Archive for Fame

The Truth About Sex Addiction.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 31, 2010 by Buck Frain

So, I finally awoke from my annual turkey-induced Christmas coma to find that my dreams had been shattered. Fuck you very much, God, you fictional fuck! Disillusionment will be the constant companion of the idealist and the romantic and the sad fucking truth of 2010 is that, contrary to my last post, Tiger Woods did not escape for an unapologetic, cashed-up, blokey booze cruise. No! Like a pussy-whipped billionaire soft-cock he checked himself into REHAB for his SEX ADDICTION!!! 

All I can say is FUCK YOU TIGER WOODS YOU PISS-WEAK CUNT!!! I’m sorry folks, sex addiction is not real. Santa Claus, Easter Bunny and the The Tooth Fairy might be for all I know but I’ll tell you 100% sex addiction is a crock of bullshit cooked up three groups of people:

  1. Tight-arse-rich-bastards-sans-integrity trying to minimise the damage of an otherwise costly divorce,
  2. No-sex-getting-loser-douche-bags jealous of the amount of sex other people are getting, and:
  3. Right-wing-churchy-extremists who’d rather everyone think of sexuality as a disease and spend their money in church instead of on good times. 

Don’t believe me, you moaning fucks? Well here’s the real deal: 

  1. We are animals! I know what the book of genesis says but just shove that pile of shit up your arse for one second and look at the less self-aggrandising truth for one cunting moment. We. ARE. Animals. Yes, we’ve got some pretty cool tricks we can do but we are just the latest model chimpanzee.
  2. We are governed by the same rules as all other animals. What this means to the uninitiated is that like any other animal (or plant or fungus for that matter), like any other living thing, our sole purpose for being is to reproduce and pass on our genetic material to another generation. Dress it up anyway you want and take it to church on weekends if it makes you feel better but that is really it. Money? Means to an end! Fame? Means to an end! Lots of degress? Nice house in the suburbs? Playing in a rock band? Virtuous lifestyle helping others? All of them means to the same end – reproduction. Most people mistake this primal drive for a way-more-cool-and-non-freedom-threatening desire for sex but this is just humans over-thinking our own biology and fooling ourselves into believing there’s something more sophisticated going on. There isn’t!
  3. You cannot be ADDICTED to your primary function as a being. You might be able to be addicted to, and even cured of addiction to, a wide variety of things, however, you can’t be cured of being what you are except, that is, by death. 

Sex addiction by definition is completely absurd. Men fuck. It’s the only function we were ever specifically designed to perform. Sucktittygrowfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckdie. That’s the male’s life, the rest is just set dressing – yes, girls, it is that simple and any man who tells you there’s more to it is probably trying to fuck you. I acknowledge that the female life is a little more complex and I certainly won’t presume to sum it up in one sentence, especially seeing as I have my own reason for living to try and protect. 

I’m not saying I don’t believe in love and I’m not saying I don’t believe in marriage or society, however, we need to acknowledge that at least the last two of these are artificial, human constructs. They are flawed and fitting our animal selves into their intellectual sterility seamlessly may require a few more millennia of evolution and/or a rethink of the constructs themselves. In the meantime if, like Tiger, David Duchovny, Michael Douglas and a host of rich-liars-who-can’t-keep-their-dicks-out-of-women-they’re-not-married-to, you have problems with fidelity here are your options: accept it and pay the price …or… stop. There’s no need for a fucking intervention, no need for rehab or therapy, it’s pretty fucking easy, it’s totally fucking binary, fuck whoever you want and deal with the consequences or just fuck who you’re supposed to. The whole notion of addiction here is ridiculous. The only purpose this stupid charade serves is to save money in the divorce settlement by pretending you’re some kind of victim. 

Oh, Your Honour, have pity on me. I just can’t stop fucking all these beautiful women…have mercy on me, I’m the victim here…I just have to have the supermodel threeways…I’m cursed! 

Don’t brag in my court, fucko! Pay the lady for the betrayal and humiliation! 

I am disappointed for men that this is happening. It’s just imasculating for us as a gender. Tiger Woods and all his sex-addicted mates need to man-up and admit it. Yep, sorry baby, I been doin’ a fuckload of fucking. You wanna forgive me in the hope I’ll change  or…would you like to take the cash?

Sure they’d lose a bit of money but they can fucking afford it and what they’re losing in order to save a paltry couple of hundred million dollars is far more precious – manhood. They’re chopping down the proud upstanding cock of their own manhoods in the name of saving money they don’t need. It is so pitifully fucked I’d rather see them euthanased than reduced to such miserable excuses for men! 

If Tiger Woods can’t survive on half a billion dollars and still smile I question whether, despite all the fucking, he really has any balls at all.

11 Shit Things That Make Share-House Living Suck – #9

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2008 by Buck Frain

appetitelarge 

#9. Homebrew, Hydroponics & An Appetite For Self-Destruction.

Welcome to the jungle, we got fun and games…  

 

You’re young. You’re poor. You’re forced into sharing squalid surrounds with strangers. But you’re alive and parent-free and filled with a burning need to fuck and recreationally self-medicate as much of the time as possible, and why the balls not? The world is going to hell and holds little to no meaning, and the possibility of finding a job that you don’t want to top yourself for doing for the rest of you life is miniscule. Your best bet is to have some laughs and destroy as many brain cells as you can in the hope that you’ll stop caring and render yourself able to become a useful member of society. 

Good news: For over 15,000 years people with sod all money or education have been successfully brewing their own beer and getting right off their chops. It’s way cheaper than buying beer and provides you with a feeling of accomplishment whilst freeing up more of your precious cash for hardcore pharmaceuticals.

 

Good news 2: It’s fuckin’ legal!

 

You don’t have to be living with economics students to know brewing your own beer makes good financial sense, shit knows I wasn’t. Our entire house was, for the first time, unified in the mission of brewing and we became a little monk-like for a couple of weeks – checking, obsessing, focusing all our energies on the brew. We bottled and started another brew going. We bottled that and started another. Our cellar grew week by week and we waited for the brews to mature.

 

This enterprise inspired diversification in our endeavours and we constructed a small hydro setup in the ample broom closet and started growing two plants. We were set to become completely self-sufficient in basic intoxicants and we were very excited. The plants grew rapidly aided by a small UV light and numerous very questionable chemicals.

 

Finally, we harvested half a pound of buds once we’d run out of room in our makeshift cellar for bottles. We dried the weed and then chilled down a couple of dozen beers. To try. We tried. Ooh! Success. The beer was a pale lager style beer modeled after Mexican beers like Corona. Except it was about 6.5% alcohol so along with its crisp, refreshing taste and easy drinking body, it had a kick like a mule. The pot stopped time and rendered speech impossible.

weed_pot 

Five months later we were still wasted. We were producing nearly four cartons of beer a week and had to put in a serious effort just to make sure we were drinking that much so as to keep the cellar from increasing. Also, having large quantites of free pot lying about meant that we were smoking bongs incessantly. Someone in the house always had a doobie going or so it seemed and no matter where you’d come from or where you were going someone in the house would offer you a hit. We had endless parties, we invited our friends for barbecues and told them just to bring meat. We were kings. Mad, mad, debauched maniacal kings. Intervention and/or rehab was inevitable.

 

So where’s the cunting problem, Buck, you fuckin’ ingrate? I hear you ask, and well you may.

 

My housemates and I were sitting in the lounge room one evening. We were suitably toasted and idly entertaining the possibility of roping in our chemist mate in to help us make some LSD, a move that might well usher in a golden age in our Kingdom of Lad. We all jumped at the sound of the front door being smashed open. It didn’t come off its hinges but the deadlock tore through the frame and the inner handle punched a hole through the gyprock. I turned to face the sound and saw a flash of dirty denim and ginger goatee before the end of his baseball bat sank into my solar plexus and I crashed to the floor with the fear that I’d never be able to breathe in again. A heavy boot stomped between my shoulder blades forcing my cheek into the roughly finished floorboards. The double barrels of a sawn-off shotgun quickly filled my field of vision. I could hear the distant pleading of my house-mates amongst gruff threats and the sounds of the house being torn apart. My eyes were full of tears and my diaphragm was spasming air in and out of my body in such a way that I felt like a fish drowning in air on the deck of a boat.

…you’re in the jungle, baby! You’re gonna die!!! 

 

I couldn’t get my head around the terrifying reality that I was about to die in a gang related drug den massacre. My mum really didn’t deserve this. The voices were increasingly impatient in their demands and my body refused to let me answer. I pointed desperately to the esky in the middle of the lounge room floor. Calloused fingers flung the lid off the esky and pulled out a garbage bag full of weed. Congratulatory cheers followed. The shotgun withdrew. Another neanderthal returned to the room having found our meager broom-closet greenhouse with the verdict: Nah, it’s bullshit, they’re just cunts! Laughter. Ah well, thanks cunts. Oh, and don’t remember us or we’ll come back and kill yas! More laughter. Exit the bogan horde in a roar of Harley Davidson belligerence.

 

It seemed that despite our relatively small social circle, our friends had regaled their friends with tales of our enterprises and the resultant parties. These tales had been passed on, embellished and degrees of separation had closed until a group of hairy, stinky fucking outlaw bikies had decided to shut down our non-profit crime empire. It also seemed that I’d pissed my pants. Fuck you, near death experiences!

How To Get 1 Million Hits On Your Blog!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 28, 2008 by Buck Frain

The World Is Yours.

Getting one million hits on anything on the internet is fucking easy and if you can’t do it you’re fucking idiot and you should consider having yourself euthanased. Just ask me, I’ve never done it! On the upside I’m not asking you for any money and you’re already here so you might as well hear me out. 

The internet, just like the real world, is full mostly of complete cretins. Brainless fucksticks with about as much imagination as your average carrot. It’s at this point, I’d usually cut sick at the stupidity of humankind for another paragraph or so, but for what we’re doing today human stupidity is a good thing, and you want your million hits so I’ll try to stay on track. 

The way to get hits is to have text in your site that people search for using search engines. The more people search for specific phrases that appear in your site, the more hits you get. Now, you could subscribe to numerous sites or download all sorts of fancy applications that measure search engine traffic in order to find what’s hot right now and help you choose a niche that you can exploit for whatever it is that rubs your rhubarb. Rather than list any of those applications here, I’ll just say: Don’t fuckin’ waste your money! The internet is simple and people are shit. People are online for three main reasons and these never change:

  • Porn
  • Cash
  • Salvation

Dating is also pretty big, but pointless for us, and then way down the list there’s also people doing genuine research or looking for actual information. These people are pretty useless for our purposes because they’re smart and interested in too wide a variety of subject matters, also, we’re really here to get hits, yeah? Fuckin’ yeah! So let’s stick with the three. 

For porn sites you need text like: 

Free XXX, big tits, hardcore fucking, free teen cum sluts, amateur porn pics, lesbian college party, fat hairy bitches, massive cock gallery, tit-fuck, donkey-punch creampie, dirty rim-job, fisting the dentist, gobbing the teacher, anal probe alien, fuck-monkey latinas, asian ping pong pussy, pissing on cops.

Of course if you ad some pictures or videos, some people might come back especially if they’re porn pictures and videos. 

For Cash sites you need text like: 

Free home business, make cash from home, free start-up, make a fortune online, $100,000 per month guaranteed, best online business, retire in one year, lucrative investment opportunity, be your own boss, be a millionaire, earn millions, chance of a lifetime, fully-automated business, no work – huge rewards, have a shit on your boss.

Again the text is all you really need to get the hits but if you want to branch out into actually turning those hits into money, you’ll need to offer some sort of publication and charge for it. The idea isn’t to provide anyone with anything that earns them money, it’s about stringing them along with a sniff of earning potential, getting them to sign up for a zine that has all the answers for a nominal fee like $50 that you’ll refund if it doesn’t work in three months. The zine has to offer vague hints, links and pointers to things they have to buy and lots of encouragement because people who go for this shit are desperate and fragile and need lots of reassurance. This also stops them from giving up and asking for a refund for the first 3 months. You can send them emails containing new links to bullshit products every few days to keep tham thinking they’re getting business coaching. You don’t have to worry about whether it works or not, most people will realise they can’t be bothered trying your ideas so they’ll give up. Yay, free cash for you! Those who do try it may have some degree success which means you win again, and those who try it, fuck it up and want refunds – well, fuck them! 

The salvation sites need text like: 

Fuck this shit, who can be bothered? I mean, you get the idea, don’t you? Blah blah blah. Really, why even bother with the salvation sites, porn and cash are what most people want so stick to that. I just put salvation in because three options look better than two, so find your own fuckin’ words, you lazy cunt! I mean, maybe I’d give you salvation if I was getting something out of it but I’m not and I’m in a pretty bad mood anyway so you should just be happy I’ve been as generous as I have. 

So that’s it! That’s your lesson on how to get 1 million hits on your blog or whatever the fuck else you feel like putting up on the internet. Getting hits is all about bullshit, cheap tricks and usually involves annoying the piss out of everyone you know until they hate you. So in that spirit I’ll ask a favour. No, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, are you really that naïve? I’ll ask that you copy the address of this page and send it in an email to everyone you know, paste a link to it into your Facebook, Myspace or any other webpage you have access to, and tell them all this is the most important thing they’ll read this year and even though you don’t normally pass these sorts of things on, you felt compelled to share this gem with them. Why? Because I want a million hits too, I too am a big sold-out bitch who yearns for the adulation of complete strangers, so do the right thing and don’t let the Buck stop here, pass it on! 

Thanks!

 

Damn! You fuckers will read anything!