Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Video Game Levels That Haunt The Baron to This Day Installation 2: The Donut Plains Ghost House

There are few games that have had as searing an impact on The Baron's young psyche as Super Mario World for the immortal Super Nintendo Entertainment System. Name a region of the game map and within microseconds it will be playing in The Baron's head.

The Baron's not talking about just the tune either, he's talking about the complete fucking song note for note without any distortion. The Baron can even recall the exact timing for all the various bings when you advance from level to level within a region.

This morning on The Baron's commute the Donut Plains theme began blasting in his head. Completely fucking randomly. Then of course the ghost house tune kicked in because that fucking haunted castle is one of the biggest assmasters in the entire game.

The young The Baron vividly remembers slamming his face through a neighbor's plate glass table when he wasn't even playing the level, he was just sitting there watching some else slog through that shitmire. This ghost house was designed by Satan's official scrotum washer. There is no other explanation for how devious the fucking thing is.

Consider this, you've literally just bought an SNES. It comes with Super Mario World. The game kicks ass! Look at those textures! Look at those koopas! Look at how you donkey punch Yoshi and he swallows things..........look at it!!

You've been cruising though the game and every second of play is literally the best thing you've ever seen in your entire miserable life. There is no expansive vag filled internet and you wouldn't care if there was, becuase you're ten and your weiner / vag is tiny and useless and really only serves a comedic purpose at this point in your life.

Then you hit a titanium road block. Donut Plains Ghost House.

Seems simple enough. In fact it's exactly what it says it is, a house full of ghosts and shit. But you can't beat the fucking thing no matter how hard you throw the controller and your friend's sister's cat.

Now, the adult The Baron finds the solution simple and elegant. The child The Baron was ready to jam his head into the rotating fly wheel of an industrial loom out of frustration at this twatslap of a level.

It took the best minds of The Baron's time, his three friends (one of whom got publicly spanked by a construction worker the same week he got SNES because his mom kicked us outside and we filled the guy's bulldozer with dogshit while he was at lunch, only he was faster than he looked and he chased poor Stevie down and spanked him in the street while we laughed so hard we soiled our ninja turtle underoos) to crack the secret of this diabolical titpile.

You see, it's a classic bait and switch. Mario wants to run across this first room because the ceiling is full of fucking ghosts taking pot shots at his portly ass. Luckily there's a door at the end of the room and he can escape to safety.
The next room just so happens to contain a bunch of coward of ghosts. Sallow motherfuckers who for some reason will only attack you from behind. As long as you stare into their bloated visage they cover their sagging eyes in shame. As soon as you turn your back, the assmasters start chasing the shit out of you.

But Wait! There's a door! Beautiful door D! Did I mention you can't see door C because it's off screen? Well its off the fucking screen so like the an overflowing bucket of pig bust you waddle over to door D and pop on through.

"Oh good! I'm trapped under the stairs" you might say. No matter I'll just punch this yellow thing with eyes and get a POW for my troubles. Smashing the POW makes this mysterious blue door appear! I think I'll go through there!

Aww awesome!! A green life giving mushroom in a yellow box! I must be getting near the end now, right? Surely door F won't piss in my face and the face of every person I've ever cared about.What the fuck! I'm back in this shithole room? This is cock-vomit!! I've already been in this goddamn shitforsaken place! Goddamnit! I guess I'll just head through door D again....
Ok, this time I'm going through that damn door G and the ghost door can suck a crack! Hahaha! I've thwarted you ghost house!

Crapmaster! Here again!! Now I'm under the stairs like some pathetic orphan. This is getting ridiculous. I'll just hit this yellow thing and make a vine and get back up to door D.....and end up in a perpetual loop, trapped forever just like in the Hotel California. An endless tragic voyage through frustration. But what if I climb this cockmaster of a vine a little higher? Oh, my god a different door!! Door C. My prayers have been answered!

I've escaped this piece of shit ghost house at last! But wait...this only opens part of the path I want to use! How am I supposed to save the princess from getting gang raped by Bowser if I can't even get to him...?
You get the idea.

So after 2 weeks of beating his tiny brain against the wall, the child The Baron finally discovered the solution on the day he was going to fill a bulldozer with bull semen and hope the operator beat him to death.Remember this goddamn room? Come back in here with a cape and fly up the left wall. Hmmm, there's some sort of platform up here. Where could it lead....?Door A.....hmmmm it's just crazy enough to work. And where does it lead you?

Huh, a course clear. A fucking course clear that opens up the right goddamn path!!! Are you kidding me?! The Baron and his friends time this path one time, do you know how long it took?

8 Fucking seconds.

The Baron is ready to run outside and slap a bear cub in front of its mother just thinking about it.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Things I Hate Installation 4: The D-Bag Left Turn

Date line, a stop light in any town in America.

You intend to progress in a straight line, or perhaps take a right turn.

Some assmaster across the way is beginning to inch, he's driving one of the classic asshole cars, you know he's going to try and take a left across two lanes of oncoming traffic.

You'll be damned if this D-bag/ette is going to break the rules for his/her own selfish needs, you steel your nerves for a broadside collision and rev the engine.

The light turns green. With a loud splash your feet are awash in viscous, fishy fluid. You realize with horror that your vagina has ruptured. Your foot trembles useless above the gas peddle. Your gay car idles forward.

The a-hole completes his illegal left, smiling his twisted, shitfuck smile. You pull over and wrap a filthy old flannel blanket around your waist like a little shithead kid who pissed his pants on a field trip to the science museum, on April 15th, 1993. You know, right in front of the world population counter? Jean shorts? Ah well, it was pretty gay.

Why does the asshole left turner (ALT) always win?

Because you're a bunch of pussies! You know full well that in a broadside accident, the person taking a left absorbs 100% of the insurance liability, but you just can't work up the cock to crash your 2 ton shitbox into their pickup truck (it's always a pickup truck or a work van).

These ALT's quite literally deserve to die. As you climb out of your mangled station wagon, you should skip, literally skip over to the ALT's car and peer in the blood fogged window with a huge grin on your face.

Is their skull ruptured? Good. Shit leaking out? Even better. Can you not even tell what part of the hamburger'd corpse is their head? You win!

Don't worry about getting hurt, after all you're wearing a seatbelt; an ALT never wears theirs.

You have to remember that ALTs think they're more likely to die in a crash by getting caught in a burning/sinking vehicle rather than careening pell-mell off numerous, jagged, immovable objects, spraying their precious fluids over an area the size of a soccer pitch.

Also, they think they're better than you. But you know what? Importance isn't measured in barb-wire tattoos and illegitimate children, it's measured in bravery and honor.

So what say you, pathetic road-serf? Would ye deign ride with the aristocratic knights or the road? Doth thou shed the vestments of pussydom to join your betters in the gaping maw of glory?

The Baron invites you to join the crusade against ALT's!

Together we can crush the heathenistic horde into sticky goo, stipled with fragmented bone and a little bit of feces (it won't smell that bad, don't worry about it dawg).

The path to glory will be paved with the corpses of the ALT!

The Baron is at the Dentist Today, Update Late Afternoonish.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Great Facial Hair in History: Mongo Jerry

Even if you don't know who Mongo Jerry is, it's physically impossible that you've never heard their song "In the Summertime". Shaggy infamously bastardized this classic ballad and committed a grievous injustice against both the music and facial hair appreciation community.

For you see, Mongo Jerry made epic music and overpowering facial hair. Have a look.

Wow, right? In a single, world changing picture the band displayed a mullet, fu manchu, saucy colonial spanish goatee, layered girl hair, straight up girl hair, and a helmet of what might be the most majestic curly-form-factor chops I've ever seen. Just look at those fucking chops!

These guys mean business and their hair is doing the talking. And do you know what it's saying?

"Hey, you, asshole. You'd better not touch our hooch, money or women or my chops will kick your ass to next Tuesday!"


"Speaking of ladies, I blinked, looked down, and six of them were fighting tooth and nail for my hog...which also has chops."

"My mulleted weiner is also besieged with lady lips....good work mullet, I'm giving you a raise!"

Enough silly business though, let's focus on those chops, the most dominant facial hair of the bunch. Curly hair is definitely a requisite for pulling off the full helmet-style mutton chop. Sadly, The Baron's hair is straight so he can never attain this level of glory. He spends his days rattling around his Zeppelin palace wistfully sighing and dreaming of the chops that will never grow. It's a tortured existence. But at least he still has Mongo Jerry to put a bounce in his step and represent as true titans of facial hair.

But, there's a dark side to those beautiful chops, for great facial hair is a risky business. You know how if a rat isn't constantly chewing on something to wear its teeth down they'll eventually grow straight through its brain? Pretty gross huh?

The same thing will happen with the guy's chops if he doesn't keep them in line. Eventually, they'll engulf his face and he'll starve to death or suffocate.

Pretty scary. But well worth it to have the kind of facial hair god must have. After all, god's one funky son of a bitch.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Heinous Commercials : Binder and Binder

Social security benefit settlements are no laughing matter. The United State's senior population depends on a cut of The Baron's paycheck to help support themselves every month, because they were too lazy or incompetent to save any of their wages during youth and instead plowed their money into investments like tattoos and mini-motorcycles.

And if The Baron falls on hard times in his golden years it comforts him to know that social security will be there to help him pay the bills, if he travels back in time 60 years, instead of moving to Florida.

Anywho, Binder and Binder make sure you get the SS benefits you deserve, no, not Nazi secret police benefits, the money kind.

But judging by his commercial, Charles Binder actually can defend you from Nazis because he's wearing a fucking Indiana Jones hat.

If he was cracking a whip to emphasize his point this guy would be the perfect lawyer. Can you imagine any judge dismissing your suit to fuck Rachel McAdams (when she has dark curly hair only, not blonde) ((because seriously, did you see in Wedding Crashers when she wrinkled the bridge of her nose while she was laughing? My pants felt like a reenactment of one of those diaper commercials where they pour a bunch of liquid to show how absorbent it is)) (((I'm talking about bust if you can't tell))) if you had fucking Indiana Binder here representing you?

I hope he wears that hat in court and uses broad, folksy colloquialisms, while claiming he's just a simple country action-archaeologist and where he's from there's no such thing as attempted, ninja penetration of Rachel McAdams.

So hats off, or rather, hats on to you Charles Binder!

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Video Game Levels That Haunt The Baron to This Day Installation 1: The Baron Concludes a 21 Year Odyssey to Kill Jaw's....4th Cousin

Today The Baron would like to discuss the first in a series of classic video game levels that drove him to the brink of insanity as a child. First on the list is Jaws for NES, the entire fucking game. This game nearly caused The Baron to slit his tiny wrists with a swiss army knife during the summer of 1989.

First off we get the title screen. Pretty fucking awesome, right? Wrong! When I saw this image for the first time in 20 years I almost burst a blood vessel in my brain and a cum vessel in my balls. I've rarely been as frustrated as I was playing this shitfuck of a game at my friend Mike's house. No amount of Mike's mom's grilled cheeses or my jean shorts could soothe the third degree burns Jaws inflicted on my 8 year old brain.
Fairly quickly (these old nintendo games didn't fuck around with a lot of intro) we get a look at the bonny craft we'll be hunting that bastard shark with. Hmmm, looks kind of like a sailboat right? Maybe it's just moored next to the Orca. I think if you squint you can kind of see Quint and that homosexual Hooper somewhere in the background. Ah well lets move on.
Ok, leaving the harbor. Hmm, doesn't really look like Amity island, whatever this is an 8 bit video game after all. But wait, we're still piloting a gay ass sailboat! WTF?! Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK!
Hold on do those assmasters at nintendo think I don't remember what the fucking Orca looks like? Do they assume I didn't see Jaws because it was made decades before I was born? Are you shitting me? I can't even swim in a pool without looking behind me because of that mind raping movie. The Orca is a sweet, although tragically wooden boat. It has barrels! It has Quint! It has Chief Brody! There's also this annoying hippy but I refuse to remember his name. Guy should have gotten fucking eaten instead of Quint!
Wait a second, I think I know what's going on. This isn't classic Jaws at all. I've seen the flake of pig cum this game is based on. Is it Jaws 2? No. Jaws 3? No. It's fucking Jaws 4: The Revenge! What the fuck? There's only 2 worse sequels. Jaws 5: Resurface, and Jaws 6: Jaws Goes to College. Oh good god, I think I'm going to be sick.
Well, I've revised the title screen appropriately. These goddamn, sack-titted cheap skates apparently couldn't afford the rights to any of the good, or even not embarrassingly bad Jaws movies. Thank god the other sequels hadn't been made at this point. Good fucking lord did it ever piss me off when I realized I was playing as that cheating whore Mrs. Brody and not the immortal Quint or the even-keeled Chief Brody, or even that cowardly fucknuts Hooper.
Well suppose we should get back to the goddamn game. So this is the gist of it. You sail around the Caribbean running into shit and having to go in the water for some damn reason. There is no rhyme or reason to when your boat hits shit, you just basically sail around in big circles like a complete asshole.
Oh yeah, and when you get in the water there's fucking nothing there except some damn rays and jelly fish. Once in a blue moon, some pissant regular sharks will show up to duke it out. We used to call them baby-jaws when I was 8. The little shits are actually harder to fight than the real Jaws, but they're still complete pussies. Basically the only way you get killed in this game is by getting caught in a moving pick by some piece of shit jellyfish.
For example, here's Mrs. Brody getting face-fucked by a ray. This killed her for some reason even though she was choking down Michael Caine's hog for pretty much the entire movie.
So you've killed an assload of rays and jellyfish, and maybe a few baby-jaws. You've been collecting these fucking shells, crabs and stars for a while now. The crabs make you faster, presumably by making your crotch itch like a mother fucker. The stars give you points, useless, Mario Brothers style points that only anal Japanese kids would care about. The shells let you return to port and get upgrades.

The first one is some useless sonar to let you track Jaws. This thing fucking sucks, if you sit out in the ocean and just wait, Jaws will attack you. There is no hunting involved. You also gain more powerful spears by switching from port to port like an amorous sailor. These actually do help because it is fucking impossible to whittle Jaws down with the level 1 spears. Also when you hit a certain level of points you can get a submarine, but the damn thing is too fast to be useful and ends up making you fly straight into Jaw's gaping mouth or asshole.
Ok, so you finally see that bastard's fin? Don't get dorsal-raped in a shallow harbor. The only place Jaws has a chance of killing you is in shallow water. And no, he won't kill you himself. You can just float on the surface as he passes underneath. That's right, if you're on the surface Jaws can't touch you, unless you're naked. Remember those fucking baby-jaws? Well now is their time to shine because they
can actually come all the way up and stick their pointy nose up Mrs. Brody's snootbag.
Ok, so lets say you have Jaws cornered in deep water. Good work. Just keep beating down his life bar like Mrs. Brody beats down Michael Caine's pulsing schlong. It's only a matter of time, and avoiding pissant rays and jellyfish........or is it....
Hey awesome! If you kill too many things while you're fighting the big man you get a bonus scene! Great! Now you can get some extra lives right? Well yeah, but while you're dropping bowling balls on jellyfish from a cesna, Jaws health is regenerating! That sly cockmaster!!!
Ok, so after about 45 minutes you've finally managed to drain Jaw's health. Game over man, game over!! Nope, just kidding, now you have to wound him with some sort of strobe, whatever the hell that is and then attempt to stab him with the bowsprit of your gay ass sailboat. And it's really fucking hard.

We got to this point about 6 times when I was a kid and were never able to time it right. At first we just blew all the strobes right away, but that does jack shit. Then we figured out we were supposed to stab him but the timing is about the same as throwing a dime up a guys butthole while he moons you out of a car doing 40. Needless to say we never killed him. And when you fail, you have to fight Jaws all over again with a full health bar. What a kick in the johnson.
If you miss with the gay strobe, Jaws flashes his bulging toothed shark penis at you, mockingly. That fucking show off!
Flash forward 20 years and I was playing this cock-raping game at work (where else) and I actually managed to thread the needle and kill the shitfuck!!!! AAAAHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHAAAA!!! It only took me a quarter lifetime to beat you down you dolphin raping shitbag! HAHAHAHAHA!
Look at that smug fucker sinking. I could sink better than that you smelly butthole. I'm going to fuck Mrs. Brody too!! Well if she's still alive. Either way, I've officially conquered your scaly ass. The nightmare is over.
Finally we're treated to the setting sun and Mrs. Brody the cum-vacuum flying back to Amity where nothing bad ever happens. For those of you who've actually seen Commando, this is the exact same ending. I've never felt prouder to have killed someone's 4th cousin.

Update in the Afternoon, For Now, Fart Annecdote

Just going to lay this one out there so that you may collapse in awe.

The security guard in my building ripped the worst fart in recorded history just before I came into the atrium today.

I think he left his desk and stood in the entry way to release his liquid feces because it was stifling in there.

When I opened the second set of doors expecting some relief I found that the lobby was only marginally less repulsive.

The sulfurous stench is probably an excellent facsimile of the odor of hell.

It even stank in the elevator.

When I got out on my floor, I went to the pissoir, and when I came back our elevator landing still smelled like shit.

I think I'm going to buy this guy a beer because that was a once in a lifetime fart he decided to share with me.

He's set the bar so high there's angels sitting on it.

I pretty much have to one up this guy right?

Unfortunately for him, The Baron's farts have killed laboratory horses under controlled conditions.

Game on security farter, game on.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

It's Raining in The Baron's Kitchen!

First off, don't ask why The Baron is at home. The Baron can come home for any reason he likes at any time.

Today, as The Baron was sitting in his magnificent, black rolly chair in front of a lacquered computer, he got a cold, sinking sensation that something was amiss in his domicile.

Acting quickly, The Baron took a fire pole to the secret, sub basement where his hover mobile is stored and rocketed home at 300MPH!

With no time to jump through the secret hologram-rock and into his brewery / garage, The Baron instead plowed his vehicle through the front wall. Heroically.

Torrents of water the likes of which the world had never seen gushed from the ceiling soaking The Baron's many valuable, stainless appliances and collection of classic cars. Thinking quickly, The Baron smashed through the floor with a single mighty blow and dropped into the basement.

A massive valve, at least 16 feet in diameter, controlled the torrential input of liquid needed to support The Baron's expansive and elegant, naked, roof fountains.

Summoning strength enough to defeat a Super-Tramp, The Baron wrenched the mighty valve closed and ended the kitchen monsoon.

Showing his great courage, The Baron called his landlord and berated her so severely that she was decapitated by the sheer volume of her shame.

The Baron began soaking up the many millions of gallons of water with Tiger Skin rugs and baby rhino ivory buckets.

The job completed, he sank heavily to his mighty throne exhausted. The ninja babes began softly caressing his heaving shoulders in a sexually suggestive manner. Also they kissed a lot.

The Baron sighed heavily in exasperation, it would be many hours before the cursed, signature-confirmation UPS package arrived and he could finally relax.

Get Your Odds Here: The Baron has it at 100:1 that the DC Metro Crash was Caused by Operator Cell Phone Use

Put your money down now! The Baron is positive, 99% positive, that the DC Metro crash was caused by the operator texting on his / her cellphone.

What proof do I have? None. This is such a cut and dry case of textual homicide that I can feel it in my weiner.

Want to know what the NTSB investigation is going to reveal? Well let me look into my crystal ball and give you a sneak preview:

1. The brakes were not applied in the trailing train before the collison.
2. The brakes will be found to be fully operational.
3. The signals will be in perfect working order.
4. The signals had been indicating that the trailing train should stop because of an obstruction on the tracks.
5. Visibility will be found to be perfect.
6. Cell phone records will indicate that the operator in the trailing train was texting, not making a call, texting in the minutes leading up to the accident.
7. Because he / she was also killed there's no need to make a big deal about this, right?

Kind of sounds like I just summarized the Boston Green line crash that happened earlier this year.....killling the operator...who was, wait for it........texting leading up to the collision.

The Baron extends his condolences to the victims and their families as they are the latest victims of incompetent, irresponsible public transportation operators. These fuckbags can't be bothered to consider that they are personally responsible for the lives of hundreds of people.

There is no worse breed of assmaster than the selfish, dickjuice swilling assholes who are supposed to be keeping us safe.

Is your job boring honey?

Fucking tough shit, everyone's job is goddamn boring! The only difference is I'm not driving a thousand ton death machine when I text at work, I'm driving a fucking desk, so look out!

I really don't understand what the big fucking deal is with making it a federal crime to use a cellphone while operating public transit. Is there going to have to be a fatal crash in every state before this shit gets fixed?

And spare me the civil liberties bullshit. Sometimes I think they want us all to die, crushed in twisted, red-hot metal.

The Baron's poop is going to be black today, black with rage.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Something Wicked This Way Floats

Went to drop off a Baron's Best Chocolate Burrito and I saw something in the water. Something that sent a shiver of terror and jealousy down my sack.

A Black Bubble.....

Who in the shit has been using my handicapped turlet?

The Devil?

I mean, have you ever even seen a black bubble before?

Maybe some guy blew a bunch of smoke up his ass with a length of tubing and then rubbed magic bubbles all over his BK and then slowly and carefully farted....right?


When the bubble burst there was no smoke inside, just a foul slick.

The skin of the thing was black! Really black!

This turlet is going to need an exorcism, and thankfully, I'm the pope of poop...

Things I Hate Installation 4: People Who Still Have the Same Email Address / Screename as When they Were 12.

This one makes The Baron's rectum quiver with rage. There are few more assmasterish moves than retaining an ancient screename. It tells people unflattering things about you, things that make you about as cool as a cum-slicked Crocodile Mile (Cockodile Mile anyone?).

1. You think you were cool as a 12 year old, in fact, you're just as cool now.

Examples: NinjaSkillz69, Neo(from the matrix)69, PussyMonger006.9, PopularBandInMiddleSchool69.

Fact: No one was cool as a 12 year old except chicks with huge knocks already somehow. Do you even remember what you did all day as a 12 year old? You sat in a state run children's prison in back-breaking desks for 8 hours a day, trying desperately to peer up the plaid skirt of the girl sitting across the desk circle from you even though you knew full well that the angles were impossible and that all you'd see is a shadow which you'd tell your friends was full on slit with just a little tuft of strawberry blonde pubic hair. Oh yeah, that and ferret women's clothing catalogs out of the mailbox before your mom / sister get their hands on them. 12 year olds are fucking retards!

2. You think you're unique and have a keen sense of irony (as a Sears catalog thieving 12 year old) and you're just as unique and ironic now.

Examples: MobiusRoad, Quiggles (a "q", really?! awesome!), JakeJohannsen (your name is not Jake Johannsen but you have his work shirt from radio shack), Fugue69.

Fact: Chances are you wore cordoroys in middle school, possibly all the way through to college. You also enjoy Vans sneakers and may or may not skateboard. Your notebooks all have that retarded grateful dead skull sticker on them even though you weren't even a rivulet of salty icing on the back of your mother's reeking snooter when that band was cool (actually, they were never cool, but with the amount of drugs people did at the time, they probably could have hit guitars with bags of cats and been just as popular).

Now, a proper screename should evolve over time to reflect your new discoveries, and developing personality. The Baron presents a chronological guide to his previous screenames as an example to all you shitfucks out there.

8 years: dhjk98734: Ah Prodigy, they looked deep into my soul and assigned me a user name based on the order in which I joined.

10 years: fluffyturtle: These were better days, days when I really liked turtles and the internet was populated by nothing but pedophiles and star trek nerds.

12 years: VAGINASAMURAI69: That faithful year we got our hands on a copy of Swank at a contruction site. So many confusing feelings and questions. Questions such as, how many goddamn holes does a lady have, 5?

14 years: GIF1Warrior69: Holy shit! You can get porn on the internet just by talking to child hungry pederasts in sketchy-ass AOL chat rooms, awesome!

15 years: Gentle(But Incredibly Clumsy)Penetrator......69: The year I started talking to females online, and watching grainy postage-stamp sized porn simultaneously.

16 years: GranChorisoSesentaYNueve: Was pretty good at Spanish at this point, still trying to cure my perpetual dry weiner syndrome (PDWS).

17 years: GrandStallionOfBasements69: Who knew alcohol made girls retarded and amorous? Why the hell didn't we figure this out sooner? All those wasted nights!

18 years: CaptainCoitus69: Got a little full of myself at this point, but who wouldn't? I was young, drunk and my weiner was sopping wet. I've never been cooler in my whole life.

19 years: BeirutPlaya69: Holy shit! College might be the best thing ever! It's like a fucking stud farm wtih copious alcohol.....and people pissing in closets, on chairs, computers, beds, shitting in beds, shitting at breakfast, puking in class and lunch and all over your laundry hamper.

21 years: LiquorNinja: What happened to drinking? It used to be fun! Can we still sneak around and run from the cops even though it's legal.

ThePresent: TheProfessional&HireableBaron: Not a very cool screename, I know, but it kind of makes me feel like Bruce Wayne, except if his alter ego loved, liquor, vags, pornography and disgusting Japanese video games.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Things I Hate Installation 3: Guys Who Pretend They're Not Pervs

This one really gets The Baron's ire stirred into a thick slurry and shot from the end of a massive hose. Guys who pretend they're not perverts.

Let me present a vignette for your consideration:

You, an uninhibited male, your "
wingman" and several lady friends are discussing topics of mutual interest such as shows that suck, how much traffic blows donkey nuts and what men are really thinking about. The final topic comes up so often it ought to be a fundamental constant of nature.

The conversation moves along at an interesting clip, the girls giggle and sometimes blush. Then, the one with the most dominant tits asks:

"So what are you really looking at when you see an attractive woman?"

Your buddy tents his fingers and looks at you, obviously he's not going to speak first.

You are heard to reply:

"Well that really on depends on whether she's walking forwards or backwards."

d'ya mean?" She asks, coyly. You're picturing your penis plowing into and out of every hole on her body that would accommodate it and even some that wouldn't.

"Well if she's walking forwards the first thing I'll check is whether there's any MK."


"Moose knuckle. Then I'll check to see if the nips are at attention, then back to the CT, then the thighs,
hamdogs again, neck, thighs, ankles, face and back to the milk bar."

"CT?" She's teetering between extreme attraction at your blunt delivery, and courageous vocabulary and revulsion from
socio-religious brain washing endured earlier in life. Her snooter is at Defcon 4 (imminent penis bombardment).

"Camel toe. Then if she's walking backwards I throw a quick glance down to check for a
PBGS, check the crack, then the cheeks, see if those lucious dimples on a her back are showing, try to get a whiff of her hair, check the ass again and then rearrange my bone so the hole doesn't keep poking the zipper of my jeans."



At this point her primal reproductive urges are becoming nearly overpowering. Your buddy looks you in the eye. In the first flash you see intense approval, then his demeanor changes and a look of disgust
crosses his face. Your blood goes cold, this cock-bag is going to sell you down the river like a common donkey with an uncommon wang-dang-doodle.

you're such a pervert. Can you believe what comes out of his mouth." Indicating by pointing the most homosexual part of his thumb at you.

"I...I know, you're such a perv." Confusion flashes across her
lickable face and then her prude programming kicks back in. Her clam claps shut like a steel snap dragon and your battleship become flaccid and sinks back into the vinegary nether regions of your loins.

That mother fucker sold your ass out. As if he wasn't thinking the exact same thing. Now nobody gets to whitewash the inside of her back. Nobody gets to explore the geometry of elastic orbs under the influence of gravity and nobody gets to see if the media propaganda is true and the
verdant crotch basin really has been deforested.

Because of this PC,
treacherous assmaster the purpose of life is obscured behind the spiny branches of prudism and world peace remains a greasy, shaved stoat, forever slipping from the firm, western grip of the brave.

A Guide to Homeless Evolution

You've probably noticed that there are many classes or castes of homeless people on the street and in abandoned boxcars at the switchyard, but did you know they form branches along a predictable evolutionary tree? Thought not...assmaster.

Anyway, today The Baron would like to detail the results of his exhaustive research into homeless evolution in the hopes that you, the reader, will gain valuable insight into the complex world of the destitute.

The most common sequence of events begins with the common scumbag. Many of you are probably friends with one of these detestable creatures. They mooch, eat all your food, often piss all over the seat and are generally useless. Late in their tenure as scumbags, their friends move on to better jobs, marriage, families, &c. As a result, the scumbag loses vital sources of income, nourishment and shelter and so is left with two options. Get a life, or become a drifter.

1. The Drifter: The earliest stage in homeless evolution. A mildly aggressive, mildly smelly individual with largely intact memories of its past. The drifter is not averse to short term employment and can generally be found at U-Haul propane fill stations, Walmarts and Home Depots. Drifters never stick around for long as their main source of shelter and food, friends from other towns, will eventually kick them out, perhaps after they soil the couch with a filthy tryst with some lady drifter. Now we'll rate some of their attributes, 10 being the most intense, 1 the least.

Public Revulsion: 3
Aggressiveness: 4
Employableness: 8
Stink: 3
Dangerousness: 0

Habitat: Couches, floors, guest room beds.
Diet: Easy mac, day old unrefrigerated pizza, disgusting pasta dishes
Next evolutionary step: Transient
Reversion to human possible: Yes
Life expectancy: 18-30 years beyond Drifterhood.
Mortality: Acute alcohol intoxication, accidents

2. The Transient: The next evolutionary step of a drifter. The individual has now passed its sexual prime and is considered too old for this shit in its previous social circles. It has been on the road for at least 3 years. By now it has found reliable food sources within its vast range and may employ a piece of shit car or van for transportation and housing. Although the stink has increased considerably due to lack of access to friend's showers, the transient is still able to find work from time to time. It will never stay put for longer than a month due to increased law enforcement scrutiny. The transient has lost all ties with it's previous friends and is beginning to lose memories of its previous life. Slightly more aggressive than a drifter, especially when defending its vehicle.

Public Revulsion: 5
Aggressiveness: 5
Employableness: 7
Stink: 4
Dangerousness: 2

Habitat: Shitbox vans and cars, unguarded garages, malls.
Diet: Canned goods, beans especially, recently discarded coffee, and sandwiches
Next evolutionary step: Bum
Reversion to human possible: Yes
Life expectancy: 10-15 years beyond Transienthood
Mortality: Acute alcohol intoxication, accidental shooting during trespass.

3. The Bum: The tertiary stage of homeless evolution, the bum is a largely sedentary, mildly aggressive and extremely stinky species. Gone is the wanderlust of its transient days as well as memories of its past. The bum has identified a safe territory with plenty of food, and recyclable goods and is thus very content. The precipitating factor in bumhood is usually the loss, impoundment or destruction of the sketchy car or van. The bum is too lazy to walk long distances and so confines its ramblings to a defined home territory. This is the classic homeless evolutionary step with which all are abundantly familiar. Bums congregate at busy public spaces loudly demanded change, often they will accept liquor or food, but most prefer to make that choice themselves. Some are highly religious, shouting to the heavens in their fervor. The bum can be found in every major city often in dense populations and will no longer accept work of any kind. The first irreversible step of homeless evolution.

Public Revulsion: 7
Aggressiveness: 2
Employableness: 4
Stink: 8
Dangerousness: 4

Habitat: Train stations, shanty towns, under bridges and overpasses.
Diet: Liquor, canned goods, high calorie snacks, change
Next evolutionary step: Hobo
Reversion to human possible: No
Life expectancy: 6-8 years beyond Bumhood
Mortality: Acute alcohol intoxication, beating, exposure, hobo stabbing

4. The Hobo: An increasingly rare evolutionary step because of the difficulty involved in the transition. The largely sedentary bum commonly dies within its home territory without ever ranging more than 2 miles in a day. A rare sub-population of bum regains the wanderlust instinct that drove them into drifterhood in the first place. Over a series of months, these Hobums regain their strength with copious pacing, yelling and throwing themselves down in traffic. On the first full moon of the second month of hobumitude, the young hobo emerges from its cocoon of cardboard and newspaper as a wiry, highly aggressive individual with incredible stamina. The stink has diminished slightly due to the hobo's brazen use of fast food restrooms. Bums beware, a hatchling hobo has a highly developed stabbing instinct and will often kill off its litter mates before departing for the train yard. Hobos travel exclusively by rail, carrying only a bindle of utensils, and a trusty shank for dispatching rubes. Hobos are highly dangerous and not to be crossed by normal individuals. Life expectancy is also increased due to prolonged, feverish exercise (from stabbing).

Public Revulsion: 6
Aggressiveness: 8
Employableness: 4
Stink: 6
Dangerousness: 7

Habitat: Boxcars, shanty towns, abandoned barns, switchyards
Diet: Liquor, canned beans, canned peaches
Next evolutionary step: Tramp
Reversion to human possible: No
Life expectancy: 12-20 years beyond Hobohood
Mortality: Acute alcohol intoxication, stabbing, exposure.

5. The Tramp: An even rarer subset of homeless is the tramp. Evolved from the scarce older hobo, the tramp is at least 50 years old. This is the 1930's style roving rogue type homeless individual and it can be quite engaging and charming. Often it carries the classic bindle and may be allowed to ride in boxcars voluntarily rather than having to jump on at a slow turn. Can be seen spinning tales to rapt hobos about a barrel fire in the few remaining shanty towns. The tramp is universally liked among the homeless and its life is in less danger than the previous categories. But, this security is not born of respect, but of fear. Tramps are expert knife fighters and often accomplished amateur boxers. The moment a tramp is crossed its folksy exterior recedes and a fierce, scrappy warrior emerges. Tramps are not to be insulted under any circumstances. Highly proficient and creative profanity is to be expected.

Public Revulsion: 4
Aggressiveness: 9
Employableness: 2
Stink: 5

Habitat: Boxcars, shanty towns, abandoned barns, switchyards
Diet: Liquor, canned beans, canned peaches, cigars.
Next evolutionary step: Super Tramp
Reversion to human possible: No
Life expectancy: 10-15 years beyond Tramphood
Mortality: Acute alcohol intoxication, exposure, boxing.
6. The Super Tramp: An almost legendary homeless individual. There is only one born in every generation of the homeless life cycle. Extremely hardy, extremely charismatic, extremely aggressive and extremely dangerous. These odorless fiends are the ninja of the homeless family tree. Never under any circumstances should an individual even glance at a super tramp, or for that matter its bindle. No person has ever survived a super tramp attack. They are the best of the best, strong as a chimp, swift as a horse, impossible to stop. The Baron once fought a super tramp to a stalemate in a oyster shucking factory in the 1930's and he feels lucky to have survived.

Public Revulsion: 0
Aggressiveness: 10
Employableness: 0
Stink: 0
Dangerousness: 10

Habitat: Luxury boxcars / wherever they want
Diet: Liquor and lots of it.
Next evolutionary step: Punching God in the dick
Reversion to human possible: No
Life expectancy: Immortal
Mortality: The end of space-time

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Things I Hate Installation 2: The Wrong Direction Beep

The Baron's blood is boiling thinking about this heinous crime against common decency. The wrong direction beep, or the retaliatobeep is one of the most pathetic things a driver can do, and it makes him / her a shitfuck / shitfuckette.

The Baron first encountered this rare act of assmasterism in Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, and fucking terrible pussy drivers (sorry PA, The Baron doesn't pull punches). It was a quiet afternoon on a blustery winters day. The sun gleamed off The Baron's elegant vehicle. The fates however, had conspired against The Baron. A subaru of some kind was blocking the left lane by driving at exactly the speed limit.

The Baron thought to himself "we'll see about that." Gracefully he crept up to the rear bumper and laid on the horn thinking "In Boston we don't tolerate this manner of shit". A feeble beep came the reply. The Baron quickly checked his rearview, there were no nearby vehicles. A horrible sinking sensation chilled The Baron's supple butt cheeks and sent electric twinges up his spine. The beep........had come from the subaru.

A wave of revulsion swept over The Baron and his stomach spasmed violently. A cheesteak sandwhich and five Arizona tall boy ice teas sluiced between his clenched teeth and soaked the wheel and dash. Tears came to The Baron's eyes as he dry heaved. Never had The Baron encountered such an immensely powerful pussy. The subaru slid to the left, finally, and The Baron floored the accelerator, quickly zipping past. He did not check the rearview mirror until hours had passed.

The Mass pike brought some comfort. The other drivers seemed to sense what had happened and formed a close flying V around the Baron-mobile guiding him back to Boston, where something so cowardly as the wrong direction beep is punishable by death. The Baron breathed a sigh of relief upon entering his garage but couldn't help himself and glanced furtively up and down the street outside, shivering as he did so.

To this day The Baron has never forgotten the humbling he received in Philly and still wakes up screaming, thinking he heard a faint, limp-wristed beep, only to cry himself back to sleep.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

More Awesome Spam Email

So this morning I booted up the old email account and what did I behold? Two new, hilarious spam emails. Now, it's been awhile since one of these Nigerian princes has managed to penetrate my tight, silky inbox but I'm glad they did because these bad boys are tributes to the shitfuckedness of the English language

1) Farm beasts and sex-starved country sluts

continental buffalo
between the two in Dingle nominee) and
of the Rising you can check the following my Lil Sis’
Sometimes he tries to and watches the History Release:- 700MB to Japan - A © 2009 CBS conducted last November available on MU/ NL/ HF/ UP/

Things I like about this email:

a) Excellent subject line. It really lets me know what I'll be getting if I click on the obviously not infected link. Farm beasts, not animals mind you, beasts and sex-starved country sluts (my favorite kind of sluts! How did they know?). I guess the farm beasts are guarding the sex starved bumpkins, you know, keeping men away from their snoots. What else could they possibly be doing?

b) The farm beasts are accompanied by continental buffalo. Immediately I'm picturing a huge hairy buffalo in a tri-corner hat, breaches and a saucy blazer, lugging around a musket. Maybe the yankee buffalo are the farm beasts and their rifles are guarding the sluts. Awesome!

c) A dingle nominee. I can only imagine that the nomination is for a contest of who can pull the largest dingle berry out of their sweaty crack. It must be no more than 50% lint and no less than 40% poop. Dry sweat crystal are a gray area.

d) Lil' Sis. Good use of colloquialism, now I know you're a native English speaker and thus I put my full faith in your not suspicious at all link.

e) Sometimes he tries to and watches the history release 2009 CBS. Here's the clincher, sometimes he, I'm assuming one of the buffalo militiamen, tries to watch the history release, and sometimes, just sometimes, he succeeds. Also, the sluts, buffalo, and Lil' Sis are all sponsored by CBS so I would be a fool not to click on this link.

f) This email wasn't even sent to my address, it says it was sent to a litvin. How the hell I ended up with it is beyond me, although I am happy beyond words.

2) Haystack porking shot on quality tape

bisexual ambush
champagne bottle tricks, he in and are Mikoshi” is
for People magazine? Cass Sunstein I’ll be checking this and Recreation?Nicole Richie
going to be actually like that name! organized at the Ghana 2003 explicitly increased Medicare on CelebApprentice: You’re full links, [700mb de said to be considering

Things I like about this email:

a) A haystack porking is a rare event indeed. There are so many damn splinters and little bugs in the pile that you'll be lucky to reach penetration before her dad impales you with a pitchfork or one of you knocks over a lantern and burns the barn down. To catch the event on quality tape (Kodak 15mm right?) is a feat worthy of praise.

b) Bisexual ambush. I don't know what that is but I hope it involves bisexual women because otherwise......well I'd be curious to see.....I'm not gay....you know just never seen something like that before.

c) Champagne bottle tricks. Stop right there I already know what you're talking about. It's either that one where you knock some poor fucks bottle really hard and it shoots everywhere, or when you rap the neck with a saber and the top sheers off right?

d) Mikoshi in People Magazine. Oh....my....god...MIKOSHI!!!!!!!!He's like my favorite random Japanese name. AHHHHHH!!!!! I have to click this link!

e) Nicole Richie going to be actually like that name. It's about damn time in this Baron's opinion.

f) Organized at the Ghana 2003 explicitly increased Medicare on CelebApprentice. The G2K3EIMCA is like my favorite summer concert series. They have all the cool bands: Haystack Porking, Champagne and the Tricks, Bisexual Ambush and of course the legendary soloist Mikoshi!

Hmm, this one isn't guaranteed by CBS like the first one, but at least it was sent directly to me. All in all a great way to start the day!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

10 Childhood Movie Moments That Scarred Me For Life

Today I bring you a list of nine movies I saw as a kid that permanently warped my young mind and turned me into the twisted creature you see today. Some were movies I should never have seen in the first place. However, the bulk of these were children's movies; which begs the question, just what were those shitfucks in Hollywood thinking? Let's see if we can create a few serial killers while we're at it? Who knows. This list ascends in evil power as it moves along.

10) Bambi's Mom Gets Capped: Off the rip, I was apprehensive that something was going to happen to Bambie's foxy mom. After all, how many Disney characters have mothers? Sure enough, with shouts of "run Bambi!" the mother is brutally gunned down in the first 5 minutes of the movie. I'm sure the Disney execs wanted to add a scene where the hunter gutted the carcass and Bambi watched as two hunting dogs fought over the spilled entrails. I loved this movie as a kid, but hated watching the first ten minutes because of this shit. Also, it ruined future Disney movies for me because every time any character had a living mother, I was just waiting for some awful shit to happen to her. The Lion King is a prime example. I was on edge until the very end of the movie just waiting for that sleek lioness to get ganked. When nothing happened I was relieved Relieved until I grew up and realized that Simba's uncle was raping the shit out of her the whole time he was off burning spliffs with that degenerate warthog and sketchy meerkat.

9) Monstro Swallows....Pinocchio: Pinocchio; a pretty good movie about an automaton, his father and his, oh yeah, lack of any mother figure. There's not even a lady cricket for Jiminiy to lay his chirping dick into. The movie moved along benignly from an allegory about pedophile kidnappers and amorous strangers to a warning about the dangers of alcohol complete with children / donkeys drinking actual beer before they turned into asses. It was basically a rocking high school basement party except with 10 years olds doing cask stands. What a great movie! But then old man Gepetto comes to break up the fun and row Pinocchio's hammered ass back to the mainland and guess what? There is a huge fucking sea monster in the form of an asshole whale waiting for them. What the fuck! I thought whales were friendly? As if to prove my kindergarten teacher wrong, the gigantic fucking leviathin swallows them whole. They live in his cavernous belly for a while, eating some of the fish he captures like a raft full of fucking tape worms. They eventually escape, and he chases them for the last 5 minutes of the movie, finally splitting his massive head wide open on the rocks. I can't remember if they show the seagulls vividly pulling at Monstro's lifeless flesh and plucking his eyes out, but if I know Disney, they did.

8) ET drowns in a ditch: ET is one of the most beloved children's movies of all time. The only problem is, it's not a children's movie! Seriously what the fuck. That part where ET extends his neck and stalks around in the field? What the fuck!? I thought he was going to go all Gremlins at any second and start biting and slashing at Eliot and Drew Barrymore, the drunken crack whore (Hey, that rhymes!). Anywho, the part that made me shit my footy pajamas was when ET ran away and drowned in a ditch and then turned all white for some reason. For shit's sake! Is the extraterrestrial a fucking drunk? How do you drown in a ditch? And why the hell did they bring his body back to Elliot's neighborhood? I'll tell you why, so he could see Zombie ET spring up off an operating table and run amok right before they were about to dissect him alive. Good god! I just laid a nutty traffic stripe in my underoos reliving it.

7) The Brave Little Toaster and the Fire Clown: There's nothing about that sentence that doesn't scare the living shit out of me. What's a fire clown you ask? I'll tell you what it's not; a childrens movie character. It's a fucking homicidal clown in a fireman's uniform. It / he appears in a puff of smoke, smiles, and then infroms the toaster to "run" in a raspy voice, all without parting his smiling teeth. I used to try and hide my face during this part of the movie, but I always peeked out of horrified curiosity....and then soaked through my He Man sheets. Oh yeah, guess what else happens in this movie? One of the main characters gets dismembered by a fat man....Oh yeah and also a lamp and an air conditioner and a toaster commit suicide. Basically instead of having wipes between scenes, an appliance you've come to love commits suicide and the story moves on to the next act.

6) Hook: the Rufio Gets Powned Chronicles: Peter Pan is a souless adult, Peter Pan's kids get kidnapped, Peter Pan is Robin Williams, and most disturbing of all, none of Peter Pan's kids look anything like Tiger Lily. What's the matter Pan, couldn't birng yourself to sully the white bloodline...fucking racist. Anyway, for some reason Peter lets these fucking punk kids in Neverland beat the piss out of him and make him their bitch. Rufio is the leader of these roller blading shitbags. I hated the shit out of Rufio for trying to subvert the Pan, and all the rooster crowing in the world couldn't convince me to forgive him. But was I prepared for Rufio to get run through with a rapier? No. Not at that point in my life. I remembered the impaling being a lot more violent than it actually was, but either way, how many kids movies have you seen where a teenager in drag gets stabbed in the heart by an aging pedophile dressed as a pirate?

5) Arachnophobia: Spiders on the Toilet and in the Shower: One magical evening in central Iowa, my mother left me overnight with my cousins and uncle while she went to a wedding. This was not one of those funny uncles you hear about on dateline, this was one of those awesome uncles that lets you do whatever you want and eat a bunch of shit and watch movies all night. Some of my cousins were early teens at the time, so we needed a broad array of appropriate films. My uncle went to the video store to get some VHS's and came back with two sure fire crowd pleasers. Arachnophobia and Predator. I was so afraid of the fucking spiders in that movie that I had the rectal heeby jeebies from the first second of the movie on (especially when the queen spider sucks that poor sap dry and leaves a bluish zombie in the coffin). The part that warped me for life however, was when there was a spider web on the head of the shower, and aslo a spider behind the toilet. From that day on for roughly 2 years I refused to sit on a turlet for any reason. I would hover like a fucking chick. Also, I wouldn't close my eyes in the shower for like 4 years. To this day, whenever I think about that movie (even with the ridiculously goofy Jeff Daniels in lead...where's Lloyd, Harry?) I'm reminded of the bathroom spider and I fucking look to make sure that there's no web behind the shower head. Once, there was a spider up there and I shit so hard 9 inches of my butthole turned inside out like a sock, that was last year.

4) Predator Makes Human Skin Coat: If you were an uncle and you saw a rapidly spreading dark stain on the carpet where your 8 year old nephew was sitting during Arachnophobia, you'd probably get him some cookies or something to calm him down, right? Not if you're my uncle. Instead he threw on Predator, a movie that I consider to be a gory, badass, shitfest to this day. Well, keep in mind my skin was still crawling with potentially leathal spiders when he plunked in the next movie. And, keep in mind that during the first 5 minutes of Predator there is not a single sentence that is not laced with creative profanity. For example, Jesse Ventura is heard to remark "Bunch of slack-jawed faggots! This stuff'll make you a sexual tyranosaur" when the nervous guy refuses chaw. Also, keep in mind that in the first 10 minutes, Dutch and co. find a tree full of skinned bodies covered with huge fucking vultures. Oh yeah, and they were killed by a fucking ALIEN GHOST!!! If I become a serial killer in later life, I'm blaming my uncle, and that weekend of "children's" movies. Predator kicks copious ass though.

3) Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Who Flattened Doc Brown: Remember who framed Roger Rabbit? I think it was popular in the day. It's about some Italian guy, some alcoholic Italian guy, who hates cartoons, in a world infested with cartoons, because his brother was killed by a fucking CARTOON! Holy shit! I could handle that shit at the tender age of 10, but you know what I couldn't handle? Doc Brown from back to the future murdering a fucking cartoon shoe as it writhed and pleaded for mercy. You know what else I couldn't handle? Chistopher Lloyd being graphically crushed to death by a fucking steam roller as his shrill screams filled the air. Oh yeah, and then, accompanied by eerie springy sounds, his flattened corpse gets up and reinflates itself. Oh yeah, and while it's inflating, it's eyes pop out. You'd better believe there's crazy eyes underneath and he says "Remember me Eddie, when I killed your brother, I talked just, Like THISSSSS!!" But they become friends in the end so it's ok. Just kidding, Eddie dissolves the fucker in cartoon acid while he screams and writhes in agony.

2) An American Tale About a Gigantic Zombie Mouse Robot: Remember the good old days of animated films? A young Jewish mouse comes to America to start a new life.....because fucking Cossack cats storm his village and try to eat him alive. Memories...And is life better in America? You bet, there's the hunger, homelessness, filthy streets, aggressive Italian mice, and oh yeah, more fucking cats. But these mice are smarter than they average cat, and they figure out a way to get rid of the cats forever: by forcing them off the end of a pier with.....wait for it.....a gigantic zombie mouse robot, the Mouse of Minsk. That horrible, colossal rodent still makes my penis leak with terror to this day.

1) Welcome to Fraggle Rock, but Don't Go Near the Lake: Ah fraggle rock, an LSD fueled muppet paradise filled with wondrous sights, friendly residents, dozers making edible sky scrapers and a gigantic, hideous lake monster. Everything is happy, until the other fraggles ostracize Red and she's forced to wander the fringe of puppet society. One day, Red is singing by the lake when a fucking slimy penis sneaks up behind her and loudly blows shit all over her back. She's understandably terrified and flees before it can penetrate her. Later it turns out the monster has a huge hideous face as well. Also, it's always scratching itself like a fucking methhead. I got chills watching the lead up to this scene on youtube. Good god, why the fuck didn't Red bring the marines and some fucking fire back with her? Send that fucking abomination back to hell!!!