As I like to do once in a while around here, I’m going to start you off with some reading material, then completely fucking eviscerate the jerk-off who wrote it. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the rhetorical ramblings of a retard:
Now, it should be no surprise to anyone who has spent even the slightest bit of time around here that I am a big, big, Daniel Tosh fan. He is twice as funny as I could ever hope to be on my best day, and clearly I appreciate his style of humor, and I practice it, albeit amateurishly. So you have to know where I am going to go with this. My problem with this twat, however, is not just because of her putrid attempt to make my “Yoda” look bad. My problem also stems from a more general disgust with her me-first attitude, which I am absolutely fucking sure permeates her life on a daily basis. Where to start, where to start?
So let me get this straight: You and a friend bought tickets to a comedy club featuring one comedian you don’t really like (Dane Cook), and others that you have never heard of. Then, after realizing that the headlining comedian (Yeah, he is the headliner. So if you had never heard or seen him, it is more of a reflection of how far your head is rammed up your tight ass than it is a reflection of his lack of celebrity.) was using a comedic styling that didn’t suit your particular taste, you decided to interfere with the performance in order to make your indignation known to everyone. What an insufferable twat you must be.
For the record, I have no problem with you being offended. You absolutely have the right to decide for yourself what is funny and what crosses the line. What you don’t have the right to do is disrupt a performance that other people paid good money to enjoy. You are not my moral compass (Thank Christ). You do not get to decide for the rest of the room what is funny and what is offensive. What you do get to do, should you choose to, is quietly, and without incident, gather your belongings and exit the club. Chalk it up to wasted money and a valuable lesson that maybe, being that you have the sense of humor of a fucking door knob, walking into a comedy club spontaneously isn’t the right choice for you when deciding on an evening’s entertainment. Stick to reruns of “Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman”, or whatever awful horse shit PAX-TV is running that night, and maybe get a little saucy with a wine-cooler. Who knows? Let’s get crazy.
But that’s not good enough for you, is it? Because you are the imbecile who calls the FCC when Janet Jackson shows half a nipple for a millisecond at the Super Bowl. You are the fucking spinster that writes threatening e-mails to TV stations when a naughty word slips through a live prime time broadcast. You are the girl who thinks she has the pulse of the people beating in her chest, and will protect us, for our own good, from the profanity that is delivering this country directly to Satan’s door. Gimme a break. Go back to spending your night’s indulging in the “Twilight” books and stay the fuck out of my entertainment.
God, can you just imagine how awful this woman is in bed?
Oh, and if you are going to use a blog to get your point across, sweetheart, at least have the guts to have a comments section posted below to give people a chance to discuss how badly you suck. What a pussy-ass way to get your point across. Grow some balls under those granny panties, instead of running away to avoid criticism…