Weekend News Roundup: Pervert vs Twitch, the danger of illegal fireworks, OMG the Chinese!

(Warning: offensive content)

Perverted Punk Pumps Pud Prolifically, Performs Penis Perforation, Professes to Prosecute

Oh, snap… Eric’s at it again — his carrot, that is.

I’m put in mind of the days and the mentality when folks tried suing tobacco companies for “giving” them lung cancer. This guy, Eric Esavillo, chokes his chicken to Chattanooga stalking hos on a gaming site, jams up his Johnson, and wants the site to pay him damages. If I’m not mistaken Twitch is a streaming platform — not a masturbation site. If anything he is at fault for abusing the site by abusing himself with it. You and I both know this dick smear probably strained himself trying to rub one off while looking at the women’s summerwear apparel section in Sears Catalogue.

As we ask ourselves just how much does broke-dick’s broken dick cost? Well, Eric thinks it costs $25,000,000 to fix. Christ, Eric, just how rough were you on Mr. Pee-Pee? I’m thinking “restraint” is not the main cargo packed in Eric’s tractor-trailer. $25M… yeah the jury is going to have to see this Howard Johnson for themselves. This whole thing is tumbling down a really long flight of concrete stairs. How does he prove he got hurt watching Twitch and didn’t just slam his bone in a door then cry Twitch?

Can we just talk about something else, please?

Ah, but then it all starts to come clear when you realize that our hero, Eric, has also tried to sue Nintendo, Microsoft, and Sony with equally hair-brained schemes. Is Eric a little strapped for cash? Get a paper route, Eric — there is an ounce of honor in that. But this, this peril of the penis, this is no worthy avenue.

That’s it. All of you pray with me now for Eric — get on your knees now and pray with me damn you:

“Oh Creator, please be with Eric in his time of need, which amounts to about three minutes on top of every hour. Help him to steer from this life of the penis that he seems to have such a firm grip on. Help him to pull, to pull away from his ways of trivial pursuit. We ask these things in your name, Ainsi soit-il.”

Foolish Fellow Fires Forbidden Fireworks into Familyroom; Asshole Annihilates own Abode as all Observe

Here is the video version of the blessed event as it unfolded:

I’m really not a schadenfreude kind of guy, but I got a real kick out of watching this monumental boob burn his house down with his amateur handling of illicit fireworks. There’s something about fireworks that ignites people’s inner fool. I can’t explain it clinically or otherwise: people just see pop-bottle rockets and they suddenly want to drop trou and launch one from their rectum. It inevitably gets stuck in there allowing the flaming propellant to scorch the bejesus out of their scrotum and such, and yes, it’s mostly men who do this.

Every 4th of July most municipal hospitals establish a men’s ward dedicated just to burn injuries inflicted by the launch of pop-bottle rockets from rectums; the wards are designated the “Flaming Asshole Wards.” This year many Covid-19 wards will have to be vacated to make room for the new Flaming Asshole pandemic (FlamAss-20). Men consider it a bragging right to make it there:

“Hey, Frank… I heard you were admitted to the Flaming Asshole Ward at Presbyterian Main this year — my compliments, Sir!”

“Thanks, Bill! It was getting late and nothing was happening so I just dropped pantaloon and sat on a string of Black Cats — I’ll be wearing a colonoscopy bag for the rest of my life.”

“That’s the spirit, Frank — hope to see you there next year!”

For those of you who may not believe me, I rest my case:

Yeah, I’ll bet this guy doesn’t have a hair on his ass. If I didn’t know any better — and I really don’t — I’d estimate that this is some kind of homoerotic sexy cool practice. Otherwise, it’s a fad that never sank its hooks into me; it is of an exhilaration variety that I cannot comprehend. I don’t think any fad ever grabbed me. I kind of suspect this act may have actually been a shaman’s treatment in the early 1800s to remove demons from the body, or perhaps a treatment for constipation, both of which could also be remedied by a good sound bloodletting.

* The California chapter of Boy Scouts of America actually has a merit badge for this skill.

OMG, the Chinese!

We see this all over the world, including in our own country, because it has been all the trendy range since forever. Foreign words and phrases on T-shirts and mostly any garment, I suppose. By far Japan is the leader in “In ain’t cool unless it has some English splattered on it.”

I had not realized there was such a market for it in Chiner, until I realized… there was a substantial market for it in Chiner. So, with permission from my Managing Editor, His Excellency Stavros “Stavbro” Atlamazoglou, I headed to Chiner with my own line of trendy American apparel that I called Ice-G’s Gung-Ho Garment line.

I have to tell you, it was a business venture that blasted right through the roof. My goal was two-fold: I wanted to become filthy rich, though that was more of a side-bar venture. My prime push was to prove once and for all that the Chinese would wear anything as long as it had some hip-to-the-jive American font scrawled on it, while not having the ricepaper-width of a clue what the hell it meant.

My favorite is my “I’m Am a Whore” dress seen in the picture above. You’ll be the envy of all the girls at Tian An Men Square wearing this snappy little number set to a cute summer dress boasting purple font on white cotton — a legit hip-hop message from the West, yo! Here are some of the other garments that sold particularly well:

I went out on a limb but ended up really making a bold statement with this “PUSST NOT WAR, PUSSY NOT WAR” smock set to the backdrop of a Dr. Suess Albatros flying over the sea of fire while burning a major spliff. I sheepishly admit that the first word “PUSST” was totally my fault and an error at the silkscreen template. When I saw my mistake I just left it there and rewrote it again below. Error or not, American is all Greek to the Chinese, and made this smock a true blockbuster seller — LOCK N’ LORR!

I don’t know about you, but I respect a man who knows what he wants — and doesn’t want! This brother, in particular, doesn’t want any of us to FU*K his ass. He’s just saying “no,” and no means no! I’ll tell you what… I’ll be the first to admit I don’t want that to happen to me either, and I don’t care who you are — even if you are a good-looking guy like Tom Cruise!

The sense and sensibility of sporting this message in white font set to a black T is that before this chump started wearing this shirt and would just walk down the street dudes would be jumping out of the woodwork to FU*K his ass. Enter Ice-geo with his Gung Ho Garment lineup — problem solved! Have a nice walk, my brother!

When it comes to the tots, uncle Ice-G has something for everyone. I chose this darling little pink jumper with a lacy white umbrella and 3-D pink bow accessory — could ya just die from the cuteness?!? I chose “You are a piece of fucking shit” in black font because I think it really pops: the stark transition really hitting home. As long as it’s American it’s cool and ok to have this written on your clothes.

I shamelessly neglected to mention that my Gung-Ho line of apparel expanded into accessories as well, like this sporty little backpack. I have it on good faith with our Lord and Savior and the Holy Ghost that this brother is going to be piiiiissst when he finds out the word “PERVERT,” which is what he hopes is says, is misspelled. If he complains to me I have an answer ready:

“Look, pal… all you want is some American-looking shit on your accessories so you can be relevant, and that’s just what you got. You know as well as I do that without some kind of identification with America you would just be another worthless chineez guy, sooo — American, I like American, Steamboat Willie… Betty Boop — what a dish… Betty Grable — nice gams! Fancy schmancy! What a cinch! Go fly a kite! Cat got your tongue! Hill of beans! I say can you seeee — fuck Hitler!”

That’s just the price you pay when you get some shit in a foreign language plastered onto your person. Take my fragrance collection for example. Women flock to my Ode de Putain Eau de Toilette. If they like it so much, I also have just the summer dress for them — purple font set to white cotton — oh là là!

But wait now… I found this guy in the U.S. with this tattoo on his arm. I guess it is sort of clever, but not really sure.

It begs folks to ask him what his tattoo says, and when they do he will tell them exactly what it says: “I don’t know, I don’t speak Chinese,” ah-ha-ha-ha-ha.

geo’s Meme of the Week:

By Almighty God and with honor,
geo sends