loltech

I'm back, baby.

So it’s been a while. Yeah, sure. But what have YOU done lately asshole? Lots of stuff? Ok then, fine. You win fuckhead. You couldn’t give me this ONE thing? I hate you. Anyway, yeah. Blog post. Let’s start of nice and gentle, with things I fucking hate and want to burn in everlasting agony.

If your car has a fuck off we’re full sticker, you should be sealed in an airtight tube with flesh eating beetles and launched into a black hole. And not one of those peaceful Stephen Hawking type black holes, no. A fucking Event Horizon one, you know, with the skin cutting, exploding heads and Laurence Fishburne.

Speaking of Stephen Hawking, I heard the other day that he has deteriorated so far that even with his robot computer thing, he can barely get out five words a minute. Bullshit. One of the greatest minds of our time stuck in one of the worst bodies. Right now God is like “Big Bang theory? Who’s the bitch now? HA HA….checkmate, faggot”.

From right to left: Asshole, douchebag, fuckhead, bitch.

Other things I hate. My family stickers. How did this become a thing? Seriously. Every man and his cunt dog has them on the back windscreen of their car. Why? Who decided this was a good idea? What is the fucking point? Oh wow, you have a stick figure representation of the smallest facet of your family members lives! The only thing they are useful for is to give ME a rough description of the people I need to MURDER!

Perth fucking drivers. Merging motherfucker, do you do it! How is this still a problem? No, really. They should replace the fucking driving test with a simple check to see if you can merge. If you can’t, not only do you NOT get your licence, they impound the car you tested in for 30 days, and at the end of the 30 days when you come to pick up your car, they beat you to death with your own tire iron. WHY, I ask, does some fuck, literally EVERY time I’m forced to merge, try to speed past on the inside to get in front of me. Wow, you’re one car length ahead of where you were 2 seconds ago. HOLY SHIT, WELCOME TO THE DANGER ZONE! If I ever get super powers, fuck saving the world. I’m just going to hover around the Kwinana freeway, and every time some fuckbend fails to merge I’m just going to pick up their car, and throw them into the sun. And that STILL won’t be a valid excuse for why they weren’t indicating.

In my scenario, I'm the Sentry. Except I don't go mad and destroy Asgard, kill half the everything, and then die horribly. Hmm, maybe I'll just be Thor instead.

Ok, this one is kind of old now, but I just heard it in a YouTube clip, so I feel well within my rights to cockslap the taste out of its mouth. The song Fly Like a G6. How does this song exist? Why would it get made? In terms of human suffering it’s up there with the holocaust and Michael Bay films. Scientists could weaponize it and use it against our enemies. Fuck a scud missile, fire a concentrated blast of that song at a population centre and you will win the war for sure, but the Hague will charge you with crimes against humanity so hard your PARENTS will retroactively be prison raped.

Sticking with the music theme, but moving away from prison rape and on to something worse: Pitbull. Where did this guy come from? A year ago nobody outside of his home town of Hell knew who the fuck he was. Now you are legally required to put him on your song under pain of not sucking balls. Every time he rhymes the word “song” with “thong” an angel gets its wings, then flies to your house and punches you in the dick.

Also, can Ke$ha please die? Every single one of her songs is exactly the same, and by that I mean they all seem explicitly constructed to bore a hole in my skull and then lay a thousand eggs of terrible directly in my cerebellum. Please explain to me the line “I’ve got Jesus on my neck-a-lace-as-as-as-as”. I’m assuming it’s the words to a satanic spell designed to summon the Dreadlord C’honegol onto our plane. And He arrives by bursting into our world out of the place in my mind that used to stop me killing myself. To make matters shittier, she isn’t even attractive. She looks like she arrived at her video shoot by way of the fucking mud grinder at the outback dirt factory. You can get away with being terrible if people want to sex you up, then back down again (hi Katy Perry). But no, she has less than no talent, she’s like a three out of ten, and worst of all, she has a fucking DOLLAR SIGN in the middle of her name. Listen, butcher music all you want, but keep your disgusting fucking claws off my English language, bitch.

Jesus. Unless you grew up under power lines, there is no excuse for looking like this.

People in the food service industry fucking with you. “I’m sorry sir, you said coke” No bitch, I didn’t say coke. I said coke zero four fucking times. You know how I know I didn’t order coke? Because I’m fucking DIABETIC and coke is made of THE GRIM REAPERS FUCKING COCK. Apparently the fucking bitch who had to have me repeat the order four fucking times has the moral high ground on that one. And why are you talking back to me anyway food peasant? I mean, it isn’t cool of me to be looking down on someone working at maccas. Motherfucker has to work. But yes, I WILL look down on you if you take a job in the place where they hire literally anybody, and you FUCK IT UP. That’s like attempting to fucking fall to the floor and MISSING. You didn’t just mess up, you fucking thwarted an inexorable fucking law of NATURE, Orville fucking Wright. If you fail at maccas, you can pretty much guarantee you’re failing at life. So yeah, if I say I ordered coke zero, just give me the fucking coke zero, and not your fucking attitude, you fucking worthless peon.

And now for your reading consideration, a handy bulleted list of more shit that pisses me off:

• The term “remedial massage”. It sounds like they get retards to massage you.
• White sunglasses on men. You look like Kanye wiped his balls on you.
• The other day I saw a “real men love Jesus” bumper sticker. Is it just me or does that phrase seem to imply some homo-erotic undertones.
• What the fuck is peoples obsession with Betty Boop? A fucking random cartoon from the 1930’s? If you get to have a fucking Betty Boop bumper sticker, no cunt better say shit about my fucking Buck Rogers tramp stamp.
• People not believing in global warming. That’s like not believing in electricity. What the fuck, asshole? Apparently science is to good for you all of a sudden? I can understand the people that do believe, but don’t give a shit though. I give a shit, but I also take the stance that if it gets bad enough, it laps itself back to awesome. I’ll take a sweet Mad Max world any day. I’ve already got my leather vest picked out, and I’m currently fashioning a cow’s skull in to a handy, yet fashionable helmet.
• Smalltalk with customers. “Here for a delivery mate?” No fuckhead, I came for the pleasure of your company, and to admire the way you refuse to pull your pants up high enough that I don’t have to look at your asscrack. “Well we don’t want it. Hahahahaha!” EVERY. FUCKING. TIME. It’s like fucking Groundhog day, but without a wisecracking Bill Murray. So basically, terrible.
• Those websites that just contain a list of like 10000 things you can “like” for your facebook profile. People go there and like 50 things at a time. Why? No, seriously, why? Nobody gives a fuck what you like. “That awkward moment when you realized you’re a fucking useless asshole”.
• Nicholas Cage. Do I even need to write anything else for this one?
• Nicholas Cage’s hair. Apparently I did.

Alright! I think that should just about do it. Fancy that. Almost two years later and we have a new blog post. I hope you enjoyed it. It’s good to be back. Now, I have to fucking finish off the god damn Fatson and Byron script before Bowring murders my unborn children!

Ending it, Busey style.

If you don’t know, now you know. Nigga.

Byron out.

Just a quick update today detailing some of my recent adventures with the fairer sex.

WOMAN 1

• Woman 1: Hey, you should take me out to dinner sometime to make this relationship about more than just sex.
• Me: Ok. You want to go out to dinner sometime?
• Woman 1: No. What the fuck? Why are you trying to make this relationship about more than just sex?
• Me: But you sai…FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

WOMAN 2

• Woman 2: Hey, I’d like to hang out with you sometime, How’s next week?
• Me: Ok.
• NEXT WEEK
• Woman 2: Oh, sorry I can’t make it.
• Me: Ok.
• Woman 2: Hey, I’d like to hang out with you sometime, How’s next week?
• Me: Ok.
• NEXT WEEK
• Woman 2: Oh, sorry I can’t make it.
• Me: Ok.
• MEANWHILE, WOMAN 2 DRUNK MESSAGES ME TWICE. THEN:
• Woman 2: Hey, I’d like to hang out with you sometime, How’s next week?
• Me: Ok.
• NEXT WEEK
• Woman 2: Oh, sorry I can’t make it.
• Me: Enough of this shit. We are hanging out this weekend for fucks sake.
• Woman 2: No. Sorry, much too busy. But hey, I’d like to hang out with you sometime, How’s next week?
• Me: I don’t even….FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

WOMAN 3

• Woman 3: Hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I really want to be friends.
• Me: Ok, as long as there is no drama.
• Woman 3: I promise.
• NEXT WEEK
• Woman 3: I made a huge mistake with you. I love you so much, I wish I wasn’t with my boyfriend. I want you. Gotta go, bye.
• Me: Um?
• NEXT WEEK
• Me: What was that stuff last week?
• Woman 3: What stuff?
• Me: The stuff about you loving me and wanting to be with me?
• Woman 3: Oh, I was sick and delirious. I didn’t mean any of it. Why would you think I meant it?
• Me: Uh, because you….never mind. Don’t do it again ok? You promised no drama. This is the opposite of no drama.
• Woman 3: I told you I was sick. It looks to me like you are making this drama for yourself. We can’t be friends anymore.
• Me: WHAT? How am I….FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

WOMAN 4

• Woman 4: Hey, you are funny, smart and sexy, you should ask me out on a date.
• Me: Ok. You want to go out on a date?
• Woman 4: No, I can’t. I’m still hung up on my ex.
• Me: But you JUST sai….FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

There you go. Some of the more recent interactions I’ve had with women. And it’s a whole new uni semester, I can’t WAIT to see what kind of fantastic encounters I have to look forward to in the future. I swear to fuck, if sex wasn’t so fucking amazing I’d saw my dick off and move into a cave.

Hey, I’m Imasen and this is loltech.org. I suppose if you are reading this that means you are here and you already know that and I’m a world class retard. Oh wait, you might have googled “worlds sexiest man” and found the site that way. If so, welcome ladies and homosexual men. Don’t worry, I’ll get my junk out at the end of the blog.

Since it was a year since the blog before last, and I couldn’t even keep up a fucking monthly schedule even though I’m on like A 2 MONTH UNI BREAK, I’ve decided to make this an extra long entry into both my blog, and Baron Chester Von Retardo’s Top 100 Wastes of Your Time list.

A while ago The talented Mr. Fatson and I were discussing Avatar. I suspect that there are people out there who liked Avatar. Actually, I know for a fact there are. Millions upon millions of them. Here’s what I have to say on that matter: if you LIKED Avatar, then I HATE you. Why? Two words: Papa Dragon. Two different words: FUCK YOU. After a long and introspective discussion about how this could be the highest grossing film of all time, we came up with this three part hypothesis:

1. Everyone on the planet is a fucking idiot.
2. A fucking STUPID idiot.
3. Global warming.

"Call me Papa Dragon." No, how about I call you a cunt instead?

We got off topic towards the end of the conversation, shut up. Never-the-less, another mystery solved by the Fatson and Byron detective agency. You should hire us. We have no problem taking pictures from the bushes of your wife sleeping with a man. We don’t care if she is cheating on you or not, or even if you hire us to find a missing person instead. We don’t even care if it’s YOU she is sleeping with, we are still taking pictures from the bushes of your wife sleeping with a man. That’s our slogan by the way. It’s on the letterhead.

Speaking of Fatson, here is something I bet you didn’t know about him. Someone asked me the other day if I would sleep with one of his ex-girlfriends (hi Gill). Don’t get me wrong, Gill is smoking hot. Not only that, she is totally awesome, and was a good friend until Fatson fucking did some fucked up shit that I SOMEHOW GOT THE FUCKING BLAME FOR, and now she refuses to ever speak to me again. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. But anyway, I was asked if I would sleep with her, and my answer was no. Not because it’s the ex of a friend, or because she’s the sister of girl *I* slept with, as a fucking soulless monster I don’t care about stupid shit like that. No, the reason I wouldn’t sleep with her, or ANY of Fatson’s other conquests, is because Fatson sets traps. In girls vaginas. Seriously. He digs fucking spike pits and sets tripwires up in that shit. And I have enough trouble getting girls into bed without having to worry about my dick in an Indiana Jones hat running from a boulder.

Moving ever so briefly away from the topic of my penis, here is something I’ve been meaning to talk about for a while. It’s a video made by some kind of collaboration between Satan, and birth defects. This video is what you get for the person who has everything, except you know, a reason to hate you and want you dead. As soon as DJ Khaled (WE DA BEST) opens his mouth at the start of the song I want to headbutt him in the face and throw myself down a mineshaft. I made up a drinking game to go with this video. Every time something in the song made me angry I had to swallow broken glass. It wasn’t a very long game.

First of all, nice special effects guys. Second of all, Rick Ross shows up and challenges Khaled to a Fat-off. Little known fact about gangstas. While they live life on the streets learning how to pop people in the face and sell narcotics, struggling to fit any enjoyment between their busy schedule of drive by shootings and saying “aiit” to each other, they are deathly afraid of getting wet. Someone should tell the director that it lessens the impact of 15 hardened thugs if they all simultaneously parade around with umbrellas. Apparently he got all his information on gang lifestyles from West Side Story. Thirdly, the guy in the chains is named Plies. Yeah, Plies. Someone should tell him his name sounds like a bowel disease. Also, WHAT THE FUCK DID HE SAY? Finally, I’m sure you noticed the guy in the middle of the song. You know who else noticed it? EVERY DOG IN A 2 KM RADIUS! The only explanation for that guys voice is that he is some type of sonic weapon developed by the military, who has escaped to pursue his dual dream careers as both a rapper, and a fucking target for my NEXT MURDER. He has failed at one of these careers. Let’s ask this clocktower I’m loading my sniper rifle in which one. Actually scratch that. Where did I put my hockey mask and chainsaw? I’m fucking that guy UP. When I’m finished with him they are going to need a team of eminent scientists and medical experts just to determine if that motherfucker was ANIMAL MINERAL OR VEGETABLE.

Shot of the new lounge. PICTURED: insane amount of comics, giant New Ultimates poster. NOT PICTURED: dignity.

Enough about that. instead, THIS: So, if you had read my last blog post (and if you did, NO I wont apologise, fuck you. And YES I was serious about the rough sex part, stop asking. And MAYBE on that offer of free prescription Viagra from that pushy fucking advertising bot in the comments section. Look you cyborg fuck, I’ll get back to you when I work out the exact metric volume of erectile enhancers I’d need to solo navigate the world in a yacht with my dick as the mizzen mast, and how many fucking awesome pages Guinness will devote to pictures of me and it) then you would have noticed the part about me being homeless fairly soon. Little did I fucking know how right I was. I was fucking crazy right, ok? Nostradamus couldn’t carry my nuts. So yeah, there was a battle of epic proportions that I would relate here but for the fact that my lawyer has told me not to comment on it. Ok he hasn’t, are you fucking happy? I just wanted to sound cool. Why must you ruin everything good in my life? WHY? Anyway, it’s a long and inane story that I wont bore you with the details of, because I’m going to bore you with the details of this instead: we have a new place. But before that we had to live in Fatson’s parents home for 3 weeks while we looked. And I know what you are thinking, a guy in his 20’s, living at home with his parents is pathetic. I know. I also know it’s 47 times more pathetic LIVING WITH SOMEONE ELSES. But anyway, now we have a new place. Technically it’s in Nollamara, but that’s like saying technically what I’m doing to my penis when I watch Twilight is sex. Realistically though, it’s Mirrabooka and masturbation respectively. Yes, Mirrabooka. I felt like I wasn’t getting raped NEARLY enough where I lived before.

Earlier in the week I went shopping with Fatson at the Mirrabooka shopping centre. Mistake. It was like a maze, and all the walls were made of retard. I’ve talked about Mirrabooka shops before, but I stupidly thought things might have improved. They haven’t. On the PLUS side, I managed to avoid getting hepatitis. So far. We needed supplies for our brand new Awesome Fortress (not the official name. Well, not YET) so we braved the retardo-hordes and entered Woolworth’s. The first thing I saw upon entry was this sign:

Oh, that's ok. I'm sure....wait, WHAT?

Gentle reader, let me tell you something about myself. I’m smart. Like, scary smart. If I put on a shiny jumpsuit and walk outside, the government is LEGALLY allowed to laser me from orbit on suspicion of Genius Supervillianry. I once concentrated on a math problem so hard it SOLVED ITSELF AS A WARNING TO THE OTHERS. Shit, one time I went to buy a dictionary, and both Oxford AND Webster teamed up and beat the shit out of me for being such a pussy. I only confess this startling truth to you for once reason. So you have some context when I say to you I HAVE NO FUCKING EARTHLY IDEA WHAT THIS SIGN MEANS. Refresh your store? HOOOOOOOOOWWWW? As I was mentally running through which of my 14 Armageddon plans I was to use on a world that obviously no longer made any rational sense, I ran across this:

Well played world. Well played.

Justin, out.

Holy fuckballs!

It’s been almost a year since I last updated this site. Um, sorry?

In my defense, shut up. Like 3 people read this site anyway, and I hate 2 of them. I really, really hate the third. Have fun trying to work out which one you are!

Anyway, I’ve wanted to write the whole time, just not as much as I’ve wanted to read comics or jerk off. Well today I’ve read all my comics and jerked off twice so I’m going to go ahead and throw up a blog post. I wrote this on Friday in my professional and creative writing class. What, you thought I was going to do something especially for the site? Lol? Yeah, no. Hopefully in the future, considering I pretty much quit my job and went back to uni for the simple fact that I would be FORCED to write, but for now; RECYCLED SHIT I WROTE IN 20 MINUTES!

Yes, this was an in class writing exercise on sensual writing. Now of course when I first read “sensual writing” I obviously assumed I’d be writing a first person account of the day in the life of my penis, or an numbered list of my all time favorite blowjobs. No, apparently sensual writing means writing using all of your senses. For instance, if I were to describe Fatson, I wouldn’t just talk about how fat he looks, I’d have to make mention of how bad he smells too. We were supposed to use sensual writing to describe a place we often visit. The people around me were choosing places like nightclubs, the beach or sporting stadiums. I being the giant fucking retarded nerd I am, picked a comic store. What the fuck is wrong with me? My uni is made up of a ratio of three girls to every guy, and my class is made up of a ratio of 15 vaginas to every me, and I go and write about comics. I may as well cast my dick in gold and have it displayed in the National Museum of Never Getting Used Again. They can stick it between my common sense, and my recently discarded capacity to ever love a woman again.

Anyway, enough useless preamble. Time for the useless main event. I will probably shove anything I write for uni up here instead of actual original content, because it gives me an excuse to update, but it will hopefully also inspire me to do some real fucking writing again, as currently the only things I ever write are messages to girls on facebook, and the URLs of pornsites I’m visiting into internet explorer. So, sit back and enjoy some crap I wrote in 20 minutes during a class last week.

As you enter the wide open double doors of Quality Comics Perth, you are greeted by a rickety stairway that looks as if it was constructed in the early bronze age in a spirit of co-operation between structural engineers and head injuries. The carpet covering the steps is worn away in patches, and the handrail glistens with what could only be the accumulated buildup of years of pimply comic book nerd sweat. As I walk down onto the first step, it creaks as if to say “you are the fattest fucking guy in the world”. Fuck you judgemental stair case, I’m only like the 4th or 5th.

At the bottom of the stairs you enter the main floor of the store, and are immediately assaulted with the pungent aroma of virginity and failure. Looking around the walls, you see posters of various comics and comic related paraphernalia covering brickwork that hasn’t seen a coat of paint since the Kennedy administration. The second thing you hear, the first thing being your pathetic sobs of loneliness and the realisation you are a disappointment to your parents, is some sort of weird tribal drum music blasting at volume several times over the limit needed to drive you to suicide. The music seems specially designed to force you into a berserk kill frenzy, but it is balanced by the fact that everyone in the store is a nerd, and a berserk nerd rage pretty much just means angry blog posts and punched Chewbacca dolls.

Aaaaaaaaaaand that is all I wrote. Wow, it really looked longer on the page. That was like two paragraphs! That isn’t enough for a blog. Especially not after a WHOLE FUCKING YEAR. Goddamn it, I thought I was being all clever and shit, using stuff I already wrote. Now I need to fucking write some more crap. Alright fine, let’s just start typing and see what happens.

Oh wait, I have an idea. Let’s try this: So now may I present a selection of pictures taken on my phone camera by me, all of fucking assrupturingly bad numberplates. See how far you can get before you punch a hole through your screen. I went through 14 monitors, 3 TVs and  the skull of a small Asian child I paid to look at the pictures for me, just while uploading them here. Rest in peace Leong Chang, I wish we could have seen Paris together, one last time.

See you on the other side! Maybe!

I'd like to Imprezya with my stabbin skills

HAV TAT? You have a tattoo? Is that what you are telling me? HAV HED INJERY might be more pertinent information.

TOWZILA. Looking at this picture closely it appears that I am in Midland. It explains SO MUCH.

10 extra retard points if the person this belongs to is names Taylor. First, because they spelled their names wrong, and second because shut up.

This pictures speaks for itself. And what is says is BLARGHELGURGL!! because the speech centre of it's brain has been replaced with a t-shirt that says "I'm with stupid".

Apparently this guy needed all the children he lures in to the back of his car to know he is DUN PLAYN.

SMACK IT. I was fucking tempted to, trust me. Fun fact: I have no idea who's car I took that from, but it isn't mine. But apparently I can take time from my grand theft auto to take photos of stupid numberplates. How you use this information is up to you.

It's the pink background that really drives home how much I fucking hope the slut who owns this gets ovarian cancer and dies slowly and painfully, hopefully while being gang-raped in a Taiwanese prison.

Thanks for clearing that up bitch. Now I know exactly who to send the anthrax letter to. That really cuts back on my murder time.

There is a one in one hundred thousand chance that the woman who owns this car ISN'T fat. Bonus: My finger. For the Ladies.

JEDI NITE? Yeah man, because when you think of the ancient order of warrior scholars that wield swords made from LASERS and shoot LIGHTNING from their motherfucking hands, your immediate second thought is fucking TOYOTA CAMRY.

This one is hard to see, which is pretty lucky actually, because it says DUXNUT. If I were any closer there is no way either of us would have survived. Just looking at it now is making me hate both ducks AND testicles, two of natures greatest creations. Well three I guess. Too soon?

R3TALI8R. I'm just going to come out and say this. If you get a custom numberplate it should be legal for me to drag you kicking and screaming from your car and burn you alive. But if you have numbers in place of letters on your plate, it should be illegal for me NOT TO.

Why does this exist? Who thinks "hey, after I'm done drinking from this bottle I found under the sink, I should take my dick out of this watermelon and go get ALLCLASS put on my numberplate! I'm surprised they gave me a license at all, what with my mother being my sister and all. Hey, Australian Idol is on!".

BE MY WMN? Who wouldn't want to drive around all day in a singles ad? This is like writing your phone number on the wall of a toilet stall of a motor home.

Hey you made it! Good for you. Oh I forgot to mention, by clicking on my site you agreed to forfeit any rights to sue me for a new monitor. Ladies, you also agreed to forfeit your underwear. Now I’m not a lawyer, but I think that means you have to takes pictures of yourselves naked and send them to me. Hey, don’t get mad at me girls, I don’t make the law, I just enforce it. And yes, that last part WAS me subtly hinting to you that I’m into rough, dominating sex. And yes, that last part WAS me blatantly telling you I’m into rough, dominating sex. Wow, this paragraph really got away from me at the end there. MOVING ON.

So check this idea out, I’m thinking of starting up an online store here on loltech.org. You know, maybe a shirt with my face on it, signed pictures of me doing a benchpress, shit like that. Oh, how about this? For the ladies: for a mere $1000 I’ll send you a lifesize bronze replica of my wang. Get them quick, because with my intense daily routine of cock pushups and dong raises, it wont be long until the demand for my shiny bronze dicks drive the world metal prices to a record high. Hey, so when you woke up today I bet you didn’t think you’d be reading the words “shiny bronze dicks”. I like to keep you guessing here at loltech. Just one of the many services I provide. Read the last paragraph to see some of the others.

In other news, after 6 years of residence, I finally moved out of the Rape-Pit, and into share housing with my cousin, and Fatson. At first, I lived outside in a converted garage, and while it was cold, smelled like ass juice, and I had to cross the entire backyard at night to go inside if I wanted to piss, at least it had a lock on the door, unlike all the rooms inside. Back then I didn’t have to use some fucking Viet Cong guerrilla tactics shit every time I wanted to jerk off. Fuck man, if I feel the need to punish my dick at any time in the house during the day, I have to dig fucking spike pits and set up trip wires and shit. Unfortunately the big ass storm of a few months back CAVED IN THE ROOF of the lockable garage I was in, and I was forced to move inside into what can only be described as comically undersized storage closet. And a 6′5 guy who spends 6 days in the week in the gym does NOT really do well in a single bed, especially when that single bed is propped upright against a wall so it can fit in the room. Good news though! We are getting kicked out in like a month! YAY! I CAN’T WAIT TO BE HOMELESS! Although I guess going from living in a closet to living in a box will be a relatively smooth transition. That reminds me, I really have to go and carve myself a hobo knife.

Look at that now. A new blog post up on loltech. I bet you thought you’d never see the fucking day. You fucking faithless fuck! Look man, It was a weird year for me ok? Love, loss, a slow motion fight scene, a car chase, all the classics. And hey, I don’t see YOU spinning comedy gold anywhere DO I? Huh? Anyway, hopefully with uni as fuel I can actually improve upon the YEARLY update schedule. Hey, I’ve already written a script for a youtube video, so you might even get fucking QUARTERLY updates! Jesus fuck, CAN I BE STOPPED?

Actually I can. Right now.

Justin OUT.

Welcome to the all new and unimproved loltech.org! I’m still your host, Vice-President of Awesome Affairs; Imasen! So what’s changed? Well the site is no longer designed by a bi-polar diabetes having, colourblind, socially retarded narcissist with a chip on his shoulder and a sugar free redbull in his hand. No, no it’s designed by that guy’s fat friend. That’s right; it’s time to welcome a new addition to the loltech family. Joining the all new superpowered roster of me, my giant noveltry sized penis and the staff of handlers required to transport me and it, is the world’s most fattest fucking fat Fatson: FATSON! Ladies, you may already know him as “Will somebody get this fat hairy beast off me! EWWW did you just pull your dick out? WE’RE IN THE FROZEN FOODS ISLE YOU FUCK!” To everyone else he’s known as Fatson. Well, mainly just to me because I am a cunt and I named him that, but I’m sure it will catch on. Especially since I tell every person I meet almost as fast as he tells them I have diabetes. Yes, it’s a running joke to him that he lets every single person we run into the second we meet about my horrible disease. Luckily, while my insulin dependency hides silently in my bloodstream like a microscopic ninja, his fatsonality is on display for all to see. So yeah, everybody give a warm loltech welcome to Mr. Fatson Theodore Fatson, Esquire. So what does Fatson do? Well he spends most of his day obsessing over a hot girl at his work that he will NEVER get to fuck in a billion years, and creepily stroking to her facebook pictures while sniffing the giant ball of her hair he’s constructed by stealing strands from her comb daily. Oh you mean on the site? Well he designed the new layout. He’s also a guest star in the ongoing adventures of Fatson and Byron, a series of videos and self help articles chronicling our escapades. Oh and he has a blog as well, but don’t bother reading it, I can sum it up: emo, girls, rap, emo girls, balls, rap. Not enough rap though. Seriously cunt, drop a track already.

Other than the new look and layout, I have a bunch of exciting new content! Yes that’s right, during my absence, I not only spent my time masturbating during every free second, I actually spent some time writing! By the quality of the material you will probably assume not much, and you’d be correct! I wrote half this stuff in one redbull filled afternoon while Fatson sat behind me on his computer “helping” by playing music videos of songs so bad that they are considered war crimes by The Hague. So cut me some slack if everything sucks balls. You can address all complaints to the soft fleshy parts of Fatson’s torso.

Alright motherbitches, let’s get this fucker started! First up, we have the new Fatson and Byron section. In this section you will find videos and articles Fatsonio and I have collaborated on. Sure, it’s pretty empty right now, mainly because my video editing skills are about as well rounded as my knowledge of Norwegian music and culture. That is to say, not much I guess? That’s it Justin, if you can’t think of anything funny just be obscure and pointless! That’s how the greats do it. Annnnnyway, yeah this section is undergoing construction, as Japanese scientists have yet to invent a camera lens that can fit all of Fatson’s massive bulk in frame, mostly because they spend all their time and resources constructing robots to molest schoolgirls, and fighting Godzilla. In the future, when I’m not busy riding my jetpack to my job at the laser factory, this section will contain videos of our adventures into the wilderness that is Perth’s shopping and culture districts, as well as more specialized videos such as my planned “Fatson and Byron’s guide to seduction” where we secretly film ourselves hitting on women, and them hitting on us. With pepperspray and tasers. This section also now contains this blog as well as Fatsonio’s. I haven’t told him yet, but I’m integrating it into my site. I guess he’s reading this now so basically SUCK IT FATSON, I own your ass. Eww, let me rephrase that, I now am in possession of your blog and all its affiliated offshoots. Excluding your 49% stake in slutswithnuts.com.

Next up we have a section I like to call “State of the art” over on the information and navigation page. Partly because I’m a stupid prick, but mostly because it’s the awesome name of the awesome new album from the awesome Aussie hip hop crew Hilltop Hoods. Awesome. Yes, this entire section is about hip hop music. In the vein of this article (which nobody read so I’m going to pretend I just wrote and am debuting it now) I’m going to talk about the tragedies in my all time favorite genre of music. Don’t get me wrong, I love hip hop. But when there is an artist that goes by the name of “J.T Tha Bigga Figga”, some changes need to be made. Mostly to the face and scrotal region of the person who made their rap name J.T Tha Bigga Figga. This section is a semi weekly blog about news of a retarded nature in the world of hip hop, and occasionally music in general. Nothing up there just yet, but I’m working on it. Where is the trust people?

Distraction!

We also now have a miscellaneous section for shit that doesn’t go anywhere else, like my still being worked on even though I started like 2 months ago, based on a true story tale of my great great great great great great Grandfather, Awesomediah Hamill. There isn’t even anything there yet, so no link for you. Yeah ok sure, this paragraph isn’t very exciting but let’s balance that out by adding a half naked picture of pornstar Brittney Skye.

Apart from that, I’ve added two new articles over on the fucking astoundingly originally named “articles” page. Yeah, that shit is still around. So is the review section. Nothing new going on there yet, but there will be. Settle down children, there’s only so much writing I can do before I have to stop and masturbate a few times to the pile of Shona’s hair I’ve collected and fashioned in to her aproximate shape. We also have a new mini blog over on the about me page, to go with the old fashioned maxi-blog (that sounds like a feminine hygiene product for obese women). The mini blog is just sort of quick top of my head thoughts when I don’t have enough material for a full blog, as well as shit I’ve been up to, and updates on my fucking diabetes! Aww yeah negro, want to know how low my bloodsugar can go before I slip into a coma? SO DO I! Basically, this section is an excuse for me to not do anything interesting, as one paragraph articles is the most you can write about sitting in an armchair watching House and downloading porn. Mostly though, this section should be avoided generally as it will probably contain large amounts of emo whining. I can’t always be funny, but I do always want to write. Look man, I have to cry somewhere ok? So yeah, anyway NEW ARTICLES! The first one is all about trying to figure out ideas I’ve written down and can’t remember what the fuck I was talking about later. Peep it. The second one will be up soon, it’s on RPGs, or for the people among you who DON’T have spider-man bedsheets and a life-size cardboard cutout of Boba Fett, role playing games. Yeah man, I did an article about role playing games ok? What do you want from me fuckers, I’m a nerd! Consider yourselves lucky I didn’t just delete the whole site and replace it with a montage of images of Captain America fighting a Klingon in front of the box-art from Halo 2!

So there you have the major changes to the brand new semi functional loltech.org. Tell your friends fuckers, it’s getting real. No longer do I want to spend my days hauling large amounts of heavy things by hand while being burnt by acids and pitied by homeless people at my day job, I’m going hard with this writing shit. Will I make money from my terrible jokes? Probably not. But have you SEEN Good News Week? If those unfunny fucks can, why not I? Probably because I’m way too attractive for tv. Yeah, let’s go with that for now.

Alright kids, that’s enough out of me for now, I’ve got to go and queue up my next 50 gigs of gross fetish porn that I totally didn’t just mention on a site people I know read. Feel free to browse around the place and get to know the new styles. Contact me at Imasen@loltech.org with any feedback or offers of oral pleasure you may have, offer excludes all Darnells. Leave a comment in the comment section (duh) if you like as well, if I can activate it without getting spammed 3000 times by online casinos and advertisements for buttplugs. Welcome back to loltech.org!

Imasen out.

Greatest.

Greetings Citizens. Brace yourselves fuckers, some of you may want to sit down. Or if you are already sitting, you may want to lie down. Or if you are already lying down WAKE UP YOU LAZY CUNT! What could be so devastating as to require ass to chair contact? Only the worst news you weak minded Darnells could ever get; for the foreseeable future this blog is on hiatus. “ZOMG THINK OF THE CHILDREN!” I hear you scream at your monitor “who will warp their minds and teach them new words like ‘gutterfucking fagrat’?”. Fear not my simpleminded simpletons, you can still get your Justin fix, either by emailing me a picture of yourself and arranging a meetup for hot dickings if you are a sexy-type girl person, or jerking off to my facebook status for everyone else. If neither of those things appeal to you, get yourself checked out because I think I just listed the official Guinness Book of World Record Holders for number one and runner up hottest things that could ever happen ever award.

But yeah, if you are one of those sick fucks who are not turned on by the idea of masturbating to words I write at the top of my facebook profile, never fear. I’m only putting the breaks on the blog to focus on the rest of the site for a while. “What’s that? There is more than just a blog here? I thought that other crap was where you stored all the donkey porn!” I hear you say. It is. The donkey porn is here to stay, but besides that it also contains some of my older writings that wasn’t just me screaming in rage at fat people that may have walked past me. I also screamed in rage about other things like bad movies and Hitlers brain in attack robots. I feel I’ve gotten lazy in my rage screaming lately, so I’m switching it up.

First up, every man and his cunt dog is always whining at me about the colour scheme making the text hard to read. Look fuckers, I’m colourblind ok? Red white and black are basically the only colours I can tell the actual COLOURS OF! So forgive me if the site layout didn’t descend from heaven carved into tablets ok dipshits? Fatson is going to help me make the site look like something other than a down syndrome child made it on a graphical calculator in the 10 minute break he had between trying to hump his dog, and shitting in his pants region. This will be an ongoing thing so don’t be all like “oh man he said he was making it look better but it doesn’t look better I want it to look better why doesn’t it look better what’s that voice? KILL EVERYONE? OK!” So yeah, be cool. Like the Fonz. Ayyyyyyyyyyy.

Also I’m currently working on something I havent done since the days of uni, a fictional story. I’m about halfway done with it right now, I’m just writing the one at the moment, but hopefully it turns out funny and I can continue it. It’s called “The Awesomediah Chronicles” and it tells the story of my great great great great great great Grandfather Count Awesomediah Hamill, Lord of Radshire. It’s set in ye olde England, which I know very little about so instead of speaking with “thees” and “thous” and engaging in court intrigue, everyone swears a buttload and acts like a dick. Basically it’s just like me now, only wearing a powdered wig. Sounds retarded right? That’s pretty much what I’m going for.

John Locke will fuck your shit up.

I’m also adding a video section where I plan to record some Fatson and Byron’s jaunts around to shopping centres laughing at the beasts within. Only instead of taking my word that everyone is a gross wildebeest, you can see for yourselves! I’m thinking about also linking funny shit I find during my daily 23 hours of internet usage that people who aren’t me and McGlew may not have seen. Of course I will be adding to already established sections with some articles and reviews. I already have a review in mind. It has a lot in common with this one that nobody fucking read because I forgot to link it here. Here is a hint that nobody but Fatson will get, it involves a high pitched faggot running from a bad green screen fireball. Oh Yeah Fatseroni, it’s totally happening.

So there you have it, the last blog for a while. Savor it fuckers. Breathe it in. Touch it gently….yeah enough of that. Starting today I have 11 days in a row off work, so look forward to some new material in the next few weeks. Imasen ultra-out.

Friendship is rare!

It's funny coz he rapes me there.

So Easter long weekend, fuck yeah children. Too bad its Monday and tomorrow is back to work day. I’ve been breathing in mouthfuls of phlegm all weekend in my usual cancerous state. Can I stay not sick for 15 consecutive minutes PLEASE? It’s ridiculous, I’m like a walking plague carrier. And motherfuckers wonder why I never leave my cave? It’s because the second I step outside I get face raped by the goddamn fucking OUTBREAK MONKEY! It’s raining today and if it continues tomorrow, I’m ACTUALLY going to die. There is only so many viruses the human body can handle, and I’m already about 47 over that limit. So yeah, GOOD WEEKEND! Nah I’m being facetious, it was actually a pretty ok weekend.

Friday I nerded it up with Lord of the Rings Online and Dungeons and Dragons Online, and when I was done SEVERELY geeking it up, I followed it by some comic reading and light masturbation. All in all, a productive day. Saturday I spent with Shona as she tried and failed to match my levels of nerdery by coming comic shopping with me, then I attempted to valiantly resist a pants shattering erection as I stood around in the underwear section as she picked stuff out. I only pocketed 6 to 7 pairs ok? Nothing gross and creepy about that at ALL. Sunday was movie night. Kind of miss-named as it happened mostly in the day and we didn’t even watch a movie. So it was more like get sunburned and chat afternoon/evening. My favorite part was when I got all diabetes retarded and had to go eat, I cruise past the shops and the only 2 stores open are Red Rooster and ADULTSHOP. So yeah, If you ever need some chicken and a buttplug on an Easter Sunday, I can hook you up. I lie actually, my favorite part is when I swung a pillow at Fatson at the same time as he moved forward and hit him directly in the cornea with the zip. The resulting explosion of eye goo could probably be heard 2 states over. Unfortunately he remains unblinded, and my plans for world domination failed. Really though, basing my entire scheme on Fatson being blind in one eye may have been reaching.

Today I went to the video store to pick out the days laziness. I planned to get 2 new releases but apparently it’s to much to ask that every movie released in the last 6 months NOT suck balls. I REALLY liked how there was 15 copies of “Burn after reading” on the shelf unhired but EVERY SINGLE COPY of Rob Schneider’s cinematic Masterwork “Big Stan” was out. I fucking WEEP for the species. To any alien invasion fleets reading this, that was your queue to determine Earth as “Worthless”. Please commence eradication. Oh, and while I’m on the subject of aliens FUCK YOU John Travolta.

Oh if you are trying to comment on the blog, I had to disable comments because I received over 300 spam messages in the last 24 hours for some random online casino. Look you fucking useless spamming cunts, nobody that reads my blog can afford your stupid online casino bullshit. Fuck, most of them are so stupid they think that the monitor is a TV and they are watching the worlds most boring TV show: “Loltech.org? What kind of a name for a show is that? This is booooring! If I don’t get to vote something off in the next 30 seconds I’m going to MURDER MY CHILDREN!” Look man, stop spamming me ok? It fills my inbox and I miss all the important mail outs form busty-cheerleader-chat.com.

I don't even

Oh, I saw this on facebook yesterday. It’s an ad for six pack abs. Why is it odd? Well you may notice that out of ALL the pictures in the history of the universe they could have chosen of a ripped dude with his shirt off, they decided to go with Edward Norton from American History X. lol wut. WHO thought using this in an advertisement was a good idea? “Lose 15 kilos in a week the KKK way! Tired of those saggy lovehandles? Do we have the workout for you! Beat a negro!” Motherfuckers, you can even SEE the god damned top of the fucking SWASTIKA TATTOO you racist CUNTS! Seriously!

Anything else? I guess not. I have a lump of phlegm in the part of my brain that humour used to reside, so sorry if this isn’t up to my usual standard of hilarity. If you want something funny, I suggest you go and hire out the movie I saw while at the video store; “Son of Rambow”. I dont think the actually movie will be funny per se, but the image of you tearing it from the dvd drive, snapping it in half, then embedding it into your own neck is, I think, a vision we can all get behind. God bless you Son of Rambow, God bless your stupid, STUPID fucking soul.

Why?

For reasons too complicated to get into, I’m in a terrible mood and want to vent my anger. Luckily the other night I saw the brand new Nicholas Cage film “Knowing”. Actually now that I think about it “luckily” might not actually be the best word to describe it. This is the worst film of the year, even after Max Payne, which was the cinematic equivalent of sticking a razorblade down the eye of your penis.

First off, if you don’t like Christian allegory, stay the fuck away from this film. They don’t even attempt subtlety. It barely even qualifies as allegory at all its that blatant. It’s like being hit in the balls with a stack of bibles. Basically, it’s “The Bible” starring Nicholas Cage. I would describe it as a cross between Noah’s Ark and gay. For starters, Nicholas Cage is the worst actor ever. LOOK CUNT, pausing after every second word doesn’t make you sound deep and insightful, it makes you sound like as a baby your mother dropped you on your head. Into a FUCKING WHEAT THRESHER! Stop fucking pausing you retarded sounding prick! Also, if your hair plugs are higher on the billing than you, its time to give up acting and look into a career in the fast paced world of suicide. I’m not going to go into the specifics of the movie, because that would require remembering them, and if I tried to unblock those memories I cant promise that I wont fly to LA and punch Sophia Coppola right in her distantly related fucking ovaries.

So we fatsoned over to the Carousel Thursday night. The first thing we encounter as we were trying to park is some Elephantitis looking bitch screaming at us for having our music to loud or not smelling enough of butter or something. I of course reply with: “look bitch, just because you ate your entire graduating class”. The night got fatter from there. I’m not going to lie, we were nearly drowned by a wave of human garbage. Every direction we looked there was some form of faggotmonster hungering for our non syphilitic flesh. Fatson was looking particularly smooth. He’d done his hair to somehow look twice as Fatson as it normally did. I cant actually explain it as it is a non naturally occurring phenomenon, but its like he had his normal haircut, only more-so. It is now referred to as Fatson 2.0. I really need to get a camera. We saw some, which could loosely be described as people, who defy Darwin’s theory of natural selection by surviving despite NUMOEROUS physical and mental defects. Fatson of course, it too fucking scared to take photos on his phone unless he is 4 states away dressed in full camouflage up in a snipers nest, so I don’t have any pictures. Still, it might not make any difference, as the sheer weight of the ugliness of the shitstains we saw that night would drag this page off the internet and down into the depths of Lake Drinkswhilepregnant.

The reason for the trip, aside from our weekly wild hippofuglymous hunt (CRIKEY, that’s an ugly one cobba!), was to get me a new TV. My old TV being willed to me by my great great great great Grandfather, Awesomediah Hamill, upon its discovery at Botany Bay by the First Fleet, was being transported to Oxford

This is what my old TV would look like if it was 3000 years newer.

Museum by Indiana Jones for archaeological study. We visited JB Hifi, and I picked out a TV large enough to land a commercial airliner upon. It’s the third sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The first being myself, and the second being myself in a pirate costume. Rounding out the top five are Shona at number four, then at number five, myself in a pirate costume holding a photograph of myself in a pirate costume. Next to the TV.

The dude who sold me the TV was also named Justin and agreed with my choice in “I pwn noobs” shirtage. He was basically the Asian remix of me. We nerded it up a bit and I gave him one of my business cards because lets face it, I have like 42 hundred of the fucking things and I’ve met a total of 16 people in my whole life, so its either give them to random sales dudes or use them to build the worlds largest me-covered fort. If you are reading this discounting sales me-remix, hi, and welcome to YOUR DOOM! And yes, before anyone mentions it, It didn’t occur to me at the time, but the day after I realised, I just gave my phone number to a dude. I now want to go back and tell him it totally wasn’t in a gay way, but he’s probably already taken out three to four different restraining orders against me.

Friday night. Fatson has his impressions up over at his blog. But since I’m way hotter than he is I thought you might like to hear my impressions instead. Calm down ladies, there is plenty of me to go around. So I wrote a blog a while back about my sisters wedding to her husband Adam. Now, generally Adam is a good guy and hes great for my sister. But hes been living a secret life. By day hes a mild mannered engineer who makes more money than me and God put together. But at night he takes off his engineer pants and puts on his RAPIN’ PANTS. Wait, that doesn’t work. He puts on his…..um…..RAPIN’ BALLGAG AND MATCHING NIPPLE CLAMPS. Wait….lets just step away from the metaphor here. Basically he puts his penis in things against their will. So he spent a large portion of the 3 hours we were there molesting me in various scarring and horrifying ways. He was poking, prodding, punching, headlocking, yelling in my face, grabbing my fist and making me punch Fatson, at a few points he literally scaled me like a fucking sexy and hilariously funny mountain. The only relief I got was when he paused with molesting me to go molest Cos.

Security footage captured from inside the concert.

Apart from the molestation, I had to share my oxygen with the rest of the neckbearded fuckbags. I realised very early on that I hate everyone in the history of everything ever. Drunk people are worse than Smallpox. And probably uglier. I had gone to see Drapht, but he was sharing the stage with Downsyde, who I hate. Plus he didnt sing any of the songs I wanted, none of the serious lyrical shit I like, instead he did the typical Australian drunk cunt anthems about drinking, sluts, and drinking with sluts. Plus, the warm up acts consisted of some girl I wanted to throat fuck, partly because she was hot but mainly because her songs sucked bawlz, and MC Disaster, who lived up to his moniker by not only being terrible himself but by actually EXTRACTING the talent of people in the audience and wiping his nuts with it. Then handing it back. So yeah, not my favorite night ever. Basically I’m never going out again, unless its to a fucking stripclub in a waterslide park next door to the blowjob factory.

From left to right: Bi-curious, Tits McGee, Tits Out, Leonie (Number 1), has tried cocaine.

So for some reason Fatsons sexy workmate Leonie wants me to write erotic fiction about her and her 4 girlfriends sexily having pillowfights in their underwear in slowmotion while talking about how they would like to sequentially then concurrently ravage me. I’d really like to Leonie, but unfortunately my penis and I have come to an arrangement to restrict masturbation to 6 times a day, and I’m afraid he has made me sign a binding legal contract. I’ll tell you what though, we should get together and discuss it over a cool glass of totally not spiked drink of your choice up to to the value of three dollars. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I have a video camera, so that’s gotta be worth more like 473 million. Grab your friends and some candles and incense and we can get this ball rolling. Man I need to go get one of those chairs with “director” written on it. Ive always wanted one of those motherfuckers. We can spilt the profits 50/50 between the producer and director, both being me. You can keep the handcuffs and baby oil though.

Aaaaaaaaaanyway, enough out of me. It’s 11pm on Sunday night and I have work tomorrow. Hate. Until next time, I hope you all die. Imasen out.

Greeting and welcome to another edition of “What does Justin hate this week?” Hold on to your old timey hats and your monocles, as the answer may totally shock…… IT’S YOU! I want to give a special loltech welcome to all my new readers. I have no idea who you are or where you come from, but go ahead and start typing up a form letter for complaints when I inevitably call you a cumsnorting jizzbag.

Lets get into it shall we? Unlike my meticulously planned and exhaustively researched blog posts of the past, this fucker has no set topic. I’m just going to type stuff until I feel like stoping or have to go and take one of my state required hourly masturbation breaks. Lets start with a topic I have never touched on before; anger.

Alright, its week 3 of Diabetathon 2009 and I’m already used to it, its just another thing I have to do. There is one thing I will bever get used to though, even though I will have diabetes for the rest of my life. Sugar free Redbull. Anyone who knows me is aware that to raise me in the morning you need at least 3 redbulls, or some form of necromancy. The sugar free ones though, holy fuck. They taste like Amy Winehouse drunk a carton full strength redbull and washed it down with a bucket of industrial strength cleaner, then pissed the entire contents directly into my mouth. It’s like drinking the battery acid of a retard bus. So I’m stuck drinking this horrible swill for the rest of time, and its put me in a pretty bad mood. Hey redbull you cunts! I obviously see the reason why you took the sugar out of your sugar free redbull, but why the fuck did you replace it with EJACULATE?

So I’ve been thinking lately about the actions of my peers, particularly in regards to their leisure time. I’m a fucking antisocial hermit that is one step away from buying a decades supply of canned goods and fucking digging myself a bunker. The only time I leave the house other than for work is to go with Fatson once a week to shopping centers to wander around and make fun of gross fag-creatures. I was informed by Shona as we’re basically doing just what I described, that this is a fairly non standard method of fun having. I guess shes right. Apparently in societies eyes, the only fucking sane and rational way to spend an evening is facedown in a toilet throwing up the $150 bucks you just spent on drinks. You people sicken me. Here’s the thing; I’ve been drunk 3 times in my life. I don’t remember any of it, and the next day I felt like I had been hit by a truck filled with liquefied terrible. So why the FUCK are all you fags so in love with it? I tell you what, how about I spike your drink and then anally violate you? You still wont remember, and you will still feel terrible the next day, but at least i got to stick it in your pooper.

Next up: Dragonball Z. Or as it should be known “We Scream and Power up. 15 minute stares edition.” This show, and others like it; e.g Naruto, Bleach etc, are the worst things to happen since the Holocaust. Here is a plot synopsis of all of them. Main Dude fights the most powerful guy in the universe and loses. He goes away and trains, comes back and defeats him. New most powerful guy from the Nega-universe shows up. Main Dude fights the most powerful guy in the Nega-universe and loses. He goes away and trains, come back and defeats him. Stupid comedy episode. New most powerful guy in the Ultra-universe shows up. Justin puts his face against a bench-grinder. I remember back when I watched DBZ when I was younger, there was an episode where the most powerful guy in the universe Frieza, threw a stupid magic power ball into the core of a planet and told the Main Dude Goku that the planet would now explode in 5 minutes. LITERALLY 6 episodes of screaming and powering up later, Frieza informs Goku that there was now 3 minutes until the planet blows up. THAT WAS LITERALLY FUCKING 2 HOURS IN REAL TIME FRIEZA YOU FUCKING BLUE LIPSTICK WEARING CUNT! It took fucking 2 real time hours to progress 2 in show minutes. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF.

Around this same time Goku performed a move known as a Spirit Bomb. To do this he has to, and say it with me everyone; SCREAM AND POWER UP. The thing is, it took 3 whole episodes of him standing there with his arms in the air going HRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR while a giant ball of magic power grew bigger and bigger above him. What does his mortal enemy Frieza, that he has been fighting for the last 23 episodes and who has just murdered one of his friends do? He stands there and soliloquises about how powerful that move is and how he cant defeat it. Look man, here is a cunning strategy. If a dude is standing there with is eyes closed concentrating with all his strength on the giant and invincible super-weapon he is constructing, and paying no attention to you whatsoever, you don’t have to be an invincible kung fu master to walk up and kick him in the balls. You don’t even have to do that, just walk the fuck off.

Here is a clip I found on youtube. The first 30 seconds sums up the entire 200+ episodes in a perfect nutshell. You can turn it off after that, or you can watch the whole thing and see some other examples of awesomeness. For instance, every line of dialogue in the entire show is one of 5 things:

• 1. Unintelligible screams.
• 2. Speeches about how powerful, or how weak somebody is.
• 3. Screaming of characters names by their friends. GOKU! KRILLIN! VEGETA!
• 4. Stupid tryhard comedy by Roshi.
• 5. Discussions about how someone has powered up, should power up, or cant power up any further.

Here is another tip, this time to Goku. Look cunt, if someone comes from the future to tell you about an evil menace that has reduced his civilisation to cinders, and you kick its evil ass, DONT give it time to power up to its full potential, ESPECIALLY if it tells you that’s what it’s going to fucking DO! When the evil death monster triples in size and grows 14 dicks, after hes done anally raping you and destroying your planet, boy will your face, and ass I guess, be red. God damn I fucking hate that show.

Alright, that’s it for today. Time to go play some LotRO. I’m so fucking angry at Dragonball Z right now I could fucking SCREAM. And power up.

Imasen out.

Greeting me fans, it’s that time again, when I drop some knowledge on you so hard it hurts. Today I was looking at the stats for the site and I noticed that someone had found it by googling the phrase “fucking my sleeping sister”. I have no idea what to do with information. On the one hand…. the fuck? Why am I a trusted name in the fast paced world of incest? On the other hand…. fuck yeah! I’m a trusted name in the fast paced world of incest! I’ve always wanted to be called as an expert witness at a criminal trial, and my only criteria to be called on previously was if a murder case depended on expert analysis of masturbation techniques. Now I can apparently add “Professional incest expert” to my portfolio. Take that Dr. Stephen Hawking! Now I have 2 things on you, masturbation AND expert incest testimony. How about you write A Brief History of Time…OF MY BALLS.

So I was talking to Shona the other night about why I’m so amazing and what she can do to be more like me. And as chats between stupidly attractive and universally loved internet superstar bloggers and their willing female groupies are bound to do, the conversation turned towards sex. More specifically, the retarded red-headed step cousin of sex, masturbation. Shona used the word “wank” several times to describe the act. Wank to me is a hilarious word, it’s so very British. It sounds like something you do in a monocle and tophat while out foxhunting. “Jeeves, fetch me the water based lubricant and my nipslip photo of Her Majesty would you my good man? I’m going to have a jolly good wank, wot”.  This paragraph had nothing to do with the rest of the post, I just really wanted you all to enjoy the mental image of a nipslip photo of the Queen. Please send all complaints and stabbings to my representative Michael Cosoleto.

Ok, so lets talk awhile about the opposite of sex; comics. My representative and I went into the city yesterday to do some manly pushups and arm wrestles in between shopping for picture books. I have to say, I’m very disappointed in Perth’s comic shops, you think that a store whose main function it is to supply comics, would carry more than 5 total. Even so, with supplies being limited, I still bought 3 collections. Two were super awesome and not at all gay copies of Captain America. The other is a comic known as “Spider-man loves Mary Jane” a story about MJ and her friends dealing with teen problems at highschool. It’s basically “Spider-man and Pacey love Dawson. In the butt”. It might very well be the only comic specifically targeted at girls on the whole market. Hey, FUCK YOU ok? It’s awesome. On /co/ we call it “Bitches love Spider-man” and it is widely loved by many non-gay comic fans. Yes I know, I walked past 500 copies of “Wolverine stabs a guy 2: The stabbening” and “Essential Batman Volume 4: My Parents are STILL DEAAAADDD!” and “Superman: Still a boring cunt” but look, sometimes I want to read about how bad cheerleading practice was, ok?

So I take my comics up to the counter with Fatson teasing me all the way about my choice. I get to the counter and this is the conversation that follows:

• Counter nerd: Is this for your girlfriend?
• Me: No, just for me.
• Counter Nerd: Oh. Well, I read this to my daughter and she loved it.
• Me: Nope, still just for me.
• Him: Oh.

By this time Fatson has had to turn away to laugh at my complete pwnage, and yeah, I got pretty well raped there. I felt slightly less stupid after the next exchange, and slightly more homicidal.

• Me: Do you have volume one of Runaways?
• Counter nerd: The full size version or the pocket size?
• Me: Either.
• Counter nerd: We have neither.

Look cunt, why the fuck would you ask if I want the normal size or small one if you don’t have either. RICHAAAAARRRRDDS!!!!!! Motherfucker, if you can’t even use your powers of deductive reasoning to figure out that I may want to purchase the book I’m asking to purchase, don’t be getting all up in my grill about reading a book for girls. Fucker.

That’s all for today kids, I have to go and finish reading Spider-man loves Mary Jane and change my tampon. For more of my recent adventures, head on over and visit Fatson Cosoleto for his perspective on things. Imasen out.