I write stuff here and you read it. You roll your eyes. I try to think of stuff that will elicit more eye rolling. The end.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Dear Jackass, Volume 9
What is it that makes you think I'm actually going to stand here expectantly, smiling politely while you yammer away to your girlfriend or your buddy? Is it me? Do I convey such an air of patience and goodwill that you assume I thrive on serving the meaningless whims of even the most self-important pricks and thoughtless Barbie dolls like yourself? Or do I look so bored and lost and unfulfilled that surely eavesdropping on your one-sided conversation would be a big thrill for a loser like me? Don't bother answering that; go ahead, take a few more minutes and finish your conversation. I'll use this time to talk myself out of yanking your phone out of your hand and disemboweling you with it.
Dear parent who gives long-winded, unprompted speeches proclaiming, "If you mess with my kids, you'll have to deal with ME:"
Yes, fine, you win the parent of the year award, okay? Now pipe down, Supermom (or Superdad). If someone were here threatening your little sweeties right now, this monologue would be warranted, even lauded. But beating your chest and shouting your allegiance to your kids' safety and well-being while standing in line at Target or sitting in the bleachers at a soccer game wins you a classification a boring windbag. Please try limit the number of times per month you refer to yourself as a protective mama bear, or make reference to your "claws coming out" in response to a perceived threat to your babies. Save that energy for when your kids are actually in harm's way. I'd hate to hear that something bad happened to your kids while you were busy making the Mama Bear speech for the 1,365th time and weren't paying attention.
Dear people who constantly ask, "Are you working hard, or hardly working?"
I bet this little quip was novel and amusing back in 1924, the first few dozen times it was spoken. Now it's just annoying. More annoying than the tired joke itself is the dopey little chuckle you always emit immediately after saying it, in spite of the fact that you've surely used this line a thousand times in your life. Do you really still find it funny? If so, I'm stumped. I can't figure out how you got dressed this morning without getting tangled up in the leg of your pants and accidentally asphyxiating yourself.
Monday, April 17, 2006
What am I doing wrong?
It seems that some of you have gotten the impression that this site is the place to go to satisfy your many diverse and incredibly sick needs, to include, apparently, masturbating with a banana peel. Observe a recent screenshot of my Statcounter.com search statistics:
It must be me. There must be something about me that leads you to believe you can find info or images or stories here about masturbating with a banana peel. Which makes me think perhaps its time to reevaluate my life and make some changes.
Have I not made it abundantly clear that my site is designed to be a force to effect positive change in the world? A place where people of all races and religions and economic backgrounds can come together in harmony? Where love can bloom, trust is sacred, truth prevails? Have you not read my previous posts?
Does no one remember when I tried to illustrate how good music and camaraderie can blissfully blind a person to the ugliness in this sometimes-cruel world?
Have I not tried preach the benefits of proper manners and social etiquette?
Have I not sought to share with you the unmitigated joys of motherhood?
Have I not done my best to show you that cleanliness is next to Godliness?
Was it completely lost on you how hard I tried to illustrate the importance of getting the sleep that is so necessary for good mental health?
Have I not labored to teach you how laughter can brighten your day and enrich your life?
And yet, it appears it has all been for nothing. Despite my best attempts to make the world a better place, I am rewarded with the banana peel masturbator. What's next? Masturbating with a syringe? Breast self-exams with a catcher's mitt? Intercourse with self-rising bread dough?
Again, let me be clear about my mission here. Karlababble.com is meant to be a safe place, a comforting place, where you can go to get away from the hustle and bustle. Here, we can grow together as people, and form a sort of family where we support each other through the trying times. There are plenty of sites out there for the sick and depraved, the soulless and the shallow. In the last day or so I've made some technical changes, so from now on, when you reach my site via a search engine query for something twisted and immoral, you will be automatically redirected to a site where that kind of sickness runs rampant, and filth and vulgarity are revered.
Until then, let's all join hands (I'm speaking figuratively, for the slow among you) and try to cleanse our minds of the mental image we now probably all have of a fat, hairy man sitting naked in front of his computer in a dingy apartment, masturbating with a banana peel, while his 17 cats crap all over his tattered furniture and chase cockroaches across his urine-stained carpet. Wait, I'm thinking of an ex-boyfriend. Okay, forget the hand-holding mind-cleansing bit and just lay off the crack pipe for a day or two. That might clear your head sufficiently enough for you to recognize karlababble.com as the peaceful garden I intended it to be.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Not sure what to wear? Visit karlababble.com!
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We here at Karlababble Industries pride ourselves on providing a wide range of goods/ services/ guidance/ information to our clients/ members/ inmates/ castaways/ offspring/ followers, and we're proud to announce our latest area of expertise: Fashion!
Recently I bought a shirt so attractive, so flattering, so stylish and so chic that I felt I had to share it with you.I know what you're thinking: "Never mind the shirt, check out that fabulous model!" Please; you're embarrassing me. I'm here to showcase the shirt, not myself. No wardrobe is complete without one of these gems.
Feel free to visit the design-your-own area of Jerkass Clothing, which is where this fine piece of couture came from. (Although it doesn't seem to work in Mozilla Firefox, which is so December 2005.) But don't get all hung up on that site--head back here afterward. After all, there's no information about black market babies or sugar-free Jello there.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
No third-world countries, please.
1) I'm a genius, and my pearls of wisdom are highly anticipated and eagerly received.
2) The vast majority of my commenters are married or in long-term relationships. They've gotten tired of talking to their spouses and significant others, and would gladly engage in any activity that gets them out of having the same conversation for the 50th time with the old ball and chain.
Either way, I'd like to keep you happy. I'm here to serve. The problem is how to find the time. I do, after all, have a 1-year old child. Try as I may to ignore him, the little bugger refuses to be marginalized. He will even resort to--get this--defecating in his pants just to get some attention from me. As sad and misguided as that sounds, I have to admit I'd done that myself to get attention from Brian. It works, but I've come to learn that not all attention is good attention. Actually, I learned that from a short stint in prison in the '80s, but some lessons have to be learned more than once before they stick.
So time is one barrier to the non-stop blogging you demanding a-holes seem to want. But perhaps the bigger problem is there's not always something exciting to write about. If I were a pirate or a movie producer or Tom Jones, there'd be no shortage of exciting adventures to recount for your amusement, but the truth is that my life isn't all that exciting. I go to the gym, I play with Jake, I say terrible things about people under my breath, I work a little here and there, where I try to talk myself out of physically harming my coworkers (sometimes successfully, sometimes not). And that's about it. Nothing really newsworthy in there, as you can see. And I'm not willing to let this blog fall the direction of so many blogs, wherein the typical post is written, "Dear Diary" style, as in, "Today I stubbed my toe, then I read a book, then I took a nap. I wonder if Doritos are cheaper at Safeway or Walmart? Bye for now." Not that there's anything wrong with those blogs--I find them strangely compelling. It's just not what I had in mind when I started this thing. Consequently, some days I sit down to puke up a new blog post, and I find I have nothing to puke up.
Fortunately, I've come up with a solution.
You guys can pool your money together and send me off on madcap adventures that I can then dutifully blog about. Most of you will appreciate this because you'll have something to read, and Hoss will appreciate it because he'll have the occasional spelling error to correct. And while I'm gone, you can each take turns babysitting Jake. Problem solved!
To kickstart this thing, I've compiled a short list of places you might want to send me, where I can engage in various blogworthy, nutty exploits:
1) A Caribbean cruise
2) New Years Eve in Times Square, New York
3) A gondola ride in Venice, Italy
4) Napa Valley, CA
Of course, it is your money that will be sending me on my madcap adventures, so naturally you'll have the right to decide where to send me. And because I know you're a vindictive, merciless bunch, I suspect you're thinking more along the lines of places like:
The La Brea Tar Pits, CA
World's Largest Bug, Rhode Island
Dinosaur World, Beaver, Arkansas
Golgotha Biblical Mini Golf, Cave City, KY
World's Largest Collection of Mustards, Mt. Horeb, WI
So I'm essentially at your mercy, right where you've always wanted me. So go ahead, my cold, callous, so-called friends, tell me where you'd like to send me, that I may engage in wacky escapades to recount for you here on my blog.