Even though I grew up a screw up, there's always been a deep-seeded feeling within me that I could make things change in this world (state of Wisconsin, rather.) More specifically, if I applied a lot of effort and I had enough vodka in me, I'm confident I could make you change religions while seated at the bar even if your girl was whispering into your ear the entire time that I was an asshole.
She could be correct . . . but fuck her. Progressing.
I could probably change a dyke back into a cock-sucking whore even after I stole her champagne room money. And if I caught you while upon your very own toilet, I could make rainbows stream from your very own ass because of the bullshit I'm able to sell even while completely shit-faced.
How?
Well, it's because I kinda kick ass.
No, God didn't tell me this. I pretty much just decided it upon my own common sense since nearly 96.7% of the people I come into contact with on a daily basis should shovel a shotgun shaft down their fucking throat and feel powder burns while their rotting mother had hoped for something better.
In fact, I'm so righteous, I puke up liquor thereafter I have this visceral feeling that it begs to be bonded once again with my stomach bile.
Let's get real, though.
Everything that comes out of my body is alpha male. Yes, the words are nice and make people chuckle a light brown donut in their shorts, but I have much more to offer other than verbiage, my middle finger, and my dick. It's something that spews out of me whilst having no control over the matter nor caring who becomes infected because I quite simply don't give a shit about offending. Anybody. Even the clergy. Even a sumptuous Girl Scout who will never see my money after I eat her cookie; I just don't fucking care.
Think of a fat bitch. No . . . wait, think of a midget. No, wait!
Think of a leprechaun dusting you with shamrocks, but as it rains, a million grenades effectuate into shrapnel tearing your arteries to bits while no one mourns except your piece of shit parents. Better yet, imagine Anthony Robbins coming to your door and having 100 burned CDs of Dr. Phil's "underground" tapes and you somewhat buy into his bullshit because that's what's been taught onto you.
Well, you won't see it on TV, nor will it be advertised in US Weekly, but I have my own system to better the average human out there. Yes. I even made it myself back at my very own lab.
It is, in fact, my very own piss, but as to not get ahead of ourselves, let's define this fine, fine noun/verb.
"Piss" can be classified in a few different ways. Such as:
urine [yoor-in] -noun. the liquid-to-semisolid waste matter excreted by the kidneys, in humans being a yellowish, slightly acid, watery fluid.
pee [pee] Verb, peed, peeing, noun Slang: Sometimes Vulgar.
water sports - Common term used to describe the act of urinating, watching urination or being urinated upon during sex. Urophiliacs are aroused by the sight, touch or smell of urine. The person may consume the urine (urophagia) or bath in it.
Hey, fish breathe their own piss their whole lives, so shut the fuck up while I guide you through 8 minutes, already.
Now look . . . I can sense some of you people pulling away from me, but work with me for a little bit and you will see, the warm stream that flows from my penis changes the world, and could, quite possibly, change your very own life (and I'm not even charging $19.99.)
Oftentimes my pee makes people experience visions of grandeur, holier-than-thou attitudes, and likely starts minor cults and 3-state killing sprees, but nonetheless, my urine is the antidote for life's hardships in the 21st century.
I can prove this, too.
As to test my theory out, I set out to urinate upon numerous things here on Earth just to see if I could personally better the object with my yellowish liquid tainted with alcohol. The results are clear . . .
Any Redneck or Northerner can identify with this "flower" as I lay it upon your subtle eyes.
How fucking sweet and decorative if you wish NOT to cut your lawn for six-month stints.
But watch what happens in under 9 days after I take a fucking piss on just one.
Whalah! Something you can give to your bitch for Valentine's Day. Or Sweetest. Or whichever the fuck comes first; just so you don't give that fat pig anymore chocolate.
(By the way, Dandelions, Tulips and Lillys are NOT a sweet gift for the one who wishes they had a promise ring you couldn't afford because your parents live in Gary, Indiana . . . or some sort. Get out from your parent's basement and stop STEALING their bandwidth. NASCAR = YOU DON'T GO FAR.)
Progressing, check this out: I was downloading some TV shows the other week and I came upon this clip that was so fucking stupid, I couldn't believe a producer stopped doing cocaine and having a D-girl cease blowing him to film this rubbish. I scoured the Internet and found an image for ya'll.
Naturally I printed that out and pissed on it as to not be cruel to porcine, and guess what? It wasn't but 12 days later:
It was a metamorphoses of still imagery: I turned a tree-hugging, child-pampering, blubbering moron into a woman with some class who beat her kid with wire hangers; How cool is that! I do wanna piss on Rosie's tonsils as if my Corona from 2 hours ago were Chloroseptic and I might also make sure I haven't had any sort of colonic within the last 32 years as well, because as we all know when I push, I aim to please. But let's get back to focusing upon my piss as oppose to my shit, if you will.
I shit you not, my piss does all sorts of wondrous things. Wasn't but 11 months ago, a magazine had Britney Spears on the cover.
. . . Sure as shit I'd taken a leak on it then suddenly . . .
2009: Miley Cirus is crowned biggest whore glam bitch. Imagine that.
I've pissed on all sorts of shit. I've pissed on crackheads in '07 then in early '09 they started working security within the club I'm at. Naturally he's Black and one already holds office, so who knows . . . by 2012 this dude could be our Jew-slaying God if I really get my drink on.
In fact, my genes are so great, I wondered what I could do nowadays to pay some reparations for my debasing forefathers. I jacked this picture of a lost wanderer who'd apparently become lost and needed to find his direction. I copied it for all of you.
Afterwards I peed on it.
And look what happened now after a little voodoo with my garden hose?
I have to assume it's all because of my piss.
Seriously. I can turn a lump of carp shit into a flying pixie with just a brief spray of my whiz.
Check it: I've pissed my own bed and within 3 weeks a brand-new, bad-ass bitch was sleeping on the very same sheets. I'd like to say that I'd used Febreeze to cover the stench for the next one, but I likely pissed in that bottle as well.
I can trace this back into the 1980s if you like.
I was born in 1974, but it is a fact that many homosexuals began killing themselves during the beginning of the AIDS epidemic in 1983. Now, one could argue that they'd lost hope in losing White Blood cells at a rapid rate, but I lean more towards me pissing in the creek down the road and then having fags drink tap water instead of Evian. Hey . . . any way I can contribute.
My pee will set you free in any way you see.
I want to date a Christian just so I can piss in holy water as to see if people come out of church smiling instead of hungry.
Sometimes I use the "Ladies" bathroom to take a piss and I don't put the toilet seat up just so unknown bitches will sit on my piss, then I go back to work and announce over the microphone "Hey, you there coming out the bathroom! Pick up your application at the door, or not. Either way you've been blessed."
Corey Feldmen could knock on my door and ask me where his career is, and I would simply close my eyes and concentrate upon my penis puking salty lemonade onto his face; next year he would be 007.
Dude, my pee is like the fountain of youth.
I could seriously piss on a pedophile and afterwards he would look at a contestant on The Joker's Wild and say, "I'm aroused."
Cured!
There's a chick I've dated who has gone down on me and said, "Your prejack tastes kinda sweet. I like it!"
Within the deejay booth, over loud music I mumbled, "Hey, that was roughly seventy-five percent piss, just so you know."
Stripper: "Huh?"
Z.: "Wha??"
Stripper: "Huuh? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
Z.: "Pee is only waste if one wastes it."
Stripper: "What???"
Z.: "Baby, I'd rather mainline a Two-Thousand Flushes puck into my veins than finish this conversation. YOU'RE ON STAGE SOON. SEE YA LATER!"
For real. My piss is nothing short of the 8th wonder.
Check it: I'll piss on Green Day and turn them into Bullet For My Valentine. The next time I get VD I'll drip onto a Mexican selling oranges downtown; 3 months later guess who'll be assistant manager taking your order of Nachos Supreme?
I empower, goddammit!
And yet, as much good my piss has done in this world, there are
kriptonites out there who my stream cannot diffuse; solid battleships of impenetrable armor my salty sea of piss cannot tip . . . and yes, they are called strippers.
Indeed.
I've pissed on many pole dancers and no matter the Corona, Absolute, Cherry/Jager Bombs I swallow as to produce ammunition, these strippers will not better themselves by me giving my kidneys forgiveness. It is magic when I pee on any common entity, however, I cannot fix the retarded.
I might be Moses, but for the love of Mary, I am not Jesus.
No stripper can be "fixed" by my pee.