Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Monday, November 26, 2007

Craig's(hit)List

A small collection of my Craigslist debauchery ads are posted on my new blog. I have been called a lot of bad things in my life, but it is fair to say that I, "The Alcoholic Oprah of the blogospher," am lower than the sewer, here is my blog and I am sticking to prove it.

jenna jamison has a fake vagina that doesn't work


Thought I heard someone saying my name on the street today—but I don’t know. Kept walking faster. I grew up outside of Reno, but you never know when someone who you don’t want to talk to will appear from the past. Besides, I’m trying to ease off the pornographies, and to be reminded of where them urges appeared—from naked woman leaflets littering the ground—would incite me to log on to ole’ aol. Which I tried to cancel awhile back because funds were low but some bright salesman talked me out of it because of all the free pornographies I can download.

Things that sound like my name: Kill that tree, hangin with Mr. Cooper, Timothy Cooper, Took her for a loop or…, Super Duper.

Excuse me, it has been a while.


So, my no-call no-show stint resulted in me being terminated, laid off, or technically fired...whatever you would like to call it, point being I don't have a job now. Luckily, I have a few options which I would like to list and evaluate the pros and cons.
  1. Get another job. This is the most respectable and responsible thing to do, but it will once again force me to spend my days doing something I will not like, most likely being surrounded by people I do not like.
  2. Apply for unemployment, disability, welfare, foodstamps, etc. I just like to call it "Free Money," I dont really understand or care to learn about the differences between all the types of "Free Money," I can get.
  3. Try to get a prescription for medical marijuana and sell whatever I don't use myself to high school students and my artist friends. (this can be combined with option #2, but that would be a lot of responsibility and paper work to do both at once.
  4. Start taking nude polaroids of myself and selling them on eBay, once again. I haven't done this since my late teens, but it paid my way through the first two years of school at a community college I do not put on resumes.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Bull riding Team!

I have been stuck at home for the past few days. I broke my foot from stubbing my small toe into a door, it is not a glamorous injury but it has allowed me to stay at home and watch endless hours of television, which has introduced me to a new love...bull riding. I don't know what it is about it exactly, I love this spectacle and it has given me a great new excuse for my foot injury, a bull riding accident. I went out to the bar last night and was telling every woman who would even look my way that I was a bull rider and had injured myself in a 7 second ride that ended with me getting stomped on. To support this lie, I wrapped my foot in an ace bandage and tied my tennis shoe extra tight, no crutches, no boot, no bullshit, cowboys don't go to doctors and neither do I. So, to further this I trying to start a bull riding team, I plan on being the guy who opens the gate, it is all about timing and keeping that rope tight, or at least I think. I need a rider, someone who knows the lingo, and probably a few other people who know about bull riding. I will be accepting applications for my bull riding team. No orthopedic boot, bandage wearin' pussies will be allowed.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Be fruitful and multiply.



I finally have stolen what I was looking for, copy and paste this code around the internet to promote our smut.


Saturday, November 17, 2007

my youtube subscribers










I recently posted my videos, shoed in and shoed in, part two on a youtube account I created in hopes of achieving worldwide fame.

My only subscribers so far are men with beard fetishes. enjoy.

more about potatos



















by,

Thursday, November 15, 2007

what's better than porn?



Now that television is making a strike-induced turn towards shitty and I am swearing off porn I have only a few choices to consume my time. Since hobbies are for the geriatric or active I am somewhat at a loss. Maybe I could rent more DVD’s? Maybe not. While DVD’s cost money, the Internet only costs us time, which is worth almost nothing. I know to some the internet seems only to be a master collection of scat smearin’, potato hidin’, hope killin’, Hollywood hole findin’, river dick dippin’, hobo immasculatin’, horse crouchin’, Bukowski readin’, elbow deepin’, and just good ole fashion video pornography. But maybe its not? So now I’m on the lookout for internet only content where participants don’t have to get HIV tested once a week. Any suggestions?

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Missing Potato in the hood, our bloggers discuss.




Local events are of primary concern here at beard publication. So when we, the editors, noticed a tutu wearing bulldog named Potato was missing we just had to have our bloggers comment.

Jimothy Mooper
I suppose that Potato dog is rolled up in an Arabian rug in a dumpster somewheres in Chinatown. I mean, look at how she’s/he’s dressed, basically asking for it, with that fairy shit fluttering.

Vicki Blah
It is my assumption that this dog was stolen by someone who knew that this particular tutu wearing bulldog would fetch (no pun intended) a handsome ransom. Five thousand dollars is a huge reward for a missing dog. I remember a few years ago when there was another high-profile dog napping in Portland and the reward was $100, the dog was a nondescript looking golden retreiver that answered to the name, "Buck." This sent every street kid underneath Burnside into the suburbs stealing dozens of these dogs from backyards so they could use the reward money to buy drugs. With five thousand dollars up for grabs I am surprised that every bulldog in a 500 mile radius of Portland hasn't been snatched as an attempt to fool Potato's parents out of the cool 5g's up for grabs for his safe return.

Terribly the Tumbleweed Journalist
There are quite a few possibilities, none of which are conclusive or all encompassing. First, earlier missing signs say the potato is “missing.” Now the prognosis has changed, we are told the dog was “stolen”. How did Potato’s owners learn their dog was stolen? How did they come up with the name Potato? And why did they not think naming a plumpy, out-of-shape dog after the most unattractive of starch-based foods would cause self-esteem problems?

Before yesterday I figured this was just another case of a dog rolled up dead in a rug somewhere in Chinatown until I was working the day shift at my c-store. A group of children, ages five to six, were conversing about Potato in a hushed manner while rummaging through ring pops. The plight of missing/stolen Potato goes further than any of us can imagine. It’s obviously an international kabal and Potato is just another victim in a string of bulldog/starch based food tragedies.

I fear for Korn; they may be next.

Barry Portugal
The disappearance of Potato has prompted a city-wide search, a color printer at Kinkos to go ca put and it is rumored that the newly out of work Duane "Dog the bounty hunter" Chapman is coming to Portland to personally track down the thief that stole Potato in an attempt to win back the hearts and minds of American television viewers after his son sold a phone recording of a racist rant to the National Enquirer for 15k, or 1/3 of the reward money for Potato. Vicky, you do not know what you are talking about people are in fact coming to Portland to search for Potato, but sadly much like his tuberous namesake, he will most likely be found buried in a field.

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Thursday, November 8, 2007

Plural but Possessive


Listen, I hate children just as much as every intellectual my age should. They smell, they complain, they rant, and then they cry about something stupid like what you wont buy them, plus who really wants to be born into this world at a time like this? I mean seriously, there is hardly any good art or music being made now, it is hard to imagine that there will be anything even decent by the time they are able to fully appreciate it.

I am particularly down on children this week because I now have a running nose due to my obligatory trip to the suburbs to visit my sisters and their children. That's right, my sisters' children, meaning more that one sister and more than one child for those of you who are too dull to understand and love plural possessives as much as I do. So, upon arriving to my sister's house (note: my sisters do not live together, thus my visit was to just one home of my sisters' homes. Yes, this is a lesson on the magic of plural possessives and how much fun they are.)


Back to this B.S. with my running nose and children, So I show up around 4:30 p.m. I was supposed to be there at 1:00, but I didn't want to eat early dinner with them because I can't stand to watch children eat, grabbing at everything with their grubby little fingers and pouring juice all over the place, on top of that I do not eat the processed garbage from some commercial Wal-Mart affiliated neighborhood grocery store they shop at and proudly display their savings card on their S.U.V.'s key chain. Please, so what you saved 30 cents? I am saving the environment by eating only organic fair trade products.


So, I showed up, sat on a couch or something, got blank stares, got in trouble for offering my three-year-old nephew coffee, and had to answer like a dozen stupid questions about my recent two month long trip to Berlin. "No, I did not go to the Berlin wall," was the first stupid I got. "I spent most of my time in basement dance clubs drinking absinthe with a performance artist and teenage sex workers." That is cutting edge, that is why I went to Berlin, not because it has some old wall.

By Vicki Blah

shoed in, part two










part two of this epic, part one is below



By Terribly the Tumbleweed Journalist

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Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Tinkling Capacity

At the editors request our bloggers have written short stories about their childhoods. Here is Terribly's

I kept a tan plastic bucket of X-Men action figures under my bed, playing with them until my mid-teens. Puberty saw black curled hairs gathering on the carpet, and then clinging to the small men—curling around bulging arms and legs. Finally they would settle into mussed piles in each of the bucket’s corners. By this time Wolverine had lost an arm, Gambit a leg, and all my friends their toys. The plastic men could no longer be involved with social interaction like when I was six; the bucket would be tucked further under the bed for still easy access, but also guarded anonymity.

At times, when I was sure no one would walk in, I would act out what little and imprecise things known about sex using the action figures. The scenes more resembled fish fighting on land then human copulation.

I stopped watching the Saturday morning cartoons of the mutant- powered heroes much earlier. When I did watch—every Saturday morning—it was assumed a mutant power laid within myself. Festering powers, and solving problems, like the prophets of old I learned of on Sunday mornings. It seemed a sure thing, I was after all a child of God (like the song), and I did feel different (red hair and all). I thought about his future powers every day—whether they would resonate from my eyes or nipples, and which world leaders would offer thank yous and medals—and was more than a little disappointed when I discovered my only mutant power was wetting the bed until the age of sixteen.

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Thursday, November 1, 2007

shoed in, part one










Sometimes you get stuck inside. Its boring there.




part two coming soon

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