Archive for the ‘When I Rule The World’ Category

When I rule the world, the day after Halloween will be named a National Day of Remembrance.  Not only will everyone light a candle for the millions of candy corns that willingly gave their lives the previous evening but, as a group, we shall take a moment to absorb the important life-lessons imparted to us via the 24/7 horror-film festivals.

In case you weren’t taking notes, here are a few gems of wisdom:

1. Nature blows chunks.  It isn’t a grand, awe-inspiring experience.  It isn’t the canvas upon which God created sublime beauty.   The woods are merely a repository for psychos and degenerates who will rape, kill and cannibalize the unsuspecting…. not necessarily in that order.  In other words, nature contains inbred mountain people.  Of course, as a New Yorker, I’m suspicious of any greenery that isn’t either part of a salad or located within Central Park.

2. Port-A-Potties are “Crappers of Death”.  More times than not, they’re the ideal hiding spot for machete-wielding sadists or itinerant zombie foot-soldiers.  I can hear you protesting.  “But the door is open and I can see that no one is inside.”  If that puts your mind at ease, clearly, you haven’t been watching enough horror.  Go ahead… drop your knickers and have a seat but don’t come whining to me when a slimy tentacle emerges from the bowels of the bowl to attack your unsuspecting and vulnerable ass.  Nope.  If I gotta “go”, I’ll hold it until I get home.

3. The “Slut Conundrum”.  Everyone knows that the chick who “puts out” will be the first to “check out”.  So, it would seem reasonable to steer clear of the local chlamydia factory.  (Actually, that sounds like rather good advice regardless of the situation.)  However, I posit an alternative theory.  I view the local skank as the “canary in the mineshaft”.  After all, it’s not as though she’s a stranger to shafts.  Keep a tramp around as an early-detection system.  When she’s screwed… I mean nailed… I mean killed, you know it’s time to get your own priggish self to safety.

4. A short-cut will lead to a long night.  Never, I repeat, never ask someone for the shortest route to a destination.  The toothless guy in dirty overalls at the solitary gas station doesn’t have your best interests at heart.  Hard to believe, isn’t it?  He’s working hand in hand (or “hand in lobster-boy’s misshapen claw”) with the “locals”.  Since you’re not having sex with your embalmed sister, you aren’t a “local”.  “Scooter the pump jockey” doesn’t really care if you can shave 90 minutes off your journey.  Nope.  He’s wondering how long it will take to shave your mandible into an attractive coat hook .

I’m considering pitching a movie idea to some studio execs.  It’s the story of a nature walk that goes horribly wrong when two nymphos take a short-cut to use the crapper.  Personally, I think the script writes itself.

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