HA! Bet you thought ol’ Kreese had gone soft, didn’t you? WRONG. The reason I named this blog like I did is for manifold reasons. I think I used that word right. Fuck it.
Anyway, my reasons are as good as a John Kreese foot to the ballsack. First, tight little hippie bitches go nuts over a strong, handsome guy who acts like a total pussy. Hell, sometimes I even put on fake glasses and bring an old Reader’s Digest I stole from the doctor’s office back when I got… never mind. The point is, I wear fake glasses and read the Reader’s Digest to fool the cute hippie girls into thinking I’m smart. Not that I’m not smart, I’m just not a fucking nerd. Goddammit, you get the point.
Second, I did it to show one of my neighbors that I can not only kick his ass at kicking his ass, I can also kick his ass at his profession. See, he works as a marketeer for some company that needs words. Like, from a writer. They need someone to put thoughts, like, with good ideas, in ways that’s clever and right. He’s a fucking writer. You get what I mean. Anyway, I got some of his mail the other day, which was like the third time that’s happened, and I went to kick his ass for putting his shit on my property. He opened his door before I even had a chance to knock, which really fucked with the pre-ass kicking dressing-down I was gonna give him. I kind of sputtered out a few things about minding his own business, but I guess he noticed his mail and grabbed it out of my hand. I was about to lay into him for being grabby when he got all excited and said, “It’s here!” like a little girl who gets a love letter from, uh, someone like me, I guess.
I asked him what the big deal was (my pissed-off load was already blown), and he starts in on his job and blah, blah, blah. I told him to talk so a straight person would understand, and get this: THE FUCKER COCKPUNCHES ME.
I might have blacked out, but I don’t think I did. For reasons I won’t go into, it doesn’t hurt to get hit there like it used to. This punk didn’t try kicking me when I was down, or talk shit or anything, he actually grabbed me a beer to put on my nut. Nuts. Then, get this: he says I should cockpunch HIM because he got a dirty one in on me. I said, “DIRTY? That’s how the game is played, bitch!” I actually kind of respected him after that. As much as I respect anyone, that is, which ain’t much.
So while I’m in the entryway of his place icing my nut down, he starts back up about his work and how he writes ads in catalogs. I busted out my Reader’s Digest, picked a random ad, and asked him if he wrote that one. It was for pretzels. He said that he didn’t think anyone made those pretzels anymore. I did it a bunch more times, and he kept saying “No,” so I was thinking he must suck pretty bad at his job. Then he pointed out that my Reader’s Digest was from 1972, and he wasn’t even born then. Whatever.
So he got out one of those pieces of mail, and it had an ad with some half-naked bitches on it. It was for some vodka or something. He told me that he wrote that one. I was like, “You wrote naked bitches? Bullshit,” and he was like, ”I wrote the words around the naked bitches, dumbass.” It was, like, five words. Something like “Vodka gets you drunk” or some shit. Whatever, I was looking at the bitches. He said he worked on that with his team for two weeks. Man, I laughed my ass off about that one. He said I must not know much about ads, and I told him he must not know that I was about to put my foot up his ass.
So he says ”Whatever,” and starts in about how you have to be clever and use simple but memoryable language words to blah blah blah. I was like, “How’s this: Cobra Kai Dojo: Don’t be a pussy” and he was like “Cobra Kai Dojo: Our sensei is half nuts.” Pretty stupid, right? Mine had “pussy” in it, which made it automatically way better. And yeah, I’m fuckin’ crazy! Pussy-crazy!
Wait a minute… “Our sensei…”
Half…
MOTHERFUCKER! HOW DID HE…
THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS DEAD.
