All blogs are works of gonzo journalism and should not be regarded as truth; they are but entertainment.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Fernando Flores' Journal Reads More Like A Babysitter's Diary; Britney Spears Farts, Bodyguard Crumples

Note:  The following entry is a copy of Fernando Flores' self-edited diary entry.  All cross outs are taken directly from the original text, as apparently Mr. Flores has taken to self censoring himself for his upcoming lawsuit of Britney Spears.  All crude drawings were added by Mr. Flores himself and have been X'd out in attempt to further censor himself and facilitate the image that he is in no way just a bitter man looking to get some cash out of an ugly cash cow.

Dear Diary Journal,

The life of 'professional bodyguard' is a pretty tough one, filled with danger and the very real chance of getting seriously hurt.  You would think a job description like that would be exciting, but mostly its fucking boring. Mostly you play babysitter to some snot who's only famous because people in general are infinitely retarded.  It can be a pretty glamorous lifestyle too, but also like I said, pretty damn boring.  With celebrities its mostly tight lipped limo drives and picture signings and self-promotional bullshit.  Its always the same procedure, there are fans and psychos and creeps and its your job to pick them out and act accordingly. Sometimes you make the right choice, sometimes you don't. But still, its boring. That is unless you've got some horrible client that's a real target or seems to be public enemy number one. Or unless you get a prima-donna, or even worse, a farter.

So yeah mostly its boring.  I hate to repeat myself so much, but I'm a bodyguard, my job is repetitious, and as such so am I.  My life in fact is run on repetition, I often feel like a kite tethered to the ground that's drawn so tight I can only go in circles.  Its so bad it runs my social life, the way I talk to other people, and renders my writing rather cyclical.

To keep with this theme I'll get back to the farter.  You see Ms. Spears was a constant farter.  I can't stand farts.  If during that time with her she was to ever be attacked by Howard Stern she would have been fucked, probably literally too.  I wouldn't go anywhere near that fart factory.  In fact they'd be perfect together. But nonetheless, other than her constant farting she often picked her nose in front of everybody {editors note: no papparazi photos provide evidence of this} and generally smelled.  She didn't bathe often enough for me, or for an entire flight of people traveling from LA to New York for that matter.  Perhaps when she called herself toxic she was referring to her anal leakage. . . She didn't brush her teeth sometimes for days at a time, she smelled like cigarette smoke all the time, was generally mean to me (I don't have a 'tough outer skin' okay?) and besides, she had horrible fashion sense.  I mean, gurl, really?  Like her purses wouldn't ever match her outfit.  Ever. . .  And sometimes the way she would wear her hair was just so. . . ugh. . .

It was so traumatic I filed a sexual harassment suit against her.

JOURNAL
Look diary^, look at her fart!

A lot of people think I'm just trying to get money out of her.  But they're wrong diary.  I endured a lot of emotional damage when I was working with that woman.  To see a woman like that fart and burp was disgusting, I just couldn't take it.  Besides, that wasn't the worst of it.  One night she showed up in a completely see-through white dress.  She had a cigarette in her hand and was smiling at me innocently, to trick herself into believing she didn't know she was practically already completely exposed. She walked over diary, and dropped her cigarette and bent over to pick it up. . . exposing herself to me. . .

Teeth diary, teeth.

She'd get naked and ask for 7up.  She'd perform sex acts in front of me. She would have sex and make such a noise, such a ruckus, I was sure she was doing it just to get me jealous. . . But I aint the jealous type. . .  Not with her anyway.

But it other news my time away, and my experience with Britney has taught me something.  A bodyguard's life isn't one for me.  Sure I can be as tough as anyone, but I've got my soft side.  A rather soft side.  In fact, I'm very interested in fashion, and fabrics.  I think the feeling of cashmere is amazing.  Lately I've been getting in with the fashion crowd, and have taken to designing dresses now.  Its all for fun of course, and there's no greater feeling than constructing a dress and seeing a beautiful woman made even more beautiful because of something YOU created.  Of course, it would be amazing to try on something I've made, but I don't think there's enough fabric in the world to make me look good in a dress!

In other news, the lawn is doing great.  The yard looks great with the new chrysanthemums I planted last week.  All seems to be going well on that front.  Now, I plan on drinking a Cosmo and catching up on some Sex and The City.


Dear Fernando Flores,

Crude fart and toothy vagina drawings aside. . .

There are a lot of internet creeps out there who feel that because Britney threw herself at you and constantly showed you her beaver and that this all in all disgusted you, that you are gay.  If you are so be it.  I don't really care.  After all, internet creeps are just internet creeps (a few who said they'd love to clean Britney's feet with their tongues after that article was posted about her stinky feet stinking up the whole plane) and a person has every right to love whoever they want.

What bothers me is that any credibility you had towards this suit has now been thrown out the window, after your latest comments that Britney smelled and farted a lot.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not defending that tard, and the fact that it meant a lot of 'respectable' papers felt the need to report with hilarious headlines about Flatulence and Drugs brought me much lulz, I'm just saying your grounds are weak and retarded.  You're a bodyguard.  A bodyguard.  Hardly a job one would take if they wanted to keep away from undesirables; people hire you to protect them from weirdos and shit.  But in your case they'd have to be hygienic weirdos, with shit tons of etiquette.  Are you a clean freak too?  Bad choice.

The woman is insane.  We all know that.  If you didn't know that when you signed up in the first place, you're probably just as retarded as she is. . .  This lawsuit is only degrading you both.  Which is why iR must declare you, Ms. Spears, and this entire debacle to be shamelessly retarded.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

The Infinite Retardation of Adam Sandler

If you're a 90's kid, at one point you probably liked Adam Sandler.  I know I remember seeing Billy Madison in theaters at some rich kids birthday part and loving it.  The highlight of the movie--at that time--was the dog shit scene, in which Adam Sandler and his pals hunt out a 'good piece of shit,' put it in a paper bag, and set it on fire on this dude's porch.  Soon an old man in his tighty whities and a wife beater comes out and stomps the shit (pun intended) out of it with his boot, only to later realize its full of dog shit.  "Its one of them flaming bags of poop again!"  To which Adam Sandler says, "He called the shit poop!"


For months afterward, it was my newest phrase.  To a second grader, that shit (pun intended) is hilarious, though not quite up there with the explosive diarrhea scene in Dumb and Dumber.  Yes I remember many lunch periods soaked up with laughter just thinking about Harry splattering his guts all over the porcelan, and it was just as funny at the start of lunch, when we ate our sandwiches and drank our sugar drink as it was when we were skinning knees, knuckles and dirtying our clothes later during recess. Oh man and remember like towards the end of this torrent of shits comes a squeaker?  A fucking squeaker man! Hilarious! Anyway. . .

Yet, I grew up and so did Adam Sandler.  Now I only laugh at shit play when its meant to be erotic (see two girls one cup).  Unfortunately Adam never seemed to shed his retarded humor, and when he became too old to play a foul mouthed buffoon that only kids and stoners laugh at, he became an aging foul mouthed love interest that nobody laughs at.  How did such a thing happen?  Why didn't he just flounder and die, or go somewhere and count his money?

Well work ethic for one.  I have to give it to Sandler, his hard work puts out a shit movie every year, and he's been doing it for nearly two decades. Not even the Police Academy movies had that kind of stamina.  Bravo.

That, and connections my dear friends. . . Had Sandler not spent his time in college farting on stage, he probably would have created Facebook; he knows that many people.  From as high up as Judd Apatow to as low down and useless as Rob Schneider.  His tight knit group of lackeys and writers seems to have spawned from Saturday Night Live, where retardation collected in great pools all about Lorne Michaels, and still collects today.

Adam joined the show in 1990, where he met David Spade, Chris Rock, Rob Schneider, and Kevin Nealon; a group of fellas who would come to him anytime they needed money (not so much Chris Rock), and they always needed money.  More importantly than these role fillers, it was where Sandler first met writer Tim Herlihy.  Tim Herlihy is a film producer, screen writer, actor, and one time sketch writer for SNL.  The reason Tim Herlihy has all these other titles other than simply 'sketch writer for SNL' is because of Adam Sandler.  Every movie he has ever written, produced, or acted in, has been an Adam Sandler movie, from Billy Madison to Just Go With It.  As with many comedians, SNL was Adam Sandler's launching point into 'stardom,' but now many decades later we find that though this may or may not be true, the trajectory of this potential launch into stardom nonetheless ends in a big ole' pile of stinking shit.

His earlier films only hinted at Adam Sandler's money making and entirely retarded formula of retarded-buffoon-embarks-on-whacky-excursion-under-rather-flimsy-pretenses-and-whilst-doing-so-manages-to-bag-the-hot-chick-who's-entirely-way-out-of-his-league, while his later flicks have mastered it and have made it painfully obvious to the point of being unwatchable.

Take for instance Billy Madison.  Adam plays a lazy, sun burned, lush (respek), living off of the wealth his father made from the family hotel business.  But alas!  Trouble strikes when his father says he's giving the company to the extra weaselly member of the staff named Eric, because despite being a total asshole, he's actually qualified for the job, unlike Billy.  Well, Billy aint down with that, and after his Father shows him to be the idiot he truly is (fool can't even spell ROCK) and how he paid for him to get through school, Billy claims he'll go through school all over again.  Yes, he'll undergo 2 weeks in every grade, take all the tests, learn all the material (impossible in 2 weeks) and when he graduates, then his father can give him the family company worth millions of dollars and feel totally good about it.

His love interest is revealed to be his fourth grade teacher. . . And she falls for him, or rather, he bugs the shit out of her until she eventually finds his drunkenness lovable?  So like, if they were to go to dinner on a double date, it would go like this:

"So how'd you guys meet?"  The woman across the table asked.  I think her name was Wanda.  I dunno because I was really drunk at the time.

"Well honey, do you wanna tell them?  Or should I?"

"No, honey I'll tell em."  I said.

I was seeing four Wandas.  Four Wandas dancing around, and that stupid penguin, looking as cocky as ever. . .

"You see I used to be really retarded.  I used to just sit around all day and drink daiquiris
[author's note: respek] and hang out with my friends. . . You know get drunk, look at nudie mags.  Before I graduated high school, the second time, or for the first time legitimately--kinda, I was in fourth grade.  I had been to kindergarten and 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade before that, but I was scared because I was the only thirty year old in class and we were going to do long division and math and stuff. . . But then in walks Ms. Vaughn, the loveliest teacher I've ever seen.  I definitely wanted to touch the heine."  I then grunted obscenely, and Ms. Vaughn laughed nervously.

"Well, that's all changed now.  Hasn't it honey?  Graduated, and went to college!  Didn't you!"

etc etc.

I know, I know.  I get it.  Its a comedy.  You're supposed to suspend your belief.  If that's so, why even put a love interest in?  Why can't it be just a ninety minute long comedy?  Just ninety minutes of shit and fart jokes, like a Jackass movie.

On the other side of it, we have one of his newer movies like Grown Ups, which is by far Adam Sandler's most disgusting movie, having mastered the Sandler formula in such purity that elements can be swapped out and still it can produce the same turd.  The difference in this one being that he's already won the girl over and they've gotten married and produced spoiled offspring.  Still remaining true is Adam's safety net of buddies, and this time they're the main characters.  It features friends David Spade (SNL), Chris Rock (SNL), Rob Schneider (SNL), and Kevin James (I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry).  The entire movie is an excuse for these fellows to go on vacation and get paid for it, for none of them even seem to be trying.  They all play themselves, with the exception of Chris Rock, who at least tries to play a 'stay at home dad,' but even still is only half-assing it.  David Spade is the same cynical dry bastard, Kevin James is still fat and clumsy, Rob Schneider is still Rob Schneider (some strange character) etc etc.  The writing is so lazy its a wonder they didn't just call David Spade's character David Spade, and Chris Rock, Chris Rock, etc. etc.  There is no reason that this movie should have ever been made; other than the fact these fucks needed some money and wanted to have a damn good time while doing so.

This is obvious in that they don't even try to hide the fact they are advertising crap:

The boys are all together because their fucking pee-wee basketball coach died.  Yeah, they've totally ignored each other for years, but because their pee wee basketball coach who coached them when they were like 12 is dead, they suddenly hang out with one another.  They go on this 3 day trip to this cabin they all used to hang out at and once had their championship celebration at, with Coach.  They decide to spread his ashes out on a nearby island, but first, they must eat KFC grilled chicken, and drink Coca-Cola products.  No, they don't do this before traveling to the island, but at the island itself, right before dumping the man's ashes.  This is a somber and serious occassion boys, I mean the whole basis of this fucking movie and the events that are to follow are that we loved our coach, and now that the rival team has gone up and talked shit to us, 30 some fucking odd years later, we're gonna prove them wrong. . . because we loved our coach, and he thought of us as men. . . So please, bow your heads for this dear man we truly lov--hey can I get a wing?  And yes, of course they fuck up the spreading of the ashes and Kevin James gets Coach all over his hands, but eats the delicious KFC grilled chicken anyway.

HAI GUYZ LES PARTY.

NOM NOM.

Cut to them coming back, KFC grilled chicken bucket on Kevin James' head, which was really artsy I think.  They were showing us what they had exactly done to every one who watched this piece of crap; taken a KFC grilled chicken bucket and placed it over their heads.  Enjoy the consumerism boys.

With this said, Adam Sandler has managed to prolong his retardation, and it doesn't seem like he's ever going to go away, his connections and money are far too vast for that, and as long as actresses who were once considered extremely hot but got too old for anyone to care anymore need a job, they'll always have romantic comedies to fall back on, and Adam Sandler will always be there to catch them.

He's got that shit on lock.

And it is for these reasons that iR declares Adam Sandler, infinitely retarded.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

The Juggalo Gathering; Charlie Sheen to Host, Along with Other Failures

If you are going to a Juggalo Gathering, chances are you're probably a juggalo, or a friend of a juggalo, or just a wrestling freak looking to have a good time and the possibility to commit some real felonies.  I say probably, because these days there is an element of people who just go and take to the fringe of the Gathering, laughing and pointing at acts they find particularly stupid.  Like any good troll, they are cowards, and hardly enter the fray--the combat zone--for fear of picking up some retardation as if by some ray of stupid.  More frightening is the possibility of violence, for juggalos find self-mutilation and mutilation of others to be as fun as guns and liquor.  If they are willing to take road signs up to one another's heads just for fun, and consider themselves 'Family'--imagine the horrors they could commit to an outsider.

But I got special stupid ray blockers.  A fancy piece of equipment.  89.95 at WAL-MART.  And, I've got a contact.  And I wanna go.  And fourth grade English teachers are right, you should never start a sentence with and, the tendency is to use it too often.


Wendy "Money Nuts" Placquard is a juggalette who thinks she's a juggalo.  Its tough having gender issues in the real world, even tougher when you're down with the clown.  Often she doesn't know whether to spread her legs like a juggalette, or beat the shit out of a minority, like a juggalo.  Despite her gender confusion, she is indeed quite down with the clown, and rather knowledgeable in regards to juggalo etiquette when attending a Juggalo Gathering.

"Just get wasted ninja.  If you see a girl, don't be afraid to hit her up for sex.  If she's got a boyfriend, beat the shit out of him.  If he's got friends, bring your friends.  Bang her family style after.  Its proper at a Gathering, when banging a chick in front of other dudes to at least offer her up when your done."

She had a way of going from her juggalette voice to her juggalo voice in a disturbing sort of way, though both shared common undertones of stupidity.  When I asked her what one does at a Juggalo Gathering she got rather angry and repeated herself.

"Just get wasted ninja.  If you see a girl, don't be afraid to hit her up for sex.  If she's got a boyfriend, beat the shit out him.  If he's got friends, bring your friends.  Bang her family style after--its proper."

"I meant activities. . ."

"Its the Gathering bro!  The Gathering!  If there were like Biblical implications this would be like the Second Coming, every single fuckin' year. . . WHOOP WHOOP.  Yeah, there's lots of BBQs, listed stuff like karaoke and rap battles, signing sessions with band members.  Lots of cool shit.  Carnival rides, JCW wrestling, and a Faygo Wet T-Shirt contest.  Its great man.  But those are just the listed ones."

"Yeah?"

"Shit yeah.  You can also try out for JCW if you want.  You can duct tape your friends to a tree."  She laughed at the member.  "Yeah we got this topless little juggalette and duct taped her to a tree for like 3 hours.  It was hilarious."

"Yeah."

"You can also beat your friends up with large tree branches.  A lot of wicked clowns do stuff like that.  Then there's of course staring at juggalettes, stalking juggalettes, and other things. . ."  A real ominous silence, hinting at some sort of evil.  "You know."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and it aint all just stupid stuff you know.  The Magnet Exhibit last year was real informative and impressed a lot of the Family.  I know I spent 2 hours just watching magnets work.  It was real crazy."

Obviously, I'm not good with phone conversations.  I'm not good with conversation in general.  This much was apparent, so I said good-bye and she said 'much wicked clown love,' and we arranged a meet up with some 'Fam' in a few weeks.  As I hung up I was smiling: the idea of so much retardation in one place was certainly right up my alley.  Enjoyable, to say the least.  And what about the ride?  Would she come tearing up through the driveway out onto the lawn to carve donuts with a massive hillbilly truck?  Would her brother be in the back wielding a shotgun and a bottle of whiskey?  How many mullets and douche cuts would I be able to count?  Would there be signs of inbreeding? Only time would tell.

With research I already knew the real reason I wanted to go to the Gathering.   Mr. Charlie Sheen.

Mr. Charlie Sheen, who has officially changed the definition of winning to 'losing, horribly' has signed on as the leading host of ICP's annual crapfest.  How much did they pay him?  At least a million dollars, there's no way a man with tiger blood would settle for anything less, especially after getting publicly raped by Two and a Half Men. It was scary to imagine and revealed the disgusting wealth ICP has managed to amass, despite its fan base being generally no good poor folk.  They're selling you Family and getting rich doing so.  You're stuck drinking Faygo cause you're broke and uneducated; they're drinking champagne because you're broke and uneducated.  Look the food stamp line is full of fools in ICP merch.

But that's not all of us!


The possibility of a very public freak-out on Charlie's part was too much to pass up.  I wanted to have ring side seats for the whole debacle.  He'd be on stage, and he'd start bombing like he did with his last stage act, and like Tila Tequila he'd take a bottle to the face, and unlike Tila Tequila he wouldn't run off stage but instead rage and taunt the bastards!  The headlines wouldn't tell the whole story.  Maybe the juggalos would charge the stage and pick his bones clean. No one would really care.  Cops wouldn't investigate, and Americans everywhere would just live out the rest of their lives with the carnal knowledge that Juggalo Gatherings are where people go to die.

At his wings, Mr. Charlie sheen has two other random's, who were also apparently randomly drawn from the shit wheel.  First we have none other than Flavor Flav, Public Enemy turned Reality Star, and Dustin Diamond, Screech turned Porn Star.

What do these three have in common?  Despite the need for money, I don't know.  To think they are closet juggalos leads me to believe that perhaps these freaks have more influence than we would like to think. But who's to say celebrities are immune to stupidity and bad taste in music? In fact history leads us to believe they are far from immune, but in fact plagued at epidemic proportions. 

Oh yeah, and Vanilla Ice will be performing.  Why go further?  Why not just let promote it.  Check this retarded shit:

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