Alrighty kids, so I know that The Offended Blogger is officially the place to go when you want to learn how to self torture your testicles, but a recent conversation with an unnamed fellow humor blogger *cough cough HumorSmith cough cough* has prompted me to go in a whole different direction here!

Now, believe it or not, he did not believe that men pay to have their balls waxed.

I know!!,

I mean, it IS common knowledge, right?

Right.

So, unable to stand the thought of someone not knowing the intimate details about this whole underground world of ball waxing going on out there in the real world, this has led me to present to you the following post which includes the proper technique for waxing your balls, because I just happen to know a little something about the topic!

OK, I know what you're thinking, "Chelle B., you are not of the penile persuasion, what the hell do you know about waxing balls?!".

Hey, you may or may not know this, but before I retired early and became a full time offender, I worked in high end spas performing a variety of high end services for those high end f*ckers in our society who have so much f*cking money coming out of their high end asses that they could afford to have someone like me wax it right off for them!

Yep, I'm the one who took these types back to my little Nirvana-like sanctuary room at the spa:


I made a frigging fortune off of them, too!

That's right, I, Chelle B., was (among many other things) a professional Brazilian waxer back in the day and I'm not ashamed to admit it. In fact, I did a whole post about how I made a fortune off of the vain and rich and stupid, or the rich and stupid and vain, or something like that and if I wasn't on my third Crown and Coke tonight, I'd pull it up for you and link it!

Oh, fine, I'm not that drunk but would it kill you to look through my archives once in awhile?

Sheesh!

Some #1 fan YOU are!! I read YOUR archives, ya know.

OK, not really, between you and me, I really only read The Offended Blogger cuz ya know, it kicks ass!

Hooyah!!

Anyhoo, where was I?

Oh yes, how to wax your balls properly!

Believe me, there is a way to do it IMproperly, so take notes!! I mean, we are talking about hot wax in your nether regions, and without proper techinque, well, things can get ugly VERY quickly and I would not want you, my #1 fan, to come back later all bleeding and crying like a little girl, blaming me for your misfortune or, worse yet, sending me the bill from your proctologist:



Especially, you, Mr. Smith, who I'm sure still does not believe me that real men get their balls waxed!!

OK, well, actually, you're right there, real men don't get their balls waxed because real men ride bulls with hairy balls (the men and the bulls I mean) and drink whiskey and hurl into their cowboy hats after the rodeo, but still!!

Between you and me, this is the kind of man who really has their balls waxed, in my mind:



That's right, and I had clients just like that.

Ugh.

And yes, there are even names for the various types of male Brazilians, such as...

The Hitler:

The wedge:


The Troll Doll:


And my own personal specialty, The Krusty:


(Not to be confused with the Crusty which is what rich drag queen hookers ended up with when I was done using DDT and Agent Orange on them just so I could bring myself to touch their nasty asses - ugh!!! I even charged extra for the 12 pairs of latex gloves I piled on before I'd wax them, too!)

Anyhoo, I also worked on body builders, competitive swimmers, male strippers, male (and she-male) porn stars and one or two of these:


Yep, so believe me, I have the skillz and now, without further adeiu, I will tell you all about how to properly wax your balls.

Right after I refill my Crown and Coke.

Oh, and while you wait, you can learn alllllll about the whole process here:

The Male Brazilian Wax

Brazilian wax information site for men

That's right, Mr. Smith, read it and weep!!

Hooyah!!

:)

Chelle B.

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OK, no offense to those of you who just happen to have been born of the penile persuasion, but what the f*ck is up with you guys not wanting to take your women on a decent vacation??

Seriously.

I mean, don't you realize that watching the 2008 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit on Location in San Juan on the 60" plasma or trailing behind you while you slowly make your way down every frigging aisle at the Home Depot does not exactly constitute an actual vacation or a good time for your woman??

Ugh!!

OK, actually I like Home Depot, but still.

In fact, it's one of my favorite stores, please don't tell my husband because I pretend I hate it and I make him feel guilty every time he takes me there just so he'll buy me a latte on the way home.

Hey, don't look at me like that!

I can't help it if I like the Home Depot. :)

Anyhoo, I decided that I am going to plan a surprise escape for myself and my mentally abused and mistreated hubby, who happens to be of the penile persuasion and doesn't have a clue what a real vacation is, (much like the rest of his kind - except Jesus who obviously knows how to vacation!).

Yep, so I've been spending all day searching the net looking for juuuuust the perfect spot for us. OK, I've been doing it for just the last five minutes BUT I've already found quite a few exotic locales that really excite me and hopefully he'll like one of them, too!

Like, for instance, I just loooove me some Vikings, so I want to head to the Baltic and visit the Gotlandic picture stone:


Now, you tell me, isn't that one very cool looking rock??

Hey! It is too!

Ugh.

OK, well, I've always wanted to head down to San Diego when they do those sand sculpture competitions on the beach - you have to admit those are cool:

See!

I told you.

Of course, coming from a military family, if I was down in that area, I'd have to stop over and watch our boys play with their latest bad ass toys:

Hooyah!!

Between you and me, even though I am not of the penile persuasion, I'd totally play with that one all day long if they'd let me!!

In fact, I'd love to have that thing in my front yard just to offend the hell out of my blue-state-transplanted, bleeding-heart, military-hating neighbors!

Yeah, the ones who want to take my guns away and think killing Bambi's parents should be illegal, too!!

THOSE BASTARDS!!!

Oh, heh.

Sorry, didn't mean to take it out on you, where was I??

Oh yeah! I need a vacation - possibly over in California.

Hmmmm, now that I think of it, though, I've been to that frigging blue-state way too many times already and before all that glacial ice is gone, maybe we better head up north and see the icebergs and polar bears before my 8-mile-to-the-gallon monster truck driving, global warming inducing self misses out on seeing the natural wonders that await me up there.

Wonders like this:


Ohhh yeeeeahhhh.

I don't know about you, but I could get into that.

I mean, doesn't nature's art just warm you all over like it does me?? It makes me downright hot, in fact.

Yep, I'm packing my sweaters and mukluks right now.

Then again....

.....I'm kinda dreading winter coming here to Idaho, and freezing my ass off up in the Arctic doesn't sound all that appealing what with the 9 month long, mind-numbing cold headed this way shortly and I've really been wanting to climb some rocks, soooo, well, maybe we could just head down to Arizona or New Mexico, instead!

I hear they have some pretty heart warming natural formations there, too:




Yep, I could scale that thing all day long because rock climbing, well, frigging ROCKS!!

The only problem is, my hubs doesn't particularly like to rock climb anymore, he did plenty of that in the Army so hmm...

...but, he does like to go cave diving though, so maybe I'll compromise and we can go just up the road here to this place and do some spelunking instead:



Of course it wouldn't be nearly as fun for me, but hey, as long as he is willing to take me on a vacation, I'll do whatever it takes to make my man happy. Cuz I am nice like that.

Well, anything except watch that f*cking Sports Illustrated Swimsuit on Location in San Juan on the 60" plasma AGAIN.

Ugh!!!!!

What the hell is so appealing about it anyway??

:p

Chelle B.

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Finally!

After all this time, I finally found Jesus!!

My good friend Bill from I Animate You is on vacation down in Mazatlan, surrounded by half naked Mexican beauties who spend their days bringing him Pina Coladas and rubbing oil on his back, and he sent me this picture of my beloved taco truck guy - who apparently hasn't been deported by the Idaho Fish and Game and Illegal Immigration department OR kidnapped by the Google mafia and is just on vacation down there:

Funny, I remember his um, "little sombrero" being much bigger than that, though.....

:)

Chelle B.

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Please stop over and pay tribute with the rest of the Humor Bloggers...

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So, um, no offense to those of you who have a revolving reservation at Bellevue, but believe me, I am not crazy like you are! OK, technically, I probably am certifiable, and if I spent five minutes with your overpaid psychiatrist he would probably want to give me the padded cell next to yours, but still.

Between you and me, though, I actually questioned my own sanity this morning, because I think I had one of those premonition dreams last night. You know, the kind where you dream about something that is going to happen and then it does?

Seriously, it was weird.

It's happened to me before, actually.

Yep, when I was 12, I dreamed that when I was 14 I was going to run away to San Francisco and meet these really cute Rastafarian guys and they were going to give me this sticky, imported Jamaican "incense" that had been dipped in embalming fluid to smoke and I was going to smoke it and then pass out in the middle of Golden Gate park and then they would take turns...

...heh.

Nevermind. :)

I'd rather not think about that, it all came true but it didn't end well.

For them, anyway.

Hey, I was a lot meaner back then, believe me! I didn't have the restraint I have now and I am just lucky they never found the bodies!!

Anyhoo, in the beginning of my premonotory dream, I was hanging out with my favorite Fatwa friends, who promised they would help me find Jesus because they said that otherwise they'd have to behead me for offending Allah by eating falafels:


I know!!

I love those crazy bastards!!

They are always pissed about something.

Then, it got even better, because all of a sudden, I was behind the wheel of my eco-friendly dream car, and we were all heading down to Mexico to rescue Jesus, with a case of Mescal AND a suitcase full of thousand dollar bills in the backseat:


Hooyah!!

It was great, and we were all having such a good time, sailing along at 120 miles per hour, singing "Oye Como Va", making fun of the Pope, until one of them had to hurl and actually started crying like a little girl and begging for me to pull over.

Ugh!!!

I hate when someone ruins the fun because they can't hold their liquor, especially someone SUPPOSEDLY of the penile persuasion. I mean, what the f*ck??!! I never have to hurl when I drink, so, naturally, I made them throw his sissy ass out the window.

Don't look at me like that.

Yes, I slowed down!

To 75.

A few miles later, I had to hurl, er, I mean, pee so we stopped and I even took a minute to leave my offensive mark on an innocent billboard before I jumped back into my eco-friendly Hello Kitty Prius:



Now that was fun.

But then, things kinda got weird because all of a sudden my Fatwa friends were gone, and in their place were these guys, who I think belonged to some weird, middle eastern religion or something:


Yeeeahhhh.

Oh, believe me, I don't put up with that stuff at all so I threw all their asses out the window, by myself with one hand, while eating a falafel with extra, extra jalepenos, steering with my knee.

Yep, and I didn't even drip any hot sauce on myself, either!!

Then, even though I was headed straight for Tijuana, suddenly, I somehow took a wrong turn and ended up in Boise, which I thought was Mexico (because they look so similar!), and that's where I found my beloved Jesus hiding in what was left of his taco truck:



Of course, he was scared and wouldn't come out, and I started to pry the door open with my bare hands to save him but...

... well, I woke up just then, because those f*cking falafels that Ramin made me last night gave me the heartburn from hell!!!

Ugh.

Hmmm.... I hope it's true that Jesus is just in Boise, with the gas mileage my non-eco-friendly monster truck gets, that isn't too far so maybe I can save him before it's too late.

After I grab some falafels and a case of Mescal, of course!

Remind me not to get the extra, EXTRA jalepenos this time though, alright??

:)

Chelle B.

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So while I try to figure out who the Judas, aka offending party, was that turned that jalepeno scented, sticky "incense" dealing, taco truck driving, 99.9% chance-that-he's-the-real-father of my bastard son over to the Idaho Fish and Game and Illegal Immigration Department, I present you with this commemorative "Caption This" to pass the time.

It is of Jesus (not MY Jesus, mind you, but the other one) and that bastard Judas. (You don't want to know what I think they are thinking hehe):



Have fun and wish me luck!

Chelle B.

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So, ummm, I am really trying not to panic here, but this morning... when I went down to pick up my breakfast.... like I do every morning... instead of seeing the familiar site of my beloved red and white taco truck glistening in the morning dew with smiling school children all lined up in front of it, pooling their pennies and dimes and wrinkled up dollar bills that are supposed to be used for lunch money together to buy some of that sticky, imported "incense" that Jesus sells, this is what I found in it's place:


I know!!

Now, you tell me, WHERE THE F*CK IS JESUS, WHO THE F*CK IS RAMIS, WHAT THE F*CK IS A FALAFEL AND WHY THE F*CK DOESN'T RAMIS OPEN FOR BREAKFAST???

UGH!!!

OK, I know what you're thinking, "Chelle B., yelling at me, your #1 fan, is NOT going to bring Jesus back, and I don't know what the f*ck a falafel is or why the f*ck Ramis doesn't serve breakfast, did you stop to think that maybe it is against his religion? Now shut the f*ck up and get ahold of yourself!!".

Uh.

Wow.

That was a bit, well, offensive don't you think??

Don't make me get my Spongebob Ruger out.

Look, I have a right to be upset! I mean, Jesus said he would always be there for me and apparently he lied because as you can see, he is not here which means that he has probably been deported, which means no more tacos, or extra jalepenos, or sticky "incense", or all night confession sessions that he encourages me to have with him, especially when I am pissed off at my hubby for being so mean to me, which happens quite often, especially when I threaten that if he doesn't do whatever I want I am going to to run off with Jesus for the night and between you and me, I only say it just to piss him off just so I can, well... run off with Jesus for the night!

Hooyah!!

Hey, don't look at me like that, the OTHER Jesus said we aren't supposed to judge anyone, right?!!

Right.

Anyhoo, I hate to say it, but between you and me, it looks like Jesus has, for lack of a better word, forsaken me!

Yeah. Not to mention at least one of my children, who may or may not be his:


I know!! Poor little bastard.

Heh. Lucky for him I keep forgetting to pick them all up from school, because it saves him from feeling abandoned! OK, more abandoned.

But hey, who cares about them anyway?! I'M the one who is suffering and I'M the one who is feeling quite abandoned right now.

And, I'M pretty sure I fed the children the last time I saw them, so I'M probably the only one who didn't get any breakfast this morning!!!

:(

Aww, thanks, I feel sorry for me, too!

You know, I'll never forget the last words Jesus said to me:


OK, so they weren't to me, they were about me, but still.

Deep down I know how he feels and wherever he is right now, I bet he is missing me as much as I miss his tacos with extra, extra jalepenos and all that other stuff!!

Hmmmm, I just wonder who the hell it was that turned him in to begin with?!

I mean, those neo-fascist, IRS funded, green uniformed agents of the Idaho Fish and Game and Illegal Immigration Department don't usually just go knocking on taco truck windows in the wee hours of the morning looking to deport innocent, undocumented "incense" dealers who have my name tattooed on their head and smell of jalepenos without having been tipped off by someone with a vendetta.

Oh, believe me, I am going to do whatever it takes to find out just who it was that Jesus pissed off so I can help get him and his taco truck back where he belongs!

Right after I go back down and see what time Ramis opens for lunch!

Hey, I wonder if his Falafels come with extra, extra jalepenos....

:)

Chelle B.

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You know, no offense to all of you white people, but while I was out there deep in the forest, armed with little more than my bow and arrows, my trusty can of bear/serial killer deterrent spray, feeling like a bad ass warrior chick, I had what we Natives like to call a vision.

Well technically it was after the peyote kicked in that I began to hallucinate, but that counts as a vision in my culture!!

OK, I know what you're thinking, "Chelle B., you can't fool me! You are whiter than a sack of white rice in a snowstorm!".

Hey now, that borders on hate speech. Don't make me call my ACLU certified Jewish lawyer on you, dammit!!

First of all, I may be blond haired and blue eyed and look like a Nazi's wet dream, but in reality I am a Cherokee Indian and secondly, I have quite a sunburn at the moment, thank you very much.

I mean, if you don't believe me that I am not white, just look at this recent picture of my dad, whose real name just happens to be "Little Red Wood Pecker".

We call him Little Red Pecker for short:


See!

I told you!!

Yep, my maternal grandfather was full blooded Cherokee and my paternal grandmother was full blooded Cherokee so that makes me.... well, possibly inbred and at least enough of an Injun that I know why it is that when I drink whiskey I want to kick everyone's ass!

And why I have a hatchet fetish.

And why I want to run naked through the forest with my bow and arrows after smoking peyote while out hunting.

Hooyah!!

Anyhoo, I am even possibly enough of an Injun that I could defect from America, register at the local reservation, get some reparation money, build myself a teepee, take up gambling and maybe, just maybe, even set myself up in a lucrative business selling illegal fireworks to... well, to white people like me!


Now that, my friend, would be a frigging dream life, would it not?

But nooo, instead, I am left to live out here in god-forsaken white America, where I am forced to rely upon the kindness of my true brethren to deliver illegal fireworks and peyote to me every couple of weeks:



But, you know, if I ever really found the nerve to claim my real heritage, I'd also have to accept that sad reality that my illegal firework and peyote dealing people are to blame for a lot of injustices that happened in the not so distant past.

Things that white people take the blame for to this day.

Don't give me that look, it's true!

In fact, if you really want to get technical, my people are the ones who should be paying reparations to the black people, among others, right now:



That's right.

If my people wouldn't have been so damn stubborn and just given up early on, they'd have survived and been enslaved, instead of the poor Chinese and Irishmen and Gypsies and...


Personally, I think they knew exactly what they were doing. They wanted us white people to take the rap. My people are very cunning, you know!!

But, if the truth is ever revealed, and I ever did claim my place on the local rez, we both know that I would be forced to give Haji from India or Tyrese from Compton or Chow Ling from Boise my illegal fireworks business, and that would really frigging piss me off!!!

So maybe I am just better off being white after all.

At least I can still smoke peyote and run naked through the forest with my bow and arrows and pretend I am a bad ass Cherokee warrior chick, right?

Right!

:p

Chelle B.

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Hey! A fellow humor blogger needs your help!!

Don't make poor ettarose suffer with a Feedburner readership of -6! Click over and visit her and while you are there, be sure you subscribe to her funny blog - after all, an RSS feed is a terrible thing to waste...

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So no offense to all of you sissy bastard boys and girls who live in the city and would rather eat that red dye and hormone injected, steroid infested, doesn't-wash-after-going-#2 undocumented, overpaid, slaughter-house-slave infected grocery store "meat", but by this time tomorrow, I, Chelle B., will be deep in the thick woods of North Eastern Idaho doing this:


Well, except I'll have on camo and will be hiding out high up in my tree stand, covered in deer urine.

That's right, I DO hunt my own meat with my badass Bowtech compound bow, and let me tell you, I am a damn good shot.

Don't give me that look, YES, hunting is STILL legal, and NO hunting is NOT all that evil.

OK, I know what you're thinking, "Chelle B., please, just don't tell me you that are a... a.... Bambi killer!!".


Yes. I. Am.

Well, technically, by law I can only kill Bambi's parents, but still.

Look, I can't help it that Bambi's daddy and mommy are mighty tasty!! Especially when they are slow roasted over an open flame with some home made, secret ingredient wild game seasoning rubbed all over it.

Yummmm...

.... and Hooyah!!

Heh.

Between you and me, Bambi is pretty damn tasty, too, but don't tell the Idaho Fish and Wildlife I said that!!

Believe me, all meat tastes much better when you know that your very own 100 grain broadhead pierced the heart and/or lung of your prey, and that your own hands stripped away it's flea bitten fur and you yourself ripped out its guts and...

...hmmm, OK so that part kinda turns my stomach too, but hey, I don't mind shooting them. As far as the skinning and gutting part, well, that's what men are for which is why I am lucky to have a few of them with me when I hunt!

Yep, unlike all those other pansy ass states (one of which you probably live in!), men here in Idaho still enjoy gutting and skinning the local fauna for us womenfolk.

Some of them REALLY enjoy it, if you know what I mean:



Yeeeeeaaaaahhhh.

But hey, I don't judge anyone, it is a long standing male tradition here to have a bit of a deer fetish.

It is ingrained in our lifestyle here, much like harassing tourists, riding bulls, growing potatoes and diddling sheep!!

Er, I mean, picking wildflowers.

Yeah, they still do that for us womenfolk!

Anyhoo, don't be jealous and don't go all PETA on me while I'm gone. Oh, and don't worry, I'll even save a big fat steak just for you:



;)

Chelle B.

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???

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That's right, to celebrate my 214th post here, I have invited Crotchety Old Man to do my very first Guest Offender post.

He recently mentioned over on the humor bloggers forum that he has a variety of offensive smilies and emoticons that, (and I quote), "They are pretty offensive, with absolutely no redeeming social values."

Well! Where better to showcase them than here, right?!

Right.

Hooyah!!

So I proudly present to you... my 1st guest blogger with his special offensive smiley story:

Smilies are the hardest working dudes in the online messaging business. We use them every day, yet few of us know of their lives outside of work. Here’s a chance to get to know one just a little bit better.
Meet Bob.

Most smilies are named Bob or Dave.

Usually, Bob just relaxes at home on his days off

but this time, Bob decided to hang with his pal, Dave.

The first thing they did was head over to the Dew Drop Inn to quaff a few adult beverages.


They met a few young ladies,

But Bob and Dave, weren’t the smoothest operators around, so they headed off to a Canadian donkey show.



By now, Bob was and Dave was also a bit



Well, one thing led to another, and suddenly Dave

Well, Bob was buthe didn’t leave.

So Dave suggested they wrestle, as guys are wont to do.
Bob was quickly pinned, when Dave decided to kick it up a notch and Bob.

After a few more homo-erotic buddy antics , the boys headed back to the bar.

And there she was, the smilie woman of his dreams.

Bob felt this was meant to be. He introduced himself, and she whispered her name, Sally.

She went back home with him.
It quickly became obvious to Sally that Bob knew little of the ways of love.


However, she was a willing teacher,

and Bob was a student who wanted to learn.



And he learned quickly.
She wore him out.
After a quick snack Sally said she wanted to take Bob to a special place. Bob would follow her anywhere because .

She asked him to put on his brown shirt and take her to an abandoned bowling alley on the outskirts of town.

There they met many friends, who all looked similar and familiar, but he could not place them.

All his new friends said it was time to get dressed for the ceremony.

Bob wasn’t dressed for but they said it was ok.

They had extra robes for him. Bob was happy.

He helped his new friends get dressed.

They then went to the ceremony.


It didn’t end how he expected.

Bob’s big day off ended with a bang.



Nah, that’s a sad way to end this tale.

He went to watch the Olympics.

The ones for extra special athletes.

THE END!!

OK, everyone... GIVE IT UP FOR CROTCHETY!!!

No offense, but this may be my best post ever. ;)

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Soooo you know how women all seem overly paranoid and obsessed about the local sex offenders in their area?

Yeah, I don't get it either.

I mean, what exactly is the problem??

Hey, I know when I bought my house, my first priority was finding out whether or not there were going to be enough sex offenders within close proximity to me.

Hey, don't give me that look, I'm serious! I mean, it technically isn't cheating on Jesus or my hubby if I am the wink-wink "victim", right?

Right!

Honestly, you tell me, why is that people always ignorantly assume that all sex offenders look like this anyway:

Or this...



Or even worse, like this...



I know for a fact that it just isn't the case 99% of the time!

OK, fine, maybe in places like Indiana and Ohio that's what they look like, but here in Idaho, we are lucky to have the cream of the crop with our uber sexy, incredibly handsome sex offenders!

I mean, just take a look at MY local brutes...

...oh, and please, try not to be jealous or drool all over my blog, dammit:

I know!!

I told you!!!

OK, so they don't look so hot in their sex offender registry database pics, but hey, I give them the benefit of the doubt.

Yep, I just know that they really look like this:




Hooyah!!

..............
.....................
.............................

Oh!

Sorry, heh.

I was drooling there for a moment.

Anyhoo, you'll have to excuse me now while I go remove all of the dead bolts from my doors and take the windows completely out.

Oh, and I also need one of these signs for my front yard:


Hmmmm.... I hope it's the kilt guy who comes first to OFFEND me.

I am such a sucker for men in kilts. (Just ask Don Lewis!)

Hooyah again!!

:p

Because I am already bordering on whoremongering, I may as well entice you further to visit Humor Bloggers dot com - it's where we pimp out the funny bloggers! ;)

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?????

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Soooo the other day as I was minding my own business, casually perusing Google images with my strict filtering disabled, I was not only disappointed to not find what I set out for, but my innocence was completely torn away from me and my psyche was irrevocably damaged as I was introduced, against my will, mind you, to the rather offensive and seedy underworld of clown porn!

I know!

It was disturbing!!

I mean, all I wanted was to see pictures of the Joker naked:


Don't look at me like that, I can't help it if I am drawn to psychopathic, scar faced, evil villains with ugly shoes and fancy, colorful socks!

That really isn't the point, though.

As I said, I am now damaged goods and no amount of therapy will ever reverse the catastrophic impact that clown porn had on me.

In fact, I am thinking of calling my Jewish lawyer to sue those Google bastards on my behalf. I may even take it to Judge Judy, she would totally rip them up one side and down the other!

I mean, how dare they make such filth available for the likes of me to spend twelve hours a day looking at.

Ugh.

OK, I know what you're thinking, "Chelle B., clown porn isn't that bad, is it? It sounds rather fun if you ask me!".

Oh, believe me, you do NOT want to Google it without your strict filtering on, there are some pretty freaky people in the clown porn world, with some even freakier fetishes!

Such as fat ugly man clown bondage fetishes...


...and rubber chicken fetishes....


....and hairy underarm fetishes...


...and gay punk rock clown fetishes:


...and old lady clowns with phallic balloons fetishes:

...and good God I don't even want to know what she is eating because it reminds me of that whole two girls and one cup fetish fetishes:


...and the worst one of all...


...stealing candy from little kids fetishes!

Honestly, I could have went through the rest of my life perfectly happy never knowing such debauchery exists, but alas, it is too late and my Jewish lawyer will now have ample opportunity to finally sue those Google bastards for destroying my innocence.

When I get my settlement money, I am opening a rehab center for former clown porn stars and clown fetish addicts.

Well, or I might buy a new bikini, bigger tires for my monster truck and hit Vegas.

Hooyah!!!

:)

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First it was the inquisition, then the influenza, and now... this??

BEIJING - Pau Gasol has apologized, saying the Spanish basketball team never meant to offend anyone. Point guard Jose Manuel Calderon wrote on his blog that the gesture, fingers pressed against their eyes, was meant as an "affectionate" message for the Chinese people.

Lucky for those Spaniards that the Chinese are forgiving, because between you and me, they could easily kick the crap out of Spain.

Although...

...they might not be as ready to play nice when they see what our boys did: