex with an indian girl, asian girl, canadian girl, brazilian girl, & so on.

Ive abandon everythin dat I am for deese women.  Back in college in eigth grade, I used to bam, bam, bam women wit jokes about my large dog size & how my juice was additive like cocaine.  “Just dont put it in yo nose, I would say.  It too intense; only for da brave.”

Back 2 Todd, let analyse dis statement peace by peace.

  1. “It seems to me, from what I understand from doctors, that’s really rare.”

2.  “If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

  • Since there is some crazy women who delight 2 make up stories, dear obviously are iligitimate rapes.  My buddy once accused of raping this girl back in college.  I know he dont do it.  2 prove it, she died in a car accident be4 da trial & da charges were gone since it was her word against his.
  • Next, the female body has all sort of traps for my boys in the canal.  That’s why my boys is protected in the coat of juice.  Just like in real life, women try to shut us down, but eventually we men win…dat juice get in dat egg.
  • I often used never wear condoms when putin itin wit differant women back in college.  Sometimes they were 2 drunk 2 reamember to take dat pill.  And you know what happened, nothin!  They didnt get fat. Here ain’t no baby born.

3.  “But let’s assume that maybe that didn’t work or something: I think there should be some punishment, but the punishment ought to be of the rapist, and not attacking the child.”

  • Obviously, dis guy wants to punish rapists.  And due to his moral believes, he dont want no abortion to exist under any circumstances.

Why We Need Poor People

Why We Need Poor People


Politicians like Barack Hussein Obama and Willard Romney like to proclaim that they are champions of the middle class.  They both say that they want the average wages of the common American to increase, the number of jobs available to increase, and the well-being of all to increase.  However, what these fools do not get is that, if everyone has a job or makes a decent yearly wage, we would not have any poor people.

Poor people provide a necessary piece of the puzzle for our American society.  Normally, when seeing a drunken person fall down on the ground from being so inebriated, it is hilarious.  However, if that person is poor and homeless, it is even funnier.  “Poor guy! First he’s homeless, but now he cannot even walk,” I like to say to myself as I keep my distance from the man.

I like to use poor people as an example for my kids of what not to become.  Whenever my son, Jacob, and I see a homeless person, I like to give a lecture on that homeless person.  “He’s a worthless drunk and a drug user.  Born into a family with no money, he was not able to make it out of his natural poverty.  He is the definition of a sore loser,” I tell him.  And whenever we see a homeless woman, all dirtied up and most likely smelling of sewage, I tell him, “Homeless women are surprisingly cheaper prostitutes than normal prostitutes.  All I have to do is give them a bottle of booze and they will give me oral sex in return.  Two dollars for a f**k ain’t bad now, is it?”  While he is only five and not really understanding of what sex is, I am sure one day he will remember this wisdom that I have passed down to him.

As a society, the most important aspect that poor people provide is crime.  Economists say that the biggest dilemma we face as humans is an increasing population with decreasing resources.  It is a good thing then that we have poor people to commit murders and to commit suicide due to their unhappiness of being impoverished.  Insurance companies also benefit from poor people’s crimes.  If poor people didn’t exist, who would be there to rob convenience stores or banks or to commit arson and vandalism?  If there was no one to do that, why would a company owner buy insurance for his building?

Poor people are good for taxes too.  Every year I get tax deductions off of my billions of dollars I make by donating to some dumb charity.  Though, if we keep on feeding the poor, won’t they just keep on living?  It goes against the idea that we need to decrease our population.  But then that goes against the idea that we need poor people.  So, maybe if half of the poor dies, and the other half survives…that is a good compromise.

Often, people like me, except not me, feel good about donating to homeless shelters or charities.  It gives them some sort of happiness to help the poor.  I tell my daughter though not to rely on donating to the poor to give her happiness.  Eventually, if she keeps donating all her money to the poor, eventually she will be poor.  Then one day she will be a two-dollar hooker.  But I tell her not to impart this wisdom onto any of her friends that could become attractive one day.  I have a fantasy of one of her friends giving oral sex for two dollars one day.  And then I would say after she finishes, “Remember me?  You used to be my daughter’s friend back in the first grade.”

I hope this essay gives America a better grasp on what why we need ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the nation’s wealth held by one percent of U.S. citizens rather than just ninety-nine percent.  Poor people, keep on, keeping on.