Tag Archives: kenny motherfucking rogers

Weekend Journal 1-13-13: Piss All Over

13 Jan

I punched Astrid in the back of the head, and she pissed on me.  Her skull made a sound like a coconut.  I forget what we were fighting about.  We were drunk, obviously.  She had had a party.  I drank two bottles of Andre® Extra Dry Sparkling California Wine from the sale rack at CVS and probably a bunch of other shit.  God only knows what she put down; she drinks like an Irish coal miner.  I was wrestling with her and kind of getting on top of her and squashing her; she likes that kind of shit because she was molested.  Then I popped her one.  You need to understand that this isn’t some shit where she cries and calls the police; she likes to get hit.  I like hitting her.  Thanks, child sex predators.

Original artwork by yours truly, in Nikol's room

Original artwork by yours truly, in Astrid’s room.

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EXCLUSIVE Preview Chapter from Kenny Rogers’ Upcoming Memoir: Luck or Something Like It, Available October 2

1 Oct

Kenny’s first-ever autobiography, Luck or Something Like It, releases on October 2, 2012! Kenny wants to thank you for your unending support “through the years” by offering an exclusive preview excerpt from the book to his fan community. This exclusive sneak peek is available only to those who are directly connected to Kenny through his social networks.

I was staying on the outskirts of Nashville, working on some new song ideas in my hotel, when I received a call from Larry Butler.  Now, you may not know Larry’s name, but you know his work.  He was the legendary producer behind the some of the greatest hits of yours truly, Johnny Cash, John Denver, and countless more.  You got a call from Larry Butler, you listened.

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Any Fun Plans for the Weekend?

7 Sep

I’m gonna fuck a goat and set a school on fire.  I’m gonna inject my wang with saline so it’s nine inches long and four inches wide and then run naked through a church service. I’m gonna eat a Volvo 240 station wagon and shit out a perfectly sculpted steel statue of Minnie Pearl fully nude delivering an infant Kenny Rogers while forest creatures look on in awe. I’m gonna grow six extra tits and suckle a pack of needy orphans.  I’m gonna huff household cleaning products ’till my eyes look like an albino rabbit and take a journey that is at once within myself and also to the outermost reaches of the cosmos.  It will last a lifetime but when I look at my watch only seconds will have passed.

Someone Somewhere Tonight

2 Jul

I was googling “Kenny motherfucking Rogers” last night, as is my God given duty as an American.  I came across this post on a Phish fan forum in response to negative comments about Kenny’s performance of “The Gambler” with the band:

jilliebean(OP) • Mon Jun 11, 2012 12:40 PM:

You shut the fuck up and you have some god damned mother fucking respect. This man is a damned legend. No fuck that he is a LEGEND. He is musical royalty and you better bow down to the awesomeness that is the fucking Gambler. He is a real man. He is the kind of man who would fuck you up in the street old school style, with his fists and then he would fuck your woman after dinner and leave her before breakfast riding away on the back of a fucking horse and THEN he would write a beautiful song about it which would sell 250 million copies. And do you know what your girlfriend would do then? She would spend the rest of her fucking life reliving that beautiful act of love over and over in her mind and crying herself to sleep while touching herself wishing that you were a real man like Kenny. He knew when to hold them and when to fucking fold them. He fucked the likes of Dolly Parton, he is fucking a hotter girl right now than you will ever get and today, at 70 years old he could still take you behind the wood shed, kick your ass and then fuck your wook girlfriend just for fun. He was drinking hard and smoking and fucking before you were even a gleam in your mother’s eye. So you shut your pie hole you asses, or Kenny will come and shut it for you. Continue reading

A Message from Kenny (NSFW)

1 Jul

Not gonna lie: these are dark times.  The thing that bugs me the most is that I’m never going to find a nice girl. It’s partly because, well– there are a shitload of reasons, but the only one coming from me is that I’m now a machine geared toward getting unprotected sex as fast as possible.

And this definitely does fuck with you.  “One becomes as incapable of love as an old slag,” as a brilliant man once said.  I’ve become a dating hack.  I wear the same outfit every time, go to the same place, arrange the chairs the same way, go for the makeout at the same moment, etc. etc. etc.  It’s all so rote that there is no way I could possibly have any exciting discovery about the other person.  There is no way you could get in through some little crack in my persona and make me feel anything.

I was contemplating this as I watched clips of Kenny Rogers’ 1982 cinematic masterpiece SIX PACK. In it, Kenny plays a jaded racecar driver who, through a series of contrivances, is forced to take on a group of half a dozen (or “pack” of “six”) orphans whom he catches trying to steal his spare parts.  At first incensed and reluctant, he slowly grows to love these lucky children and becomes a father figure to them. Many think that Kenny was overlooked for the Oscar that year, but few know that at a secret meeting the academy decided that lumping Kenny in with inferiors such as Olivier and Brando would only sully his name.  And giving Kenny the award would render all future Oscars meaningless–  you would simply have to award Kenny the prize again and again each year, for SIX PACK.  The film also suffered controversy after sixteen year old costar Diane Lane gave birth to an infant with a perfectly groomed white beard.

A young Lane can’t contain her lustful gaze as Rogers’ musk awakens her steaming pubescent loins. Continue reading

Kenneth Donald “Kenny” Rogers: The Complete and Unabridged Biography, Chapter One: Birth

29 Jun

Note: this biography is about Kenneth Donald “Kenny” Rogers the golden-voiced and immaculately bearded performer, not the dog.

1938.  Small town on the outskirts of Houston, Texas.  A rough-hewn town.  Out in the cracked Texas plains. Tumbleweeds, cactuses, possibly other succulents.  Scrub and chaparral.  Low slung bungalows with no indoor plumbing.  Instead a pineboard outhouse with a quarter moon shaped hole carved in the door like outhouses always have, that the locals refer to by some quaint vernacular such as “the jakes.”

The type of town that has a sign saying “N*gger, don’t let the sun set on you in (TOWN NAME),”  which implies weirdly that they would be welcome in the daytime.  N*gger, don’t let the sun set on you here– but by day, enjoy our fine restaurants and shops. Maybe it’s a courtesy.  Like, they have vampires that only prey on blacks. Continue reading