[Bloggers note: I will be regularly adding new quotes to this list]
- I don’t believe we should outlaw leaf blowers. I just think they should be manufactured with the exhaust tube aimed at the user’s face.
- I always question authority, even if its only to ask Authority where the keg is located.
- Sometimes I want to put my arms around the world and hug it but I can’t because the coral reef would shred my armpits.
- Have you ever tried to cut off an off-duty bartender? It’s like taking a banana away from a baboon.
- Yeah, um, no, I’m telling you, you teach your kids to curse. Tell them, “Children, go forth and curse righteous! But remember, like everything thing else in this world, foul language is best delivered in moderation. Use your four-letter words sparingly. And don’t forget to mix it up. Don’t just use the F-word, use the S-word, too. And the P-word, and the A-word. Remember to use all the delightful nuggets in the J-word series, and D-words, and even the B-word, though never against women, unless they are total C-words."
- Special Skills and Qualifications: Have served tequila to an African Lord, got scolded by B.B. King, made out with Wendy O’Williams, and saw Moby’s tiny, hairy ass in the dressing room of 4th and B. I played kazoo with the Beat Farmers, floundered in the city drunk tank, been kicked out of numerous bars including the Bambi Club in Tijuana. I have vomited on a lady, fell off a total of three barstools, broke up fourteen fights, and received one DUI. I was arrested in Mexico for possession (twice), mugged at gunpoint in New Orleans (once), bribed a Mexican Federali (thrice), and out-drank Country Dick Montana (once). I rarely ever short-pour, never roller blade, and don’t believe in good and evil. I have never owned a pair of Spock ears but think Star Trek is cool. I take drugs, drink booze, and view porn. I don’t give a good-goddam about religion, nor race and certainly not Creed. Scott Stapp makes me nauseous. I believe rock stars should never close their eyes and raise tightly-clenched fists when they sing, I believe columnists should not place pictures of themselves at the tops of their columns (unless in character). . .
- If you keep making too many laws to protect the children, we'll all end up like Michael Jackson – living with llamas, and zebras and carousels inside a compound called Complete and Utter Disassociation with Realityland.
- It’s just pot people! It’s just pot, it’s just pot, it’s jut pot! Please people please. It’s only pot. We’ve been smoking it for centuries, we’ll smoke it centuries more. It's just pot!
- ...because her's is no ordinary menstrual cycle. It is a menstrual cyclone.
- You said it, you meant it, don't apologize for it – whatever it was.
- Our idea of what words are taboo and what words are not are often based on arbitrary, illogical knee jerks. Take the phrase "colored person" which is widely recognized as offensive. However the phrase "person of color", which is the same phrase except in the passive voice, is still used without condemnation.
- I hate these so called "Family" organizations. You know, like the "Defense of Family Group." All you have to do is include the word “family” in your organization’s name or website, like Focus on the Family or American Family Association, it gives you instant credibility. For instance, Families for Bombing France doesn’t sound all that nefarious, Families for Kicking Puppies makes you wonder if those puppies weren’t asking to be kicked, and I guarantee the White Aryan Resistance would double their membership if they ever changed their name to Families for Sending Blacks Back To Africa.
- This war that follows me to work, that follows me to bed, it follows me to the bar -- like a leper in a sauna -- this war has become unignorable.
- If you’re like me, you buy new music CDs because you’re looking for that certain, special feeling when you listen to them. An internal response that is greater than the sum of its musical parts. Such as the first time you heard Zach De La Rocha blaring, “Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me!” and you felt like you just got whacked in the head with a brick, and your heart, and your lungs, and your guts, and every cell, every vein, every single pore in your body shuts down causing you to fall on your back and convulse on the living room floor. That's what good rock and roll does to me.
- Am I the only person in America who thinks Lee Greenwood's catchy patriot song, "God Bless the USA," belongs in The American Music Hall of Complete and Utter Bullshit?
- A beer garden is a corral. It’s a prison cell. It’s a cage with inadequate bars. A beer garden is no more a garden than Madison Square. It’s lines to get in and lines to get carded, and lines to buy pre-poured beers that are halfway to warm by the time you dish out $7 for it. A beer garden is nothing but a holding pen some 18 miles from the nearest stage and boasting all the aesthetics of a concrete vagina.
- Pope John Paul never even had an email address. No email! How can you be an effective leader of over a billion Catholics across 5 continents without email? Oh sure, the Vatican finds it necessary to erect golden palaces, and keep ivory statues, and gaudy robes, and a fleet of 20 Popemobiles – but free hotmail?? “Nah, don’t need that cyberdevil in our lives. We prefer the smoke signal technology instead. You know, white smoke means ‘We have a Pope’ and black smoke means ‘We don't have a Pope yet,’ and blue smoke means, ‘Popemobile burning oil – send mechanic quick.’”
- Conclusion: I don't blame Christians for screwing up our government. I blame our government for letting Christians screw up our government. It’s not religion’s job to stay out of politics. It’s religion’s job to weasel its way in, to seep in by whatever cranny they can. And they do a damn good job of it. Which is all the more reason our government absolutely must strive to keep religion as fucking far the fuck away from government as humanly fucking possible.
- In the beginning was The Word, and The Word was the Word of God, and The Word is The Bird, and everybody’s heard about The Word.
- The To-Do List of the newly appointed Pope Benedict XVI:
10) Have driver’s license changed from “Ratzinger” to “Benedict.”
9) New rims for Popemobiles.
8) Remodel Vatican dungeon. Replace damaged or rusty torture devices.
7) Remove phone taps and other secret listening devices from Ozzy Osbourne’s home [Can’t understand what he’s saying anyway].
6) Sign up for free email. See if Asskicker_vicar@hotmail.com is still available.
5) Produce a child molestation awareness video to be viewed by all incoming priests. Possible title: Father McDoogan Has Naughty Feelings.
4) Apply for Papal discount at Wal-Mart
3) Shackle Cardinal Law to newly painted dungeon wall. Let rats eat his toes.
2) Install phone taps and secret listening devices in Dan Brown’s apartment. Reuse old bugs from Ozzy’s pad.
1) Look into this AIDS thingy everyone keeps talking about. See if leeching doesn’t help. - We are fed up with all these rotten kids; these tantrum throwers, these dinner and movie-ruiners; all these punchers and kickers; all these droolers and petty thieves; all these insensitive comment makers (“Daddy, why’s that lady so fat?”); all these belchers and barkers, these mess-makers, these crayon vandals – all of them should be handcuffed and left in a sound proofed rubber room until they learn the most valuable lesson in life: that a tantrum will get you nowhere in this world so stop your blubbering and eat your slop.
- The mere fact that Oprah puts herself on the cover of every one of her magazines is all you need to know about her credibility: No actors, no poets, no scientists nor inventors ever appear on the cover of O. No entrepreneurs, nor chemists. No oceans, no deserts, no landmarks ever may grace the cover of this magazine. No airbrushed hotbabes no regular Joes. No gardens, no patios, no fancy kitchens, no decked out decks. No cars, no bikes, no planes. No surfers. No skaters! No MC Genius’s nor Eddie Van Shreddies. No Sergeants, no Majors, no minors; no privates or special ops cops. No Princes, no Queens, no Kings, or Kongs. No nothing, yes nothing in this world apparently is as fascinating as the infinite ways in which Oprah Winfrey can strike a pose.
- I have a friend who went nuts. He became a born-again Christian who had conversations with God. One day he told me the Lord had instructed him to burn his records, which he did in the woods behind his house. I watched as he tossed the albums onto the bonfire and the curly black smoke lifted to the sky.
“Rock ’n’ roll is the work of Satan,” he said, and if I knew then what I know now I would have replied, “So is burning black plastic into the atmosphere dickhead.” - I don't really care if they teach intelligent design in schools. So long as it doesn’t interfere with the primary function of education – to keep children incarcerated for as long as possible.
- At best, Hasidic Jews treat women like they are second class citizens. At worse, like diseased whorehouse gerbils that were once stowed in certain customer’s assholes.
- So no Jim, I’m not an anti-Semite. I do not think there is a Jewish conspiracy. I believe in Israel’s right to exist. If Jews really do run Hollywood, I don’t care. Ditto banks. I believe in the holocaust and the current official death toll. I don’t think Jews are cheap, but if so, I don't care. It is their prerogative. I never make derogatory statements like, “You Jewed me out of my money.” And even though I know it’s considered wrong to say “Some of my best friends are”... I don’t care. Some of my best friends are Jewish. When did saying so become a bad thing? Oh and guess what? My bride – she’s a Jew. Every Passover, I go to her parent’s house, put on the yarmulke, orate quotes from the Haggadah, break matzah and feel no guilt about it whatsoever because nobody in my wife’s family shits on women.
- Desertion can be a brave and noble act. When the war is immoral a true warrior must oppose it.
- Actually, Ignoramicus, we are not a democracy. We are a federal republic. A democracy is three spoons and a fork voting on whether to have soup for dinner.
- There is nothing about Ann Coulter that could be confused with “attractive.” Her smile lines look like the Riddler's. She is malnourished, pasty-faced, and appears as though the staple of her diet is actual staples. Her long, straight, bony blonde hair falls limply upon her neck and shoulders like the tumbling dead body of a sniper being shot off a roof. She’s got a little Adams crabapple that zings up and down her neck when she gets excited. And when she argues her slimy, thin lips flap wildly against each other like humping worms. Oh Hell no, I would not fuck Ms. Coulter with Alan Colmes’ vagina.
- Becker also said that parents should, “Stop drinking in front of their kids,” and I ask you, when oh when does a parent need a drink more than when in the presence of one of those insufferable me-me-me midgets?
- Americans are always offended by something or another. It's the national pastime. We’re offended by pornography. We're offended by flag burning. We're offended by raunchy lyrics. We're offended by anti-war slogans. We're offended by religious, ethnic and sexual slurs. Doesn't it just seem that Americans go through there whole lives in a state of constant, "I'm offended"?
- It's amazing the miles of justification you can still get out of saying, "for the children." It's such a tired justification, it has even become cliché to bag on how tired it is.
- Is our government so ignorant they don’t know that it’s impossible to separate music and drugs? Even if we could, would we really want to? I don’t think I could live in a world without “Heroin” or “Waiting for My Man” or any of the other smack-addled songs written by the Velvet Underground. I couldn’t live in a world where every Beatles tune sounded like “Love Me Do.” I couldn’t live in a world that never saw Grace Slick at Monterey shrieking, “Feed your head, feed your head” like a witch emerging from Satan's cunt.
- Mission Statement/Job Description: I, Ed Decker, do hereby swear to report to you, with vino and vigor, all that is vile or absurd in this world. I promise to twist the corkscrew of contempt into the flaking cork of social disrepair. I promise to sear, bruise, and muddle the egos of the egomaniacal – including my own. I promise to stumble drunkenly along the line between depravity and decency. I promise to spike the status quo with shots of 100-proof dissent. I promise to always question authority – even if it’s only to ask Authority where the keg is at. I promise to write only the truth, except if I need to lie, in which case I promise to lie as truthily as possible. (I never actually kissed Wendy O’ Williams). And I promise to never shake or chill or in any other way dilute my resolve with the ice cubes of mediocrity. Welcome to Club Sordid Tales, what’s your poison?
Comments (1)
Nice Typewriter!
Posted by Benny | October 6, 2007 11:34 AM
Posted on October 6, 2007 11:34