In this day and age the worst thing you could be is a white man living in America. We are the most scrutinized portion of the population which has pretty much whipped us into submission. We don’t complain about being portrayed as buffoons in the media, having hardly any positions in the NBA, or being shit on by just about every minority group imaginable. Is there an end to this ludicrous, politically correct shit? Someone needs to take charge and tell these fuckers to piss up a rope. Jesse Jackson announced today that he is working closely with scientists and they are close to coming up with a method to make clouds black. Al Sharpton has also motioned to have the name of “Burger King” changed to “Martin King”. Alright so I lied, I do that all of the time, but I bet you would have believed it otherwise. The book “Little Black Sambo” was banned for being offensive. Crayola changed the name of their “Indian Red” crayon to “Chestnut” because it was offensive. The American Fisheries Society changed the name of the “Jewfish” to the “Goliath Grouper”. We’re so wrapped up in not wanting to hurt people’s feelings that we’re hurting ourselves in the process. Well as you already know, I’m a fucking genius and I have a solution for everything. So rather than fight this absurdity, why don’t we all join in on it? I’m of mostly Irish and English descent so I would like to encourage any of you that also share some kind of European lineage to denounce the offensive stereotypes that our people have endured for so long. Let’s get started!

1.

How do all of you Irish folks like being depicted as a goofy hobbit chasing around floating marshmallows? I find it absolutely sickening. This cereal mocks everything my family has ever done to make it in America. The rainbow in the background just cinches it for me. Not only do we have to be little green fuckers, but now we have to be gay too. Christ! I want this cereal banned for being offensive.

2.

Why? Why do all of the butlers on tv and movies always have to be English? There is always some rich fuck who rings a bell or picks up a phone and some impeccably dressed englishman shows up out of nowhere and throws himself at the feet of his master. If you’re English and you’re not James Bond then I guess the second best you can ever do in life is to become a butler. English men are shown as being subservient and weak in this situation. For christ sake even Jeffrey on the Fresh Prince of Bel Air had a British accent. So I want Mr. Belvedere and The Nanny stricken from the airwaves along with banning the movie Clue. I’m sure you could find a million more if you ask Jeeves.

3.

You’re pretty well fucked if you’re Italian. Your people show up on every pizza box from here to Florence. That’s right, the public only sees you as jolly pizza chefs. If you’re ambitious you could move up and join the ranks of Chef Boyardee. Some of the images aren’t that flattering.

I mean if the whole pizza chef generalization isn’t bad enough, big business has to twist the knife a little more by creating all kinds of ridiculous versions of it. You think Paul Newman would be proud of his salad dressing if he was wearing a fucking tomato hat on the bottle? Don’t even get me started on Super Mario Brothers. Two retarded plumbers that are never doing their jobs and instead they fuck off by flying around in raccoon suits and shit. For now on Pizza should only be wrapped in newspaper when it’s sold and everything with Super Mario and Luigi on it should be banned. After that happens we can all watch Nintendo’s stock start to tank because without Mario they don’t have shit.

4.

The Romanians will never escape the stigma of this character. Let’s just immortalize it by placing it on a cereal box. This way kids will learn early on that the people in Romania survive solely on draining and drinking the blood of others. General Mills is on a role with this stereotype shit. Sesame Street is as much to blame with “The Count”. It would have been nice to at least make the “The Count” sophisticated and charming, but instead they made him an annoying blowbag that was easily amused by numbers. Fuckers!

5.

If you’ve ever been to Amsterdam then you’ll know that all of the locals look like this. I had to sleep with ear plugs in because of the racket that all of the wooden shoes make on the cobblestone streets. I’m sorry for you Holland. Your countrymen can only hope to be painters with bad haircuts. I really don’t why this is ok. I’m sure the company would have gone out of business long ago if it was called Puerto Rican Boy paint. I don’t think they should have to ban this. I would be happy to see everyone encourage this company to rename themselves Big Boy paint. There, that’s better. It has a real smart ring to it.

6.

Yep, even the Germans weren’t spared. According to this you’re all just a bunch of alcoholic womanizers. They couldn’t put any cool German shit on the bottle like the Autobahn, The Scorpions, or an Audi. Nope. It’s so much more effective to tarnish the image of the people from a country where a tootsie roll costs like $5.00. This product should either be banned or be subject to a complete redesign. If they went with the latter then it should go by the name of “St. Elmo’s Fire” and the girl on the bottle would be replaced with an image of Andrew McCarthy high fiving Rob Lowe.

7.

Holy Hell! How has this been on the shelf for so long without being the center of criticism? They must not have this product in Spain or if they do then they must not realize the extreme, negative overtones of it’s name. Why not just replace the little sponge on the box with a matador getting reamed in the ass by a bull horn? It’s pretty clear what the message is here. Enough said.

So let’s all start causing shit and adding to all of this PC crap just to even out the playing field. We need an edge and this is a start. Fuck it, let’s just ban everything. We’ll start all over again.

So I’m close to finishing a complete in depth look into the real story behind Gilligan’s life on the island. This has required over 10 years of extensive research and when all is said and done the complete compilation of memoirs will be over 1200 pages. I’m negotiating contracts right now with Random House. I visited the Island in late 1997 to become better acquainted with the scene of so many hardships. I got a little emotional while viewing the tattered remains of the professor’s laboratory. It was staggering to stand there in all that nostalgia thinking about how many fabulous ideas had been concocted in there. The headhunters were actually all very nice people. We talked and laughed over hot kiwi totties and reminisced about “little buddy” and the lagoon in happier times. The chief divulged to me that Gilligan was much smarter than he let on to be. It was all a survival tactic and part of a much bigger plan. Here we are 11 years later and I got the real scoop. The following is an excerpt taken directly out of my book.

Excerpt from The Gilligan Chronicles:

The other side of this vast island provides more comfort and privacy than I could ever have dreamed. The monkeys are passionate creatures. The male species continue to rally for my attention in ways that I know not how to explain. A dance of sorts is performed by the most well endowed in which he ultimately ejaculates into a conch shell and then proceeds to pour the contents over my head. I do enjoy it immensely however my fornicating has reached new levels. I have fucked almost every kind of fruit that grows here and I find myself having difficulty when looking for new varieties. This is partly the reason for my recent homo-erotic fantasies with the gorillas. It is this extensive exploration into my own sexuality that has dissolved any desire for rescue. I would be perfectly content living out the rest of my years fucking the monkeys and fellating sea cucumbers in paradise.

Sleeping proved to be difficult in the first month. The crude hammock I spent my nights in was uncomfortable and left my undercarriage completely exposed for the skipper’s crass amusement. Many of nights I was awoken to having my ass ripped apart by skip’s inflated manhood. I would cry myself to sleep only to be tortured throughout the night with nightmares of sea sweat and maritime perversions. The last of the incidents occurred as the skipper’s grand finale. My colon became perforated after being exposed to the business end of the Minnow’s anchor. Fortunately the professor was able to ease my pain with a colostomy fashioned from hemp and whip vines.

Mary Ann and Ginger never allowed me so much as a peek of their tenderness. They were very comfortable flaunting there goodies around, but it wasn’t until much later that I learned of their orgies with the rest of the men on the island. Their cock teasing sent me into a spell of rage. Knowing that I was the only man on the island not hitting that ass was enough to turn my interest elsewhere. I settled for beating off into Lovey’s house slippers while Thurston watched. He paid me well.

In the end, I always laughed last. I made it my mission to foil any hopes of ever getting rescued. I had no intention of leaving and I needed the professor. The Howell’s were old and would not be along much longer. That left those two filthy, fish eating dykes and that oversized, grisly fuck monster. They would never get rescued as long as I played my cards right. I knew that one day they would get sick of bathing in the skipper’s jizz and they would be after my member. It was at that time I unleashed a wrath of perversion that would make a hooker blush. Anyone watching from a distance would only have been able to see a flurry of red and black hair with my engorged meat sword making brief appearances here and there. The noise was incredible as was the sight itself. Nothing but locks of female hair flying in all directions as if caught in a cross wind. Once my volcano erupted they both collapsed onto the floor like two broken accordions. The professor gladly accepted sloppy seconds as I slipped out the back door half dressed.

Unfortunately if you want to read the rest then you’ll just have to buy the book. It’s full of all kinds of great shit like this. You can wow your friends for hours with all of the Gilligan trivia you can learn. Go ahead and look it up if you don’t believe me.

I like to reflect on how different things are now as they were when I was a kid. If I had access to the toys they have now, I would have chewed on Fred Savage’s earwax for an hour to get a hold of some of them. Instead I was reduced to playing with much less sophisticated toys to pass the time. Some of them were not bad for their time, but I’ve compiled a list of some of the ones that really sucked ass. If you’re from my generation then you might remember some of these pieces of shit. If you had any of these toys and thought they were really cool then don’t let me know about it because I’ll just make fun of you.

1. Pillow People

I never had any desire to own one of these things. It’s a fucking pillow with arms and legs. Every time I went to a friend’s house and found out he had one of these I would instantly think he was gay. How long could you possibly own one of these before it becomes all fucked up from all of the drooling that’s done in your sleep? I bet there are collectors looking for these on ebay and unbeknownst to them, any one of these that they buy is going to smell like 5 years of spit and slobber. I’d rather use a sack of bananas for a friggin’ pillow or go without any pillow at all.

2. My Pet Monster

You can call it whatever the hell you want to, but it’s still a stuffed animal with plastic handcuffs. In the commercial they would show all of these kids running around with these things like it was the most innovative thing on the planet. How much fun could you really have with this? It doesn’t do anything exciting, it doesn’t make noise, there aren’t any lights… what the fuck? It’s not even a cool looking monster. Stuffed animals should never get the acclaim that the real toys get. They are in an entirely different category and they’re about as boring as your grandfather’s stamp collection.

3. Talking Viewmaster

I can’t stand it when they elaborate on a good idea and concoct a truly shit product as a result. There was nothing cooler than the original Viewmaster, but this clusterfuck was a pity. The original was simple and provided a couple of minutes of fun until you were bored with all of the discs. Take the original design and add 6 inches of bulky plastic to the bottom of it, give it some sound, and voila… you have the Talking Viewmaster. I never held one, but it looks heavy and the idea sucks. If you want sound all you have to do is turn on the TV or the radio. Who gets enjoyment out of narrated sound put to still pictures? It would be like watching a film strip in grade school with the beep after every paragraph which was instructing the lucky fuck who was chosen to advance the frames that it was time to move forward. I bet these didn’t fly off of too many shelves. I heard that the Bosnian army bought all of the surplus and converted them into night vision goggles or some shit.

4. Pogo Ball

I will never stop hating this toy for as long as I live. The commercial was one of the worst ever. I still remember the song (”Pogo Ball is what they call it…”). Ugh, god awful! The toy itself looks like a pair of nuts being strangled by an S&M device. It just has prettier colors. If you’ve ever seen anyone using one of these, it is the most ridiculous thing you’ll ever see. I’d like to allow the makers of this toy the chance to redeem themselves by launching a “Pogo Porn” site where all of the actresses blow Mandingo through a glory hole while jumping up and down on these contraptions. It might even make me change my opinion. I once made one of these out of a watermelon and an old hubcap, but it didn’t fucking work. One of these days I’ll go back to the schematics and see where I went wrong.

5. Tuba Ruba

“Look everyone, my friend and I like to rub our pre-adolescent asses together and everyone thinks we’re playing a game!” The only people I would respect that ever played this would be any guy that played against a hot chick otherwise you’re a flamer ’cause I said so. Oh, and the same goes for Twister. Something about binding yourself to another guy with plastic tubing and then wriggling around sounds kind of fucked up. The idea is that there’s a marble inside the tube that you need to get to come out of the other side. So that doesn’t make it gay anymore? Like hell it doesn’t. I hear they play this up in Ogunquit, Maine except there’s a gerbil running around in the tube in lieu of the marble.

6. WWF Wrestlers

Don’t get me wrong, I loved WWF as much as anybody, but the toy rendition was complete ass. These are supposed to be wrestlers and you can’t move any part of their bodies. Arms don’t move, legs don’t move, head doesn’t move, etc… It’s just a chunk of rubber painted like Junk Yard dog or Ravishing Rick Rude. Then once you accumulate enough of these hunks of shit, you were supposed buy the wrestling ring so you could have matches with your friends. Bullshit. You couldn’t do anything with these fucking things. You see all of the awesome moves they do on TV? How the fuck are you going to do that when you’re wrestler is stuck in a prone position? Simulating various sexual positions is about the most you could hope for with these sacks of crap. Macho Man Randy Savage could deepthroat Big Boss Man while Ted DiBiase sucks a hundred dollar bill out of Sgt. Slaughter’s starfish. See? Lots of fun!!!

7. Perfection

This game should of been renamed “Shit Your Pants”. I don’t know how many times I played this, but I was never ready for the board to come popping up all the while tossing pieces all over the fucking place. This game was more work then it was fun. It would always go something like this:

1. Start the timer.
2. Start putting pieces in their respective places.
3. When you have two pieces left to go, the game demons unleash their fury and push the board up with impressive force.
4. Pieces fly out of the board.
5. Diarrhea shoots out of your ass.
6. Then you’re expected to clean up the pieces, change your slacks, and start over.

8. My Puppy Puddles

9. Zap-It Guns

10. Trapper Keeper

This is your obligatory welcome to a plain of hate an anger. Consider this your very own enchanted forest of demise. Sit back and prepare yourself for shittery and crappery for this is the world of Pain and Anguish. If you find the content here offensive then you should probably go here instead.