Dear Santa (You fat douche)

Hey, and welcome to another episode of What Really Chaffs My Nuts. The holiday season is over and a new year is here; a new year that is sure to require a crate load of antidepressants and a Flak vest.  So, it wouldn't make much sense to write a letter to Santa now because well Christmas is over. Actually it's not if you live in a place like my house because the fuckin' tree is still up. See! 

It's still Christmas at my place! I mean shit; I'm tired of all the little tiny colored bulbs that twinkled in multicolored tackiness. Kidding! It really is beautiful. It is glorious. No, but seriously it’s not anymore. Honey, for Christ sakes please take the tree down. That said; let me get back to the topic. I know that it’s a bit late to compose a letter to Santa, however that said thing the fact is that is for some of us Christmas maybe the last happy time we a good time. The last time we before the canister of used tanner begins to destroy our nation now that he is in power. So, I figured that it might be a good idea to write a letter to the spokesman for the season of joy to ask for a few things that might make next Christmas happier during the clusterfuck that will be the next four years. So with out further a due, here is my letter to Santa.      

Dear Santa, 

I know that Christmas has come and gone. In fact it's the New Year. While I know that there is basically a year before we'll go through this whole fiasco of your seasonal employment (you're Christianity's beloved migrant worker and slaver), I’m writing you because I have some very unusual things that are on my want for next time. They are desires that while strange, strange like a French a von gard film or, Shia LaBeouf, have a purpose.  So without further delay, let's begin. 

Please Santa; please no more office Christmas parties. They're just sad. It's just a bunch of cubical/retail workers who have decided to take a night off from the rampant degeneracy of they're home life and celebrate that with coworkers by proxy the season to be jolly. It's kinda like Rihanna deciding she needed a break from Chris Brown, and goes out with Bobbie instead. I mean seriously, the only thing worse than getting drunk at a work party in general is crying while masturbating. And now that I think about it what's the point of that? If you’re crying than why the fuck are you touching yourself? I mean that is completely contradictory to the purpose of rubbing one out. That has to be the epitome of shame. Well, that and an adult wearing Velcro shoes. The only thing worse than that is office party hookups. 

Office party hook ups are the most pathetic things ever. You and a co-worker in the handicap stall pressing up against the handrails, and the walls like two angry bulls in a bucking chute as you clumsy grope, grasp and hump each other in the mist of impulsive passions. Thudding up against the meddle divider and making sounds that resemble a mixture of raccoons and tired dogs fucking you guys slip on the forever slick tiles. I mean, all bathroom tiles, unless at your home, always resemble a cold day old French fry. It's hard and yet somehow still oily. Office party hook ups are the dumpster fires of trust building exercises. 

Next on the list is the end of eggnog. I want you to make it illegal to produce that destructively horrid concoction.  What exactly is that shit, by the way? Cinnamon flavored jizz? I mean is it the leftover from Mrs. Claus' Bukkaki? Was there a lot of hair, and pointy ear pulling involved? How about antler and jelly belly slapping? Was that part of the processes? Is it mainly elfish spooge?  Is that why it's spiced because it's mythical baby batter? Is that what eggnog is? And Santa, exactly how much joy did you expel from your sack? That's skeevy shit. It is. Oh, and it's not a festive treat, it’s lactose laced with dead chicken baby gravy with the consistency of off white lead paint.   

But in all honesty eggnog is something that a bunch of frat boys or prepubescent boys would mix together for a stupid bet. It's sickening to think about drinking. Trying to swallow that lemon white creamy fluid that is supposed to help ring in the mutha fuckin'' cheer actually makes my soul choke on bile. That's not the worst of it though, Santa. That celebratory drink has done much worse. 

See, there was a real life riot that took place over fuckin' eggnog. That's right you fat bastard, a riot over that elfish spooge of a drink. It took place at of all places, but West Point, our nation's cream of the crop military academy. Way back in 1826, WestPoint was still in it's infancy, and so in an attempt raise the institution to greatness the superintendent, Colonel Sylvanus Thayer, created a more disciplined environment. That discipline included a ban on alcohol. However, that did go over very well to a bunch of overworked young whippersnappers. One of those whippersnappers was the future president of the confederate, Jefferson Davis by the way. And so unable to accept a sober Christmas the cadets smuggled in booze in vast quantities. I mean like a speakeasy's wet dream amount. Their stash would have put the Omega Theta Pi from "Animal House" to shame. 

The debauchery that ensued was something that could be described as the L.A. Riots on ecstasy. The cadets had laughed, vomited, and vandalized their barracks in a joyous drunken frenzy. It was as if they were hyperactive toddlers who had just feasted on a birthday cake made of PCP and pixie sticks. One cadet even went so far as to try to bust a cap in one of his superiors so they wouldn't get in trouble. By the next day while those in the south barracks woke with sober discipline, the hung over students from the north were presented with the havoc they caused. Yup, fuckin' eggnog, the beverage of choice for all ye faithful that had been the cause of the anarchy could have eighty sixed the academy. It could have butchered the school if the staff hadn't been savvy enough to only purse the core instigators of the uprising. So, 19 of the cadets who were involved got the boot. That said the rebellious Dixie Rebel sadly was not one of the fuckers that had been disgraced. If that fucker had been booted out then the outcome of one of the most brutal American armed conflict ever may have been very different. But no, Santa in all of your spirit of the Holiday wisdom, you gave a free pass to the future. All that bullshit, and all because of a disgusting drink that is supposed to some how make this dark time of year happy. The result, we got Trump. I rest my case. Onward. 

Up next on the line up is coffee. No, wait let me be a little more specific Starbucks. I mean let's be real Dunkin Donuts is all right, well no. I mean they choose John Goodman to be their spokesman. If America runs on Dunkin' then it's running on a clogged aorta. Now Starbucks on the other hand is freakin' sweet, with one exception, gentrification. Yes, that's right there are times where the menu appears to be a man bun away from an episode of Girls. If not the menu then the orders and requests sure do. I mean Cappuccinos, Americanos, Lattes, Flat Whites, and Frappuccino are awesome. I mean, like freakin' sweet killer kick ass. That said, when you order a drink that's half whip, half caffeinated, half not, half mocha, and half not, topped with Carmel drizzle there's a problem. In other words Starbucks can at times look like a Lumber sexual has jizzed all over the menu. I’m just saying. Check it out, and get back to me.

Seriously Santa I be good all this shit eating year if you will change those things. Seriously, you jolly fat bastard, think about it. And now here is a poem by a friend of mine, Matthew Claffee. Enjoy.

I know I should have did this wayback when

but it's ok because I still have some ink in this 2016 pen

So Santa clause this ones for you and I hope you hear it

maybe next year you give away some of that Christmas spirit

'Cause holidays are the worst days and that's when you feel the pain like its the first day

Damn right that's life I live

That's what I see through the scope of my lens

now it's time to put it on wax with this 

P-E-N.  And then, 

it's time to spread some Christmas cheer, it's 2017 the bud life year

so to infinity and beyond I go, to find the head hancho, and as far as I know, my mom had the freshest Tahoe and always watched out for potholes, threestyles went to Santiago, and my motto ,comes from Toronto " do right and kill everything "

It's Christmas all over again and four little feet on the ground, running around to see what Santa brought to town.

Mommy and daddy look like clowns but they don't care

Cause they found out a long time ago life ain't fair

So here come the iPhones taking videos that'll last a life time

I guess it's really true stories come alive at the night time

and that's something I can freak wit', cause those 4 little feet are too small not to not have any holiday spirit

So Santa if you ring those jingle bells I'm pretty sure I'll hear it.

So until the next rash,

Lou Ford

FIN

Snow Globes! YAY!

Hello, and welcome to another episode of What Really Chaffs My Nuts. Due to school, work, and a sick kid, I have fallen behind, so I will be doing something special. I'll be posting all of my older christmas posts. Some of those will be from my older blog "Dirty Filthy Snuff", so to all you new readers, now you can enjoy my earlier work in all it's immature 

Now it's time for "What Really Chaffs My Nuts". What really chaffs my nuts are snow globes.

 Yes, those round glass spheres filled with water that contains white particles that represent snow and some kind of festive scene, or land mark. I mean I understand the craftsmanship needed to construct a snow globe, but in all sincerity the last thing I really want besides, for example, a shot glass for a fucking city bought at some cheesy Sauveur shop at the airport, is some deceiving winter wonderland that I create when shaking a globe of glass that ends in a damn minute when the "snow" settles to the bottom. The falseness that makes my childhood dream of meeting  "Frosty The Snowman" seem real until the music box stops playing, and it's time to shake the fucking globe again. And the damn corniness of it, just makes me want to beat the glass blower in the head with the globe until he actually believes he's in it. Or even worse, the fact that they have become so cliche' that now their being mass produced by sweat shop workers in Chinatown who are taking a brake from pushing out all of Martha Stewart's products. Those ones are made of cheap plastic; so cheap that you gotta be careful where you put it or the heat from the living room lamp will melt it. And once it leaks it nearly kills you because it's not fuckin' water but instead ether or wood alcohol, or some water from some polluted river like the Hudson. You touch it and you begin to hallucinate, learn the meaning of life after meeting god. I guess that would probably happen if you drank the water from the small world ride, and by the way what the hell is up with that fucking ride? 

It's old as dirt, what fun is it? And have you ever noticed that there aren't any Jews singing? 

See, they got everything; every race, and ethnicity, but no singing Israelis. A little bigoted? Yes? No? I think yes.

Anyway that's what snow globes are, their like those bottles of water that have blue oil in them that are supposed to resembled the ocean, the ones that have the plastic little suffer in it. When you move the the bottle the oil moves like what is supposed a wave, and some how the little suffer is going to ride the wave. What happens is the little surfer flips upside down never actually touching the fucking oil. One thing, and that is that it can be said it's a hell of a fucking way to pass the motherfucking time. It hypnotizes you into this state similar to the P.O.W.'s in the "Manchurian Candidate. In fact if it weren't for the little plastic fucking surfer, you couldn't be coresered into doing anything. With the plastic man bouncing around hypnotically, it's like a swinging pocket watch. The thing that really sucks is the ones that are made out of those clear plastic draw string bags that by the time you get home has leaked so that the inside of your luggage looks like an Alaskan oil spill. And why the hell do we need to buy souviors? Why would I want a fucking plastic snow globe of the Eiffel Tower(a gigantic french erector set) that the particles are made to look like birds when shaken? What the fuck is the point of the fucking Eiffel Tower?

 Is there any other purpose than to just look like an avant-garde mistake? Did they run outta fucking building materials? Is that why they hang lights on it, to give it some substance? Anyway, as pretty as a snow globe maybe a wonderful winter wonderland, it's just that a winter wonderland suspended in time, so when you shake it up you become memorized by the beauty, and the wonderment of the season represented by the floating snow suspended in time for a brief moment. And then all the snow settles to the bottom, then the face of that ugly lapdog you never wanted, but your girlfriend demanded you get, looks at you through the snow globe magnifying it's face, scaring the shit out of you causing you to drop the decoration and it shaters. And while your happy the lie is dead, you still die a little more inside.

Happy Holidays!

Until next time, 

Lou Ford

Disgusted!

You know what really chaffs my nuts? Do you know what really chaffs my nuts is the recent Ohio State Attack, and other acts of terror. The  attacker, a Somali man, had used  his car to run students down before jumping out, and stabbing people with a knife. ISIS has now claimed that the murderer, Abdul Razak  Ali Artan, was a soldier of theirs.

Fuck you extremist!

 It's because of actions like that that result in everyone suffering. Moderate Muslims suffer due to the fear of harm, and everyone else suffers because of that violence and the terror, and the rage it causes. Because of this shit we have become more divided as a nation than we  have in decades. As an American Muslim I am disgusted by this disgraceful bullshit and the harm it will continue to cause. What is even worse is that if our current President elect chooses to follow through with his many campaign promises then I fear shit is going to get worse.

 So thank you extremists for FUCKING EVERYTHING UP! Thank you for dividing us even more than we already are. AND FUCK YOU FOR THE KILLS, AND VIOLENCE. FUCK YOU FOR THE FOR THE VICTIMS OF YOUR VIOLENCE. AND FUCK YOU FOR DESTROYING WHATEVER GOOD FOOTING MUSLIMS, MODERATE AND A LIKE, HAVE IN OUR NEIGHBORING NON-MUSLIM COMMUNITIES. Eat a big, gigantic, huge mule cock.


Until the next rash,


Lou Ford

FIN

God's Powder Puffs

It's the holiday season, YAY! In my rants I usually talk about things that really grind my gears. In this case it would be things like the fact that stores have already started to put out Christmas shit. In fact they had started doing that in august. Seriously, August. There is the fact that Thanksgiving traditions are absolutely worth fuck all. Yup, and just like the blankets laced with smallpox we've been wrapped in lies. And then there is the death match that is Black Friday where the douchiest of the douches fight over a no name flat screen TV at BestBuy. Those things just really chaff my nuts. 

I could spew venom about all that but instead, per request; I am going to discuss something that fills me with joy. Something furry, fuzzy-wazzy, and cuddly. No, I’m talking about Steve Carell. Well actually he's not really cuddly, but he is one hairy ass bastard. I'm talking about tiny kitty cats. 

Have you ever seen something so cutie and adorable that it actually fills you with disdain? Have you ever seen something so lovable that you wanted to kick a field go with it? Well that is what I will be going over here, so without further delay let's begin. Kittens.

Kittens.

Rage full joy, and God's powder puffs. 

To begin, as I have done before, I'm gonna tell you a little bit about those wonderful cushy fur balls other wise know as kitties. So, this time look at the time line, take your finger and go back to ancient Egypt. Most historians believe that was the first place where cats were domesticated. There in the land of the Nile, and gauze wrapped human jerky, cats were worshipped. The felines were seen as being associated with the goddess Bastet. 

All Hail Mittens!

She was the goddess of cats, protection, joy, family and love. They were believed to be holy, so holy that they'd been mummified as well. That was a privilege that was practiced by those with means and importance. Basically it was like kneeling before Mr. Mittens who was too busy playing with a ball of yarn to give a shit. Then Mr. Mittens would do that really creepy thing that all cats do which is to start licking himself from the crotch down to the tip of his hind legs partially because he can. He also does it to make you shiver a little while his shows more interest in getting a future hairball than you. Cats, like three year olds, are assholes. Mine is, and if you have a cat you know that they're fluffy balls of affectionate douchebaggery. 

Cats have always held a special place of some kind in mythology, and folklore. In Japan for instance there was the maneki-neko cat, which was a symbol of good fortune. The Norse goddess of love and fertility, Frayja, was depicted riding in a chariot drawn by cats. Muslims see the animals as being special too. While it wasn't written in the Quran , there are legends about how much Muhammad loved cats. In other words he was that girlfriend who cared more about her pets than the status of your actual relationship. If you were bleeding to death, and her cat needed flea medication you could bet your right nut Buttons would be tick and flea free. 

Rage full joy, and god's powder puffs. 

Now on the Time line we come to the point where cats became associated with evil, and as a result were killed by the thousands. This period was the English and Scottish witch trails where cats along with other animals were seen as guides, or assistants to witches. 

That would be other wise know as a familiars. While this is some bulls shit I do have to say that when I wake up in the middle of the night to my cat watching me sleep I want nothing more than a restraining order. Then he purrs and everything is OK. He is plotting something though I know it. 

Now I love kitties. They just make me so happy. The peace and servility they bring me is unequal to just about any thing in the world except kicking a used car salesmen in the nuts. Those dudes are horrible, terrible humans who deserve it. Then again punching a mall Santa would feel just as good. I got a kid, and taking her to mall to wait in line, sit on a fat middle aged man's lap and have her picture taken isn't in the spirit of the holiday. It's creep, and it's one of the reasons why Ambler alerts exist. The only thing creeper is a white van with the words free candy spray-painted sloppy on the side. Any way, when I got my cat he was this snuggly Small thing with these gigantic paws. They were like snow shoes. He was the talker of the bunch, and made the sweetest meows that you would ever hear. Of course the catch with that was that he would never shut the hell up. He'd talk and talk and talk. Hell, he'd use the litter box, and he'd still be talking. While he was a talkative lit' bastard he talked mainly to me. That was due to the fact that I had basically raised him. My wife had this old maid, if you will, of a cat that while affectionate was only a lovey to my wife. Anyone else would loose a fucking hand. It was like sticking your hand in a fuzzy, snuggly meat grinder. You'd stick out your fingers, there'd be a hiss, and you'd pull back with a bloody stump. You'd be run around screaming like a fuckin' banshee, holding your wound as the blood spurted out all the while the pussy cat would be licking her paws. 

My wife's cat.

My little homie, who was named K.C., not the name, but the letters, was my shadow. He was my lovable sidekick with a fluffy tail. The initials represented kitty cat in case you were wondering.  Now despite being a sweetie he was slick too. He'd find all kinds of ways to sneak out of the house, and these ways were ninja style methods. He'd climb up a piece of furniture then leap off and out before you close the door for work.  I’d discover he was gone, curse him out then when he’d come back he’d look at me with such cutie eyes ,and I’d melt. That said, as I had mentioned before he is a dick. 

When my wife's cat died, my cat did everything short of cracking open a bottle champagne and snorting lines off of a hooker's breasts to celebrate.   He had no competition, and the attention would be his. If he had opposable thumbs I'm sure he would have done it. Who would have thought that opposable thumbs would be so important for performing simple yet vital tasks like writing, using tools and masturbating. 

Still K.C. was always there, in an assholish way of course, when I needed him. I love kitties for that reason they love ya, but it similar to the love of a father who is in secure in his masculinity and has some major sexual identity issues. My cat would basically give you a hug per say and push you away awkwardly before he'd actual feel feels. That could also possibly make him Irish Catholic, lower middle class Irish Catholic.  Nevertheless he was and is my friend. I love his independent, and his friendship and his humorous dick head ways. He is one of my best friends, and that's embarrassing, it almost as bad as the slowly progression into the lonely socially inept status of an extreme animal lover. The kind of person that finds animals to be better than people so why not have a whole house full of they. Why not be a cat lady. Who cares if they spray and piss everywhere because they understand you better than any real person ever will. Tell yourself that when the solution might be a therapist and antidepressants. The solution could also be alcoholism and drug addiction. I guess what I'm trying to say here is that as much as I may punch myself in the face for it, I love god's powder puffs. They fill me with rage full joy, the best kind of joy. 


Until the next rash,



Lou Ford

FIN

Love for Limps

LOVE FOR LIMBS

You know what rubs me the wrong way? Diamonds. Yes, those sparkly little pieces of carbon that come from the earth, and are seen as being the epitome of true love. But the prettiness is not the issue; it's the fact that we pay so much for something that is absolutely worthless. That's right they are completely and utterly worthless. Keeping that in mind I want you to do something for me, think about a used Honda Civic. Yes, while I'm reading this keep that in the back of your brain. 

Love for limbs.

See, now is what jewelry stores are calling "engagement season" which isn't even a real thing, but with the holidays gifts of love are more expected. What I mean is that with this being the season of giving it means more expensive presents are wanted. Plus what is more romantic than proposing during the holidays. It's love. That's right, now more than ever diamonds are forever, and every kiss begins with Kay. And it doesn't matter where it happens as the commercials indicate. Hell, it could be in a war zone with bombs going off, small arms fire, screaming and blood. A dude could propose there and whala, it's magic. And if one of them gets a limb blown off their love, represented by the diamond, would over come all. Why? Because diamonds are forever, and hell he liked it so much he decided to put a ring on it, so who cares. But see here's the thing folks, diamonds aren't rare, and the only reason they're expensive is because De Beers, a Belgium diamond corporation/cartel, has a monopoly on the mining industry. If it still isn't clear just look at it like this and you'll understand. Diamonds are basically like a Kardashian; sure they may be pretty, glimmer, and produce the occasional spark of brilliance, but ultimately their soulless, vapid, and basically worthless. Just to be clear, they are not a good investment because they're worth fuck all. 

Now in order to understand this we're gonna have to go back in time.  So everybody jump into the DeLorean cause here we go. When diamonds were first discovered they were pretty, and mankind was attracted to them like a yellow lab or a moron are to a shiny red balls. One reason why is because at that time they were rare. Moving further up the time line diamonds were still valuable but were never seen as a requirement for marriage. Then in the 1920's De Beers decided "hey, what the fuck. Let's get rich". They launched what was basically the most successful ad campaign in history. They plastered signs everywhere telling men that if they didn't buy a diamond ring then they were pencil dicked dandiepoofs. They said the same to women about their men. Basically those Belgium bastards had firm gripped on to our nut sacks while they whispered seductively into our ears. All the while they were ripping off mineral rich 3rd world nations. Think about that used Honda Civic. 

Now we'll fast forward to 1975. The place is Africa. I'm gonna ask you to forgive me in advance for what I'm about to say. Africa, the land that god has forgotten, we'll accept for Bono. Bono remembers. See due to colonialism, and being mineral rich most of the regions are unstable in someway. Angolan is the first real notable instance where diamonds played a very controversial roll. During that 27 year long war the rebel group known as UNITA had sold about 3 billion dollars worth of diamonds to De Beers which was used to fund the conflict. In fact just as a side note everyone's cell phone and computer contains elements that came from a conflict region, like the Democratic Republic of Congo, where a bloody war was fought and may still be for control of the resource. So everybody at some point take out your cell phones and fell guilty. Moving on.

Think about that Honda Civic cause we're gonna be getting to it.

Oh, and don't worry this will all come back around. It's a circle jerk of history that will prove my point when we get to the money shot. 

We'll fast-forward a little more to the conflict that really brought the "blood diamond issue into the public eye. This is the era that I like to call love for limbs. It's the civil war that spawned the magnificent film Blood Diamond starring Jennifer Connolly and Leonardo DeCapreio. Ah Leo, love that man. But seriously this was a the first time that the public was really aware, and in typical Western it's too far away to affect me fashion we just didn't give a fuck. The conflict I'm talking about is the Sierra Leone civil war. That was a war that involved two countries in particular Sierra Leone and Liberia. 

A Sierra Leon was already a country that was in civil unrest when it became a hellhole. Rebel forces know as the RUF fought the government for among other things control of the mines. The nation of Liberia lead by the president Charles Taylor supported the RUF for among other things money. Charles Taylor is this well educated major dick that could be best described as a warlord professor. He'd give s lecture, and if you weren't paying attention he'd lop off an arm. 

That war breed long sleeve and short sleeve amputations and child soldiers. Yup drugged up AK wheeled, RPG firing 6 years. It was kinda like Children Of The Corn only Rambo style. Oh, and long sleeve short sleeve amputations was having either a hand chopped off at the wrist, or the arm at the elbow. It kinda was the victim’s choice.  That is why I called it loves for limbs. Just think of it in the same terms as one of those stuffed animals whose tag reads, “For everyone bought an animal is saved”.  Now while that was happening De Beers was buying uncut stones like they were going out of style. Then after stock piling the shit they'd control the flow on the market and jack up the prices. In short, after violence, blood shed, slave labor, bombings and amputations. After forced displacement, the use of mercenaries, the physical and emotion crumpling of an entire society. After greed, and the need for a symbol of immortal love we have the nations of Sierra Leone, Liberia, and the engagement ring. And who do we blame for this flay of fuck destruction? White people. That's right white people feel guilty. Just kidding. Seriously thought, ain’t love grand? 

So what's the point of all this shit? Well here is where the circle jerk comes full circle. The money shot is about to premiere. Just keep the Honda Civic in mind. 

Now I know that some of you are thinking who cares because that conflict is over, or it's not bothering me. Many are thinking does it even matter if we don't even know where Sierra Leone? Some of you are probably thinking that happened all the way cross the world, or that's capitalism. Some dudes might even say last Christmas they got some good head because of a diamond jewelry. They were on the naughty list for a good reason if you know what I mean. That's cool; the whole compassion for human suffering due to greed deal just ain't some people's thing. I mean that’s what happened, the west wanted pretty stones from the earth and De Beers has done that at any cost. Fine, then here’s what I guess you could call the money shot. 

So how about this, remember the used Honda Civic. When you look up the value of a used Honda Civic, let's say a 2000 that's in a good condition. You'll find that it's worth 1,900 give or take, but the diamond on the other hand not so much. Go take a diamond ring, any piece of diamond jewelry and try to resell it. Just try it as an experiment and see what happens. You know what you'll find out? You'll discover that if you're lucky maybe you'll get a grand. In other words something that costs 4-6 thousand depreciates so much in value that you probably couldn't use it to cover the cost of the damage of getting your car keyed. The used Honda Civics’ value would cover that cost. Yup, a 16-year-old rice burner holds more value than that supposed symbol of eternal love. In other words you got fucked.  So remember while ever kiss begins with Kay, one of those kisses maybe you kissing your parents ass so you can live in their basement while you get your shit together. 

It’s love for limbs.

Ain't love grand? 

Until the next rash,

Lou Ford

FIN 

Copyright © Andrew Bruce 2016