Kreese’s Korner: InKreese the Peace

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.

Honk.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy, Bald, Bald, Dead, Dead.

For some reason, the world media is REALLY EXCITED to spread the word about how having a positive attitude doesn’t make a damn bit of difference in survival rates for cancer patients. 

So feel free to feel depressed, cancer patients!  Ol’ Smiley Sue in the corner of the chemo infusion room has just as good of a chance of croaking as you do!  Just don’t get too happy about it, because why bother?  It won’t make any difference, you walking corpse, you!

In all seriousness, who does this disclosure help, other than brooding, Guns ‘N Roses-loving, 13-year-old cancer patients who need a reason to tell their mom to shut the hell up about smiling when they’ve got a needle in their arm which just happens to be pumping highly toxic and nausea-inducing chemicals into their bloodstream (one of whom the author was NOT, by the way (and even if he was, that was way too long ago to help now (thanks a fucking lot, science! (gaaah, Starburst chemo vomit flashback…))))?

Anyway, uh… yeah.  My name is Swampy and I never had cancer.  Scientists are cockfaces.

Kreese’s Korner: True Genius

Well, it looks like the grand plans of the dipshit that runs this internet diary didn’t work out.  That’s what happens when you’re a pussy.  And trust me, if you ever met the guy, you’d know he was a pussy.  I think he wanted to turn this into some kind of suppository for jokes like the ones you get from the Joke of the Day e-mail page, but you’ve got to be talented to crank out knee-slappers like that.  As long as this diary has been up, he’s never once put up a good blonde joke here, even one of the old ones.  That’s just a waste of time, if you ask me. 

 

That brings me to the part of this where I tie it all to the title I picked.  See, I’m a bit of a comedy connoisseur.  I was going to say “comedy fan,” but I used the thing on the computer where it gives you a better word than the one you picked.  Trust me, it’s not cheating.  Cheating is when you use some bullshit bird-kick to defeat the greatest karate specimen the Cobra Kai dojo has ever produced.  Fucking old Jap bastard.  GOD DAMMIT THAT PISSES ME OFF TO THIS VERY FUCKING DAY!

 

I can’t fucking write anymore.  I was gonna write about Andrew Dice Clay and how this Swampy asshole will never reach the level of genius that the Diceman has, but I can barely type, I’m so pissed.

 

Anyway, the pussy gave up trying to change this to something better, and now he’s crawling back.  Fuck you, and fuck little Italian karate cheaters. 

 

 

FUCK!

Kreese’s Korner: I Had Nut Cancer

I hate ruining the big surprise in the title of the letter or whatever this is, but what the hell else should the title be?  It’s kind of the whole deal.  Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.  I’ll start at the beginning, and you had better read the whole fucking thing. 

So I was in the shower a couple of weeks ago, doing my usual routine of flexing and checking myself out in the shower mirror I had installed a few years ago.  I got to a move I created, called “Kreese’s Gambit,” which involves a deep knee squat with my back to the mirror.  Due to the warmth of the shower, my ballsack is usually pretty loose and saggy, so I try to see how close I can get it to the shower floor without it touching.  It’s a great leg workout, and you can bet your old lady’s milkbags that the bitches eat it up. 

So I was in the middle of a Kreese’s Gambit when I noticed something odd about my sack.  It seemed bigger than usual, and I remembered that my right nut had been hurting occasionally for a few weeks.  I stuck my hand down there, which I should have known better than to do when I was still maintaining a Kreese’s Gambit (I know, it just sounds like you dip down and dunk your nuts in shower water.  It’s harder than that, retards.  YOU try it.), and I threw my balance off.  Then I fucking passed out or slipped or something, knocking the shit out of my head in the process. 

When I came to a few minutes later, I dried off and checked my head.  I had a pretty nasty goose egg so I sat on the sofa (naked, natch) and chilled for a little while in front of some lesbo porn.   Before too long, I remembered why I fell and felt my nuts again.  Sure enough, there was something different. 

Okay.  This is the part of the story that some of you fuckwads might think is funny.  I assure you, it’s not.  Taking my background into consideration, my initial assumption about the nature of my condition was perfectly reasonable.  That’s what my doctor said after I gave him a look like I was going to kick the shit out of him, and it’s the God damned truth.

I thought I had grown a third nut.  I’m pretty sure I had heard something about that when I was younger, and it made sense.  You see all these weak, pathetic wusses out there in the world, and then you look at a specimen like me.  What’s the difference?  Biologically, there’s not really much of one.  Men all have a head, two arms, two legs, one cock, and two nuts.  But I’m different.  It’s no stretch to say that I’m more of a man than some dweeb who sits behind a desk crunching stock markets or what-the-fuck-ever, so why wouldn’t I have an extra nut?  Balls are what make a man a man.  Since I’m easily three times the man that most “men” are, why wouldn’t I have three nuts? 

So I tried to think of what I should do next.  I thought maybe there was some kind of club for guys like me that only WE know about.  I figured the only way to find out about medicinal issues like this was to go see a doctor. 

When I got to the doctor’s office, I told the broad at the front desk what I was there for.  She was a cute piece of ass, but I could tell she thought she was funny or something, because she did that thing where you have to laugh but you try to stop yourself, so you kind of cough.  I was pissed, but I only hit women if they mouth off to me.  I’m an honorable man.

I sat there for way too long, for probably 10 minutes before they called my name.  I waited in the exam room for probably another 5 before this nerdy sonofabitch came in and asked me what the problem was.

I’ll skip over most of this, because it involves this faggot doctor wanting to see my dick, and even worse, wanting to FEEL AROUND DOWN THERE.  To make a long story short, I tried to knock his queer ass out, but I passed out again.  AGAIN!

When I woke up, some beefy black dude was standing over me, talking about how lucky I was.  He was using a bunch of medical jargon that I didn’t understand any more than he understands the difference between karate and jujitsu.  I was getting pissed, and I told him to use real words and not black doctor street-jive.  Only I didn’t use the word “black” because they were pumping me full of some kind of goof juice.  That must have pissed him off, because he left and shot me a shitty look.  Whatever.  I had a right to be pissed: I still didn’t know what the fuck was going on!

I must have passed out because of the shit they were pumping into me, because when I woke up next it was nighttime.  This other doctor woke me up and started talking about “the surgery.”  Well, my dad told me about these Jew doctors and their bullshit surgeries.  They say they’re taking something out of you, but all they’re really doing is sucking the goddamn cash right out of your wallet when all you really need is some aspirin and a shot of the old redeye.  So I say “I’ll be damned if you think you’re gonna cut me open!”  Then he says “But Mr. Kreese, we’ve already performed the surgery.  Your testicle was cancerous, and it’s almost a miracle that your other one wasn’t malignant as well.” 

I guess I didn’t realize what he was getting at, because I got really pissed and told him that he better not have fucked up my third nut.  He got a really stupid look on his face and said-

You know what?  I’m fucking sick of story time.  Two weeks ago, I was on cloud nine.  I had three nuts, uh…, well I guess really just the three nuts thing.  Now I have one.  One fucking nut.  They cut the other one off because they said it had a tumor on it.  Not a third nut, a fucking tumor. 

Go ahead.  Laugh.  Just remember, if I see anyone so much as crack a smile around me from now on I’ll know why, and I’m gonna kick the fucking shit out of them and piss on their fucking head with my one-nut dick.  Then they can go to the hospital and tell the doctor that they’re bleeding and sticky with piss because of the karate guy with one ball.  Yeah, the cops will really believe THAT. 

It just goes to show you what a bunch of dumbass Jews doctors really are.  No matter how much they say it, nuts aren’t what make you a man.  I kick even more ass with one nut than I did with two. 

 Or three.

Sincerely,

John Kreese

Kreese’s Korner

Hi, everyone.  My name is John Kreese, and I’m the former owner of a successful karate dojo in California.  Now, however, I’m a motivational speaker and life skills coach, and Swampy has asked that I contribute occasionally to his little home page or whatever the fuck this thing is.  So that’s what I’m doing.  I’ll poke my head in whenever I feel like it and let you people know how to be happy, or at least not be fucking wimps. 

Anyway, if you’re sitting on your lumpy ass and reading this, I’m pretty sure we have your first problem figured out.  Wanna know a secret of my trade?  Don’t tell anyone else, it’s absolutely confidential.  Ready? 

IF ALL YOU DO IS LOOK AT INTERNET PAGES ALL DAY, YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO AMOUNT TO SHIT. 

Pretty shocking, huh?  Yeah, I bet you’re sitting in your fatty-modified king-sized desk chair, reading and rereading that last statement over and over again, Cheeto and Jolly Rancher drool collecting in your patchy chin fuzz. 

When I was in my twenties, I traveled the United States and kicked the shit out of people for money.  No, I wasn’t a criminal, I was a Martial Fucking Artist.  I used to stomp on other guys’ nutsacks, go out for some lobster with a nice piece of trim, and 30 minutes later I’d be up to my nuts in the bitch’s guts.  I’m not so young anymore, so I can’t be quite as brash, but I could fuck the shit out of your mom if I wanted to.  The Kreesenator does what he wants, when he wants to. 

Anyway, what the fuck was I talking about?  Computers or something?  Shit, I forgot.  Don’t do drugs, and don’t take shit from anyone.  Unless you’re a pussy, in which case you should probably just take it.  Fighting back isn’t gonna help, it’s probably just gonna piss off the guy who’s already kicking your ass, and make him want to kick your ass more.  You’d really just be better off moving somewhere else, like New Jersey.  I only knew one kid from New Jersey, and he was a massive pussy. 

Sincerely,

John Kreese

Discovered Skull Suggests Human-Neanderthal Link; Partially Explains What The Hell Is Wrong With Those People At Wal-Mart

(Contains excerpts from Randolph E. Schmid’s ABC News story.) 

A skull found in a cave in Romania includes features of both modern humans and Neanderthals, possibly suggesting that the two may have interbred thousands of years ago.

This is welcome news to the small pecentage of Wal-Mart shoppers who previously couldn’t understand why all attempts to communicate with their fellow shoppers were met with grunts and sullen, confused stares. 

The skull was found in Pestera cu Oase the Cave with Bones in southwestern Romania, along with other human remains. Radiocarbon dating indicates it is at least 35,000 years old and may be more than 40,000 years old.  This surprised the team which discovered the skull, as one member said, “I swear, a guy who looked just like this bashed my knee with his cart at Wal-Mart the other day.  Son of a bitch didn’t even apologize.  God, I hate that fucking place.  Why do we buy our supplies there, again?”                           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Retail archaeologist Sandra Collins explained that, for those who otherwise never see what is described as the “lowest tier of the lower class,” a simple trip to a discount store can be a painfully educational experience.  “These ‘people,’ while semi-functional in society, may still not have learned basic human social mores such as bathing, dressing properly, or any speech beyond the most basic of phrases.  For instance, most people understand that if you’re going to stand in the aisle and look at fucking soup cans for 45 minutes, you should probably move your goddamned cart so other people can get around your foul, urine-stinking ass.  These creatures lack that instinct.”

This is easily the most important discovery in retail archaeology since scientists found the remains of an ancient Service Merchandise in Dayton two years ago.  Long thought to be a mythical place, the forgotten retailer now serves as the National Institute of Retail Archaeology’s headquarters.  They also have a snack bar with one of those swirling red and blue Icee machines, which the lady behind the counter will let you sample.  But you can’t, because your mom is convinced that everyone on Earth is trying to poison you.

Swampy’s Retarded Criminals

I don’t know about everybody else, but my favorite part of the newspaper is the hilarious “News of the Weird” or “Dumb Criminals” feature. Why it’s squirreled away in the entertainment section and only printed once a week is beyond me! So for anyone out there like me, who just can’t get enough of those wacky crime stories, I’ve decided to use all the resources at the Chimps Research Department’s disposal to make my own compilation! Enjoy!

Retarded Criminal #1

This stupid Irish fucker thought that he could come to the Greatest Country in the World and steal OUR MONEY!!! Go chomp on a potato, limey! At least I think they can be called limeys… Maybe that’s just the English. Anyway, AMERICA WINS AGAIN!!! Ha ha! Don’t they teach you that you’re not supposed to rob banks in Ireland? Maybe he ran out of gold in his pot at the end of the rainbow! What a retard! 

Retarded Criminal #2

Some stupid-ass bum tried messing with one of our boys in blue, and the cop straight head-butted his ass into the ground! Sure, the officer almost lost his badge, but what do you expect with pussy liberals running the government now? If you ask ol’ Swampy, cops should be able to beat on whoever they want, especially bums! If you’re not doing anything wrong, you don’t have anything to worry about! (Of course, try explaining that to some pot-smoking liberal law professor. Most of them look like bums anyway!) Retarded Criminal of the Day:

Some guy named Hugo Alberto Something-Or-Other-Ez got busted in Iowa for driving a car with 222 POUNDS OF MARIJUANA in it! Hey, stupid! Don’t you know that marijuana is illegal? What a dumbass! What’s he gonna do, smoke it all, like Cheech and Chong? Ha! I think both of those guys would have a hard time smoking that much! I know what you’re saying, the news story says he pleaded “not guilty” to the charges aginst him. HELLO! Look at his name! It’s not like we’re talking about some blue-haired granny here, he’s obviously Mexican! I can’t believe our liberal judges even waste time on filth like this. Transporting that much of an intraveneous drug across state lines, and being MEXICAN! He would go straight to the gallows in Swampytown. What a maroon!

Well, that wraps it up for this episode of Swampy’s Retarded Criminals. Just remember, folks: there are a lot of laws out there! If you break one, you must be a retard!