Change is Good, Unless It’s Bad

Blah blah blah, I changed the look of the blog.  If you can’t see that, you don’t care, so I’m not going to waste any more time discussing it.  If you don’t like it, let me know.  I’m not exactly married to it.

The main reason for this post is to shed light on some rumors that have been swirling around.  I’m just going to post the entire e-mail exchange between John Kreese and I, because there’s no better way to explain it.  The only editing I did was the deletion of a lengthy explanation by John of his “Kreese’s Gambit,” both because he explained it better in an earlier post, and because he was really just talking about teabagging me.

From: Swampy Pendergrass [mailto:swampy@chimpsofdestiny.com]
Sent: Tuesday, April 28, 2009 3:15 PM
To: ‘Kreese’
Cc:
Subject: Yesterday’s Post

John,

I don’t think this is working anymore. I’m the only one who thinks you’re funny, and that’s only because you’re so punchy from fighting that you’re like a walking cock that can type. You don’t contribute enough, and you’re starting to gross everyone out.

Sorry, buddy. If I ever start doing ads, I’ll give your dojo a free one for sticking with this as long as you have.

Good luck.

-Swampy

Swampalicious Pendergrass

CEO

Chimps of Destiny LLC

swampy@chimpsofdestiny.com

---

From: John Kreese [mailto:jkreese@gmail.com]
Sent: Tuesday, April 28, 2009 3:32 PM
To: ‘Swampy’
Cc:
Subject: Re: Yesterday’s Post

Hi Swampy

I cant under stand you when youre mouth is full of my cock… (edit -Swampy)

Suck it pussy.

John Kreese

Sensei

Cobra Kai Dojo

“Mercy is for the weak!”

jkreese@gmail.com

---

So that went about as well as I’d figured it would.  I send him a similar e-mail after every column he writes, but he just keeps uploading them, and I can’t delete him from the list of contributors.

On that note, I might be adding another voice to this site soon.  I can’t say much, but I CAN tell you this: Stump’s not dead.

Kreese’s Korner: I Got Swine Flu in Tijuana

Yo, John Kreese here.  I’m thinking about getting back to this internet page, because Puss Boy sure doesn’t seem inclinated to do anything with it.  I’d just buy the web page from him, but I don’t think he can make change for a one dollar bill!  HA!  See, the page isn’t worth much, is what I’m saying.  And Swampy doesn’t have any money because he’s a dipshit.  I digest.

Like the title says, I have something to get off my chest.  It should come as no surprise that the K-man loves pussy, parties, and parties with pussies.  Science shows that no place on Earth has more of those two things than Tijuana, Mexico, in the good ol’ U.S. of A.  I go down there at least once a month, and I rock out with my cock out.  Literally.  There’s a band down there that plays Metallica songs in Mexican, and pull my cock out right there.  Those motherfuckers eat that shit up.  Who can blame them?  Since I got my fake nut put in, Lil’ Kreese is back to “full frontal.”

Anyway, I guess I had a little too much fun a little too fast this last time.  I don’t remember shit.  I got down there two Fridays ago and hit my favorite spot, El Hombre Mierda.  Jesus, the bartender, started talking about some “pig show” they were having, and asked if I wanted to help out.  I told him that I was there to party, not work, and that I was gonna fuck anything that moved.  He thought that was funny, I guess, and gave me a drink of some shit that knocked me on my ass like a mystical bearded Jap.  That’s the last thing I remember. 

Well, it was the last thing I remembered, until Tuesday.  I woke up in a tent outside some fucked-up village in God-knows-where, Mexico, with a bunch of doctors milling around me, and a needle in my arm, feeling like I’d just been ass-raped by Dumbo.  If you follow this web blog regularly, you know this isn’t the first time this has happened to me, so I took it a little easier this time.  Not that I had much of a choice, since I could barely lift my head up.

I asked the nearest doctor what the fuck was going on, and he unleashed some information on me that I’m still not too sure how I feel about.  He said some family found me naked, passed-out, and covered in pig shit on the side of the road, 300 miles from Tijuana.  They took me in and tried to nurse me back to health, but they all got sick and died.  Then the doctor who treated them got sick and died, and all the patients he saw got sick and died, and everyone they knew… you get the point.  Kreese is once again the motherfuckin’ sole survivor.  Not surprising, really.  My immunation system has been fine-tuned over several years of martial arts training, and it kicks the piss out of any pussy disease it sees. 

So the doctor told me that, and asked me if I knew where I got sick.  I told him I didn’t remember shit, and that I probably got it from the water down here.  He said that wasn’t likely, and I told him to shut the fuck up.  He said I was “patient zero” of this new strain of Swine Flu, and that I had to have made contact with a pig at some point.  I remembered the pig show Jesus mentioned, and the doctor got this look on his face like he just bricked in his shorts.  Then I asked him who the fuck he thought he was calling a “zero,” and I told him if he kept talking, he’d be shitting his teeth in a few days.  Then I blacked out.  Again.

I woke up again on Friday in a real hospital back home.  The TV in my room had some news bullshit on, and all they were talking about was Swine Flu this, Swine Flu that.  Hey, pussies, maybe if your pussy, nerdy asses weren’t so worried about stocks and watertubing and shit, you and your body would be immune like ol’ John Kreese!  Well, not quite as immune.  I’m a special case, after all.

I’m back home now, at El Castle la Kreese.  Whatever, I don’t speak Mexican.  I’m feeling better, almost 100%.  A little weak, that’s about it.  I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.  I just can’t figure out why I keep picking pig shit dingleberries out of my chode hair.  I must have really rocked out with my cock out at that pig show.

Sincerely,

John Kreese