Hey, it’s a slow day, so it’s time for some off-topicality. Apparently I’m the only one who likes this Italian Spiderman series, but when I like something, I force it on people endlessly, like Peruvian chicken and butt sex. It’s only half as gay as Planet Unicorn but twice as nonsensical. We pushed the shit out of Planet Unicorn so I’ll post these until the rest of the Gay Mafia ties me to a stop sign and beats me with rainbow dildos. In other words, tomorrow.

Italian Spiderman has totally made my summer and summer hasn’t even started yet. This being the fourth episdoe, if your interest is sufficiently piqued, I encourage you to check out the first three installments here. You shan’t be disappointed, ragazza.

Brooklyn, New York, present day

Actually, no. This isn’t a guide at all. It’s too fucking hot to piece together the necessary expository skills to create something as useful as a guide.

Maybe you’re in one of the places in the country that isn’t having its fourth consecutive humid day in the high 90s. If that’s the case, fuck you. But for those of you who ARE suffering at the moment, you’re no doubt having to withstand the insipid and inevitable small-talk conversation that always, always, ALWAYS goes like this:

Guy: “Man, it’s hot.”
You: “SO hot.”
Guy: “I mean really hot.”
You: “Seriously.”

Well, fuck that. Spice it up. Show that fucker that he doesn’t know hot, YOU know hot. Mix it up with these handy phrases:

- “It’s Africa hot.”
- “It’s Do The Right Thing hot.”
- “It’s Officer Miller hot.” (“A man’s not supposed to notice or say anything, he’s just supposed to stand there with a big smile on his face. Stand there, in his thick, scratchy, blue uniform. Maybe he forgot to wear his t-shirt that day, and his nipples are on fire! Because they’ve been rubbed raw against the stiff wool…” )
- “Tarzan couldn’t take dis kinda hot!” (Biloxi Blues)
- “Hotter’n two cats fucking in a wool sock.”
- “Today on the countryside it was a-hotter than a crotch/I stood alone upon the ridge and all I did was watch” (Bob Dylan, “Tough Mama”)
- “What is this, a Faulkner novel?”
- “I can’t tell whether my ass is sweating or if this is just diarrhea.”
- “I feel like Korey Stringer.”

So… maybe not that last one.

NSFW-ish language.

Golly, this is great weather for a walk. It’s such a beautiful day. Sometimes you just have to make time and take a stroll through the neighborhood. Some folks have said this community’s lost a bit of its luster. How can they say that when everything looks so beautiful? Did I make that change to my 401(k) last week? I’ll have to call my accountant in the morning to make sure.

Wait a second. Wait just a…who the fuck is that? That’s not…nooooo….is that…a black guy? Oh fuck. He IS black! OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK! A black person in my neighborhood! Okay, okay, just relax, Bob. Maybe it’s Wayne Brady. You like him from that one show, remember?

Oh no, that’s not Wayne Brady. Holy shit, holy shit, I can’t relax now! What about my kids?!?! They’re all gonna do drugs now! I can almost hear the value of my house plummeting. And the real estate market’s in such a bear cycle as it is!

Oh my Christ, he’s coming closer! Oh shit, I’m trapped! If I cross the street, that makes me a racist! My wife’s friends will never let me live it down! Oh, God, I wish I was a cop so I could just shoot him and get it over with. Ack! He’s almost upon me! Please don’t kill me, sir! I’ll give you my wallet and you can buy all the Colt 45 you want! Oh God, he’s gonna ask for my wallet! Will some other white person over 40 please help me! HELP ME!

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Oh, fuck, that was close. I better cut over a block and jog home, before he gets to my house and tries to steal my car.

Well well well. Look who just got scraped off the track.

Listen here, bitch. You may think you’re somebody. You might think that your tragic end got some of us weepy up here. You might even think that just because you came in second that you might have a little more clout up here than Big B. Well guess what, you dirty little slut. I own this fucking town. Which means I own you. Let that percolate in your little horse brain for a minute.

Actually, It’s a good thing you showed up, because I’ve done nothing but jerk off into that long skinny tube for over a year. Oh, sure, I could bang some of the broads up here, but they don’t do it for me. I like athletes. And I’ve got a feeling that you’re gonna like me, too. Like me in your ass, that is.

First thing I’m gonna do is walk you over here and fuck the cocktease right out of you. You’ve never had a gluestick like mine. You think that jockey rode you into the ground? You have no idea. Now hold still. Lemme just get…ah, there we go. Oooh, damn. Baby, you’re so wet. I knew you wanted me. I could hear it in your neigh. You want my cock, bitch? Here we go. Oh, shit, you feel–Ohhh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. OH SWEET MOTHER FUCKER!! AND DOWN THE STRETCH I COME!!!! AAAHHHHHH!!!!! OH GOD!!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Oooohh, uuugghh. Whoa. Baby, I swear, I usually go a lot longer than that.

At what point does opting to take pictures rather than helping the cow constitute evil animal porn? Is there any chance this is just a role-play thing that these two do every Wednesday afternoon? Do cattle get freaky like that?

Li’l help? There was some clover over here and I was really hungry…

Usually the Kill, Kill, Kill features are in video form. However, this picture was too freaking crazy not to post.

Every so often in Florida, a bleary meth-head, in the midst of a fleeting moment of clarity, will realize that his decision to make a pet of a Burmese python was a poor one– and the snake is unceremoniously set loose into the Everglades. When the python crosses paths with some of the indigenous wildlife what ensues can best be described as illegal immigration: reptile style.

The Burmese python tried to swallow its fearsome rival whole but then exploded. The python’s remains were found with the victim’s tail protruding from its burst midsection.

The photo shows the gruesome aftermath. The alligator, in a testament old-fashioned American determination, refused to give up merely because he had been eaten alive– spending his final moments making sure he took the Asian invader with him. The park ranger says that he is aware of four similar encounters– all either won by the gator or like this one, a mortal draw. USA! USA! USA!

This is hardly the first time that a dismembered snake has been used to represent North American nationalism. Benjamin Franklin’s well known political cartoon at the left advocated colonial solidarity. The sentiment draw upon the old myth that a chopped up snake, if left in a bag overnight, would magically reassemble. Kind of like the myth I currently subscribe to about chopped up hookers.

(Click the picture for delicious detail)
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn!

And yes Drew, the next time I go off-topic I’ll be sure to include a butt wiping anecdote.