A Surprise Party for Jesus

Hey Piglets,

I know it's been a long while... and some of you are probably going to give me the silent treatment. I just haven't had anything to say... until now.

I work for a company who does things a little differently. Many companies use the November/December holiday season as an excuse to have a big Christmas party. Lately, they've been calling them year-end parties or holiday gatherings but we all know it's a Christmas party. Sorry Jews your savior hasn't been born yet and the Muslims didn't successfully commandeer a winter solstice from the pagans to celebrate the birth of Mohammad. It's not a slight against your religion; it's just that the excuse for the party is based on a virgin and her baby. Fucked if I know how a virgin had a baby -- I'm not a doctor.

This year, my company is having our year-end celebration tonight (September 16) or as I like to call it; A Surprise Party for Jesus.

[Jesus wanders into a dark room]
God: Let there be light!
Large Crowd: Surprise.
Jesus: Holy shit! You guys. What's all this for?
Large Crowd: Haaa-py birthday to you, happy birthday to you...
Jesus: What the holy hell, my birthday isn't until December.
God: Son, your 2006. We know you'd never expect this in September.
Jesus: You know I hate surprise parties. That last one really didn't work out so well.

The last time Jesus had a surprise party, 12 of his friends sprung for a big meal and hired a painter. (They didn't have camera phones 2000 years ago).

Hostess: Jesus, party of 13.
Judas: I am gonna' get trashed and kiss Jesus on the mouth.
Paul: I fuckin' dare you.

Long story short, 13 guys get pissed on free "water" and Jesus ends up in the drunk tank and is nailed to a cross.

This time we hope our little surprise party goes a little better. The company is supplying free taxis for everyone to ensure we get home safe this time.

Consumerism... Fuck, Yeah!

Hello Piglets,

I love stuff. In the last seven days I've bought a CD (Joel Plaskett Emergency, La De Da, A DVD (Sarah Silverman, Jesus is Magic) and most recently a graphic novel (Will Eisner, A contract with God.

Whoever says things don't make you happy is a liar -- and I'll fight you if you disagree. All these things have made me very happy. The Cannibal and I can sit around, drink beer (another tasty consumer good) listen to Plaskett kick ass on the Hi-fi and watch Sarah make fun of the Chinese -- don't worry she makes fun of blacks, jews and Puerto Ricans too. Luckily I'm a white, non-denominational male and am sparred her wrath. I guess I'll just have to live with being dead inside, while buying into a bourgeois culture... fuck, yeah!

Next week, look forward to me buying Lost Girls by Alan Moore. It's a porno shielded behind the friendly veil of a comic book. It comes out on Wednesday, but I'm savvy, bourgois, consumer driven, porno hungry, white guy. I'll order it online to save 30%.

"What the cock is that shit?"
- Sarah Silverman

fin

Exploring My Inner Bigot

Hello Piglets,

I have bigot inside me just screaming to say something, but luckily I've been properly trained by society not make racist comments at inappropriate times.

I first recognized this urge a few weeks ago.

Me: What did you do this weekend?

East Indian Guy: I went camping with the kids.

Me: Sounds fun.

My Brain: Brown skinned people don't camp, unless they're in a refugee camp.

See, in my head East Indians don't camp 'cause I've never seen it unless it's a news story on tent city in a third-world country. This, of course, is fucking stupid of me -- but it was my first thought. The East Indian fella' in question has an English accent, so camping is still a culture shock, but only because British people only drink tea, eat scones and start soccer riots and don't know what to do in the bush.

Another stupid thought hit me today. An Asian guy took a drink from something he'd never tried.

Asian Guy: That's delicious.

Me: [silence]

My head: Ah so, de-ri-sh-us.

That last one's a lie... but it certainly proves I have an inner bigot. The Asian guy did say "delicious" though, but with a perfectly honed, third-generation Canadian accent. Shit, he can even play hockey -- which is something I can't do -- who's the Canadian in that picture. However, nobody says delicious anymore, unless you're marketing a new product. What the hell.

Me: Try this.

Cannibal: That's delicious.

Me: Fag.

Cannibal: I mean... that's fuckin' good.

Me: You're still a fag.

Summary: I'm a bigot, nobody uses the word delicious anymore, the Cannibal is a fag. I'll try to be a better person in the future.

Happy Anniversary

Hello Piglets,

Mrs. Dark Pig and I just celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary... and we've never had a fight. Except for when I'm being a "dumb ass"... or when her sister's being a "bitch"... or I won't "pull my head out of my ass"... or when she "just won't shut-the-fuck-up". Ah bliss.

I am, of course, kidding. We fight -- when I was little my mom called them disagreements.

Little Dark Pig: Are you and Daddy fighting?

Mom: We're having a disagreement.

Little Dark Pig: Can I have some money?

Mom: Here, go play with your friends.

Our disagreements have been few and far between and they are generally the type had by the upper-middle class.

1. I notice she hasn't spoken to me for, like, two days


2. I ask why


3. She says nothing


4. I go hang out with a friend


5. Still no talking


6. I ask why


7. She tells me


8. I disagree


9. She cries


10. I get angry and go see a friend

But this has only happened about three times, which is pretty good for five years. Although, there were a few good "disagreements" before we got married.

It's been a good five years. We met as adults. I didn't think we'd grow-up together, but it feels that way. Think about the person you were five years ago and how your outlook on life has changed and how you deal with things. Long story short, I still feel like I'm my on person but I'm a better person for being with her.

So there you have it... five years of marriage in 300 words or less.

The Price of Edible Oil Products

Hello Piglets,

I was eatin' desert and was about to put whipped "topping" on my apple crisp, when I started wondering... how come the price of gas has more than doubled, but I can still get a can of an edibile oil product for the same price as I always have. Sooner or later I figured the price of real whipped cream would be the same price as a can of the no-name shit we normally buy... but no. The price of dairy is still higher than the price of edibile oil. What the hell?

The next war we have should be over the price of milk products. I like cheese. I have two choices when I buy... tasty, tasty herbivore-based cheese or shitty, makes you sick oil-based cheese. War for Cheese... watch [sic] it Switizerland... we're gonna' kick your ass and steal your cows. (And maybe Swiss Miss -- she's a peach)

Anyway, if anyone can tell me why plastic shit I buy at Wal Mart keeps gettin' cheaper and the price of gas keeps gettin' higher I'd appreciate it.

Thanks,
Pig

Dear Art Fag

Hello Piglets,

You are the first to read my open letter to Internet poets.

Dear Art Fag,

cold black
like the frost bitten testicle that has grown rancid over time
shhh...
cold
shhh...
hickory dickory dock
time ends
why

Fuck you Art Fag. Just 'cause I think you write pretentious shit doesn't mean I'm wrong.

I know, you can't afford an apartment, you freeze your dick off and now you can't fuck.

[sfx one man clapping in back of the theatre]

Regards,
The Dark Pig

You see piglets somehow the Internet has become a personal publishing ground for people less cool than my readers -- and fellow writers. Someone taught art fags to use computers and now the Internet is littered with bad poetry. This wouldn't be so bad if there weren't so many sensitive fucks supporting this shit.

Sensitive fuck: Golly Dolphin143... that was incredible.

Dolphin143: Thanks, it comes from the pain within me.

God dammit geeks... I remember a time when we would have flamed a fucker like dolphin143. Now, he'd call his ISP on us and we'd be the one's in trouble. Well it's time to take back the Internet.

The next time you have a minute, I want everyone to go get kicked out of a Christian chat room for being too horny ('cause the Internet is for porn) and visit an online poetry site and misinterpret something on purpose, but intelligently, and see how many people fall for it.

Fuck you Art Fag. Get off my Internet.

Child Friendly

Hello Piglets,

Piglets: Holy shit! He's back. Everyone gather 'round. I bet he's got one hell of good yarn to spin.

Dark Pig: Nope... just been lazy.

Piglets: Aw... Fak!

So, I'd ramble on about the weekend with the boys a few weeks ago, but it seems like old news now, so I guess I'll skip it. Sorry, there was some good stuff -- but too many days have passed.

Anyway, since then I was on another camping trip. I went with Mrs. Dark Pig and some friends. We're at the age now that our friends have kids. We have a dog. It's not the same. Camping with a dog is something like this. Tie dog to tree, get drunk, roast hots dogs, throw a few hot dogs to actual dog-- everyone is happy.

With kids it's all, like:

you wanna' beer?

Nope, I gotta' breast feed.

C'mon Greg, you can have one.

(in distance)
WAAAA! I just ate a rock and now my teeth hurt.

Long story short, I had a good time -- but it ain't like with "the boys".

And another thing, the Urban Cannibal got me hooked on premium beers. I used to be happy drinking fucking Coors Light. I knew it was shit, but I just didn't drink the good stuff on purpose so I wouldn't know any better. Over the last few months he slowly poinsoned my pallette with the expensive shit. I brought Coors Light camping 'cause Mrs. Dark Pig likes it, anyway I learned something about myself. I don't. I still drank it -- but I didn't like it.