Things That Scare the Shit Out of Me, Vol. 1

(Inspired by the illustrious Kyle, the earthling of whom I am the Bizarro World version of)

‘Allo, Loves! This is the first installment of what will become a recurring topic on geraldwritesthings. Enjoy!

I’m sure that there are things out there that scare you. Things that if you see or even start thinking about, your hands become shaky and weak like a barren branch in a winter wind, a cold sweat collects on your brow like a dark pool in a forbidden wood, and your sphincter slams shut like the heavy door to a mausoleum, locking behind you.

Call it a phobia, call it being a pussy, whatever – the fact remains that some things are  JUST SCARY. For most people, the list usually includes spiders, heights, clowns, drowning, you could probably think of a hundred things that belong on a standard fear list. These fears all have one thing in common:

They’re Fucking Boring.

I mean, come on man, who would be afraid of drowning if it meant getting to kick it with a group of hip, physically attractive, lightly-dressed individuals such as these?


So now you want to know what constitutes a real fear? An exciting one, as opposed to some of this other run-of-the-mill bullshit? Well here you go.

Your average Joe or Jane, strolling through some realtor’s open house, might stop in the living room and say something like “Oh my, this room gets such great natural light from these large windows! Oh, and the view! This is just beautiful, isn’t it honey?”

Fuck no, it isn’t beautiful! You need to get that shit boarded up or something. Who the hell knows what’s gonna break through that and stab you in the neck, probably with a shard of glass from the big beautiful window it just jumped through! More likely, someone’s just gonna stand there and watch you through it, studying your routine for three months and waiting for the perfect moment to bust in, chloroform you, and make a one-piece bathing suit out of your skin. And the natural light? The sun burns me worse than hallowed ground, I don’t need any of that shit. And if I had a view half as good out of a window as I do on my TV watching every season of Star Trek: The Next Generation on Instant Watch, I’d just go outside and see it instead of looking at it through the FASTPASS entrance into my house for cannibals and rapists.

I look at this and think "Not only can like thirteen mental-hospital escapees fit through this, but they have a comfortable little place to rest after skullfucking me."

Just when you thought this post was going to be xenophobia-free, the second fear on my list is that of the people of Ireland and all descendents of Irish immigrants.

“But Gerald, I’m Irish! What the fuck?”

I’ll tell you what the fuck. What scares me about Irish people is the Irish Pride epidemic, or the Green Death. I find the rampant and unchecked spread of Irish Pride incredibly alarming. It’s beyond me how the only contagious psychological disorder has not only never been recognized or attempted to cure by the medical community, but is actually encouraged and spread through products available to innocent consumers. Now upon seeing things like this in a department store, most people would dismiss it as innocuous:

Dioxide? Seems harmless.

You’re wrong, caption. It seeks nothing but your destruction. You see, it starts here, but if left untreated, Irish Pride could metastasize into this fucking mess:

"Kiss Me, I'm Positive for Green Death!"

Here we see a host body attempting to spread the plague through the most common mode of transmission, orally. As the very thinly-veiled propaganda states: “Kiss Me, I’m Irish.” The virus is sentient to the point of understanding and exploiting our species’ greatest weakness, our love of sexy-times. The symptoms of Irish Pride may seem at first very similar to those of histrionic personality disorder: desperate attention-seeking (note the stupid hat in the above picture), the insatiable need for approval (I’m Irish! See? Look at my stupid hat! I’m claiming admittance into a group that I’m separated from by six generations!), and inappropriate seductive behavior (Kiss Me, I’m Wearing a Stupid Hat!). But it goes deeper than that. Much deeper than I think the American populace is ready to believe.

The Green Supremacy Movement: It's real

 And if you still aren’t sold on the frightening threat posed by the Irish, take a look at what is possible when Irish Pride completely consumes an infected individual:

When did Abu Ghraib re-enactments become a part of St. Patty's Day festivities?

So there’s my first two REAL fears, stay tuned for other Things That Scare the Shit Out of Me! Also, if you have any out-of-the-ordinary things that scare the shit out of you, comment them on here! Thanks for reading, see you next time.


The Internet Babe Dilemna, or Looking for Love in All the Wrong Tumblrs

(Warning: there’s some potentially NSFW-type content below. You’re welcome.)

Hey there, readers. Haven’t written anything in a while, for which I apologize. Let’s blame it on the muses or personal problems or some bullshit.
You probably thought I just up and quit this project like everything else in my life, convincing myself that it wasn’t funny and that I didn’t deserve to be happy. If that’s the case, then you think just like the voices inside my head. I wonder if you, like the voices, are also the 2009 line-up of the Park View All-Stars. They’re relentless. Imagine hearing things like “That’s right, eat it all, fatty! No one loves you!” in the form of screaming eleven-year-olds and their coaches, and you’ll understand why I spend so much time crying in an empty bathtub.

The one second from the right in the front is the worst of them all. Don't believe that smile for a fucking second.

At any rate, I’m back people, And I would like to share with you a few of my recent revelations about the Internet. Specifically, pictures of people on the Internet.

Naughty pictures.

Did you know that now, thanks to the technological achievement that is the Internet, a person no longer has to go through the process of courtship and dating and fancy dinners to see people naked, but can just hop on the ol’ Web and touch yourself to your heart’s content? It’s a much safer venue for such activities than a Chuck E. Cheese’s. Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten turned on out of your mind playing a hot round of Skee Ball.

Contrary to what you might believe, the no-point hole is actually the most pleasurable.

While the ease of access to literally billions of pictures, videos, gifs, etc. of hot people naked may seem like a government conspiracy to transform the population into desensitized, asexual shut-ins, clueless and careless of the outside world because they’re too busy desperately seeking something they can still masturbate too, thus making the rise of the autocratic police state an assured victory, it probably is. But really, who gives a shit when there’s free porn?

Now to my point. I myself was enjoying Al Gore’s magical gift, the Internet, perusing various photo blogs of ill repute, when I came across something that made my heart skip a beat, my brow sweat from the heat of passion, and made my fantasy about eating whip cream out of the top-left 10,000 point hole of a Skee Ball machine not sexy at all by comparison: photos of this person:

These particular pictures being some of the more tasteful of the subject in question. Just so you know where I'm coming from (giggity)

It was nearly enough to make me believe in God. I learned from a “Playboy Coed of the Week” blog post that she was named Alexandra, that she attends Middle Tennessee State University, and that she feels that “the human brain is the sexiest organ in the body.” That last factoid in particular was great news for me, being that my brain is basically the locus and sole repository of any redeeming qualities I have to offer. Can’t get ass-acne on your brain.

Now, believe it or not, at one point I found myself thinking, “It would be awesome to take this girl out. You know, to the movies or some shit.” This wasn’t my first or only thought, but it happened.
What was happening to me? This was the point when the Park View All-Stars decided to throw in there two cents: “Gerald, don’t you realize that this person is a regular subject of glamour shots and such, which are readily available via Internet access for which you aren’t even paying? You don’t have to meet her and swoon her. You don’t have to rub Proactiv on your ass.”

But you know what? I told those showboating Little League fucks to piss up a rope and decided that I wasn’t going to go in for the government’s plan to keep me hooked in to the Porn Matrix. I was going to figure out how I could find this Alexandra and see that movie, or at least how a person in a similar circumstance as I could achieve the same and transcend mere masturbation.

Now Tennessee is is like the secret Tenth Circle of Hell that Dante blocked out of his memory, so going their was out of the question. I figured that she is probably involved in some sort of California (where I live) based modelling agency. If I just killed her agent, she would come here for the funeral, and I’d see her there! But then I realized that this plan was starting to sound a lot like that psychology question to see if you think like a sociopath, and realized that my quest was probably best left uncompleted.

Which is fucked, becuase I would've gotten mad experience points.

And plus, what the hell would I say to her on a date? What kind of meaningful, engaging, moistening conversation would I even be able to muster in such a scenario?

– “So. Do you like weed?”

– “I don’t like to abuse my body with drugs. I Like to go for natural highs, like the ones I get when I’m doing well in school, or when one of my shoots comes out really great.”

– “Oh. Well I smoke a lot of weed. What about cheese sticks?”

-“I try to stay health conscious in my dietary choices. It’s important for my health and my modelling career.”

– “Hm. Well Tennessee totally fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

– “I think I’m going to leave now.”

In the end, what was I supposed to learn from all of this? Why did I bother telling you people about it?

I guess the gist of it would be that the Internet is a powerful tool. It does you credit, but it could be made to serve the Emperor. Keep perspective, don’t loose yourself in all the bright flashing lights they have around these days to entertain you.

And Alexandra: If you read this, I like 3D movies and lots of fucking concessions, so bring that Playboy money. And don’t worry, you can have some of the Raisinettes. I don’t even know why I got them, they suck.

Obesity: Really Not As Bad As It Sounds (or looks… or smells)

Today, we will be discussing a topic which is very near and dear to my cholesterol-addled heart: being fat!
Despite what the health industry is saying with all of its surveys, all of the media’s “America’s Getting Fatter” exposés, and the hard evidence based on the multitudes of other fat people getting fat-sick and dying, I’m down with obesity, and this post is here to help spread the word like mayonnaise on a giant cheeseburger.

Yo, you gotta get some fucking ONION RINGS on that shit.

I’ve got 3 XXL reasons why being fat is phat:

1) The belly of a fat person makes a kick-ass shelf/table. If I’m carrying a bunch of shit, and I need to free up a hand, I just lean back a bit and stack that shit on the top of my stomach. Now that’s efficiency. Who ever said fat people didn’t have anything to offer society? You just need to catch ’em before diabetes takes there feet.
Here’s a photographic demonstration so you skinnies can better grasp what I’m talking about here:

Cut the guy some slack, “Chicken Soup for the Soul: Shaping the New You” is a pretty hefty book.

He should totes go the Kindle route. He could fit like three of those up there.

Another functional fat-ass at the beach:

Watermelon is the preferred fruit of the fat people, because it's red and sweet like candy, and we can identify with the shape.

And here’s a fat man defying the odds and becoming the life of the party with his fat shelf:

I don't think his eyes are the primary identifier.

2) Being fat opens up a whole host of career options that aren’t afforded to the physically attractive community! Don’t believe me? Fuck off and look at these pictures:
The Cat-Calling Construction Worker!

"Hey dollface, lookin' ta get drilled?"

(Side Note: The Google Image search for “fat construction worker” brought back a lot of porn. Strange days.)

Also, if you happen to be one of the “socially bearable” type-fat people, there’s the world of Stand-Up Comedy!

Jesus, cheap-shotting himself and making light of his and many others' severe health problems just to get a laugh because he's desperate for attention. It's pathetic, really.

Lastly, one of the oldest fatty-jobs, Opera Singer!

Do fat people sing better? Maybe. Do they look funnier? Definitely.

3) And, for my third and last reason being fat is fucking great and in no way a hindrance to quality of life is the Mobility Scooter. With the advent of motorized chairs with wheels that you can buy and have delivered off of the TV, fat people can now leave the house with ease and buy shit that will make them fatter!

"What the hell makes you think I'd like to try your new Grilled Chicken Salad?"

"What? I have vertigo."

"These mobility scooters are great! I can even cart around my fat fucking date!"

In conclusion, as a fat person, I hope I have revealed to you the truth behind being fat and the wonders it holds in store. Now, with this newly-gained knowledge, go get some newly-gained weight and have a great time! The world is your deep-fried oyster!

"After you take the picture, I can ditch these and hit those cheese danishes, right?"

How I Am the Messiah of Communism, and What You Can Do To Worship Me

So, I have recently discovered that I am, in fact, the Messiah of Communism, the Red Savior born into this world to usher in One Global Republic under the Hammer and Sickle. Am I necessary? Totes. Was I asked for? Hard to discern prayers for my coming amongst the din of shovels marring the gray earth and the passionate cries of haggard old women.

The Red Christ has arrived. Dig it.

But you see, that is the true miracle of the Communist Messiah: you don’t have to ask. Gerald loves the little children.

These little children.

I imagine the first thing that you are thinking upon being enlightened is “Red Christ!? Where’s you’re proof, young man?”
To which I would reply: “Fuck you! Jesus doesn’t need proof, and being his comrade, neither do I”.

And the Red Lord said unto them: "Fuck you and your capitalist science!"

And, lo, My second miracle: despite it’s superfluousness, I actually totally have proof! and it’s all linked to my birthday, which, I mean come on, everyone knows that the date of a person’s birth defines their entire life and being.

Behold my miracle birth: March 6th, 1990.
– 3690 is a 4-digit portion of the ISBN for Joel M. Hoffman’s In the Beginning: A Short History of the Hebrew Language (whole ISBN: 978-0814736906). Hebrew, Messiah, not too much of a stretch there.
Another significant 4-digit portion of the ISBN: 8147, which is the corresponding number in Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible (an index for every word used in the Bible) for the Hebrew word shenayim, meaning “two”. “Two” obviously represents the eternal class struggle between the haves and the have-nots as outlined by Karl Marx.
…phew. Suck My Ass, Robert Langdon.

I don't fuck around with this shit. I knew the bitch was buried under the Louvre like 7 minutes into the movie.

– Also, a bunch of shit happened on March 6th in years past that basically shows beyond questioning that I’m the Red Shepherd.
1) 1454 – Prussians pledge allegiance to the Polish King in return for aid in their battle for independence in the Thirteen Year’s War. (SUPER-OLD REVOLUCIÓN)
2) 1836 – Rednecks lose after a 13-day struggle against Mexican forces at the Battle of the Alamo in Texas. (THE DEFEAT OF A CAPITALIST COUNTRY=VICTORY FOR THE MOTHERLAND)
3) 1921 – Portuguese Communist Party is founded as the Portuguese Section of the Communist International. (HOLY SHIT THE FORMATION OF A COMMUNIST PARTY ON MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY VIVA EL CRISTO ROJO)
4) 1946 – Ho Chi Minh signs an agreement with France, recognizing Vietnam as an autonomous state in the Indochinese Federation and the French Union. (COMMUNIST PRESIDENT WINS INDEPENDENCE FOR MOTHERLAND FTW)
5) Georgy Maksimilianovich Malenkov follows after Joseph Stalin in the bitchin’ seat of Premier of the Soviet Union and First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. (MALENKOV RISES UP ON MY BIRTHDAY I TOLD YOU SO)

Georgy and Gerald: Reincarnation? Handled.

So, ladies and gentlemen, It as I foretold in the blog title (Miracle #3 bitch), I am the Red Savior, destined to bring peace and balance to the Party, to be the top to capitalism’s bottom.

Now: What can you do to worship Me?

Compulsory Life-term in Commu-Christ's Holy Red Army. DIE FOR ME!!!