Archive for February, 2008

The Best…Around

February 27, 2008

This article is about the most badass individual to ever grace existence with his overwhelming awesomeness. He first existed and was popularized in an era that had no internet. No Myspace, or text messages, before internet memes, and before internet humor blogs. He rose to prominence in the mid 1990’s, and as the internet became available, became even more popularized, despite his lack of ass-kicking endeavors at the time. Nowadays, he’s making a comeback, and I couldn’t be any happier for him. The man is well known for kicking ass on a regular basis, for being a babe magnet, for the ability to take any enemy and turn him into a crying little baby sissy boy, by his mere presence alone. I am of course talking about, Duke Nukem.

That’s right. Duke motherfucking Nukem. If you read the above description and thought “Chuck Norris LOL,” I will call upon Duke to freeze you with his freezethrower (that’s right, Duke is so badass, he launches solidified water from the barrel of a gun that closely resembles a miniature version of a John Deere tractor. Who needs a fucking flamethrower when you’ve got a god damn John Deere Ice Tractor?), and kick you while you’re frozen (and not with just any foot, but his patented “mighty foot”), somehow breaking you into several mere shards of what was formerly your existence. That’s right, fuck the laws of physics, and fuck your internal organs, bodily fluids, and physiology as a whole. You are frozen, and now you are shattered. Live with it. Or more accurately, die with it. Or….be dead….with it.

What makes Duke Nukem so badass? Well, other than the above paragraph, he’s a video game character. Now why should that lend any merit to his awesomeness, if not take away from it? It’s because despite being a video game character, he could still kick Chuck Norris’s ass, and without the use of any of this wimpy martial arts, “mind over body” bullshit. Duke Nukem kills with pure testosterone, and guns the size of a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Duke Nukem also actually kills. Chuck Norris doesn’t kill. He lets the bad guy live. He rarely even shoots the bad guy. Chuck Norris nails some pressure points and puts you in a cell. Well you know what? Duke Nukem uses bullets, traveling at a velocity that breaks the speed of light, throwing the perimeter of the area around you into a multi-dimensional chasm, completely disassembling the particles of your very being. As quickly as that would happen, the chasm is closed, and if you haven’t already died from a collapsed lung, or your brain exploding or something, that speed-of-light bullet is coming right at your head. Yeah. Try escaping the exploding brain now. You won’t. It’s gonna happen. That’s right, one way or another, Duke Nukem will make your brain explode.

Duke Nukem is so awesome, that, in addition to his frozen tractor contraption, he carries not one, not two, not even three, but FOUR explosive devices with him at all times. An RPG, a “Devastator” (two rocket launchers coming out of nowhere, that he can apparently carry in his back pocket or something), some trip-bomb laser deals, and some pipe bombs. As I’ve stated before. One way or another, Duke Nukem is going to splatter your god damn brains all over the fucking walls. You can count on it. Hell, if he doesn’t have a weapon on him at the time, what does he do? Kicks the shit out of you (in the cases of those raptor/dog hybrid fuckers, he literally kicks the shit out of you), until you give up your god damn gun. After he’s finished raping your ass with his size 20 steel-toed boot, he cocks the shotgun he just stole from you, and utters an absolutely badass phrase, such as “I use bigger guys than you as toothpicks…and I’m not in the mood to floss my teeth.” See? The previous sentence is inferring that you are so wimpy, that you’re only useful as dental floss to him. But he doesn’t want to floss his teeth. So you’re going to be thrown into the garbage can of life that is the receiving end of a Duke Nukem bullet. Sweet dreams, Rip van Winkle.

But you know what the most badass thing about Duke Nukem is? I’ll tell you. It’s that he doesn’t endorse Mike Huckabee. Because he’s a fucking video game character.

Long Live Duke Nukem (and his frosty freeze tractor beam) ,

Rod Jenson
Duke for President

Roseanne

February 23, 2008

I really hate being awake at 5:30 in the a.m. When I’ve got work at 8:30. I hate my (very temporary) job, I hate that I’ll be unemployed in a month, and at this very moment, I hate that the only thing on TV is Roseanne.

I really hate Roseanne. Like, the woman, yeah I definitely hate her. I think that when I stand before the devil at the gates of hell, her voice will sound a lot like Roseanne’s. But I hate the show a lot more than the woman for a number of reasons. One is the misuse of John Goodman; sure I can’t separate him from Walter Sobchak, but I suppose that’s sort of the point. Another is the fact that I really don’t find the show particularly entertaining. It’s a lot like Home Improvement, but less humorous (I mean, at least those writers had Al Borlan to work with…and Wilson, I’ve always really loved Wilson).

But the thing I hate the most about Roseanne (again the show, not the woman) is the bleakness of the American landscape it displays. The basis of the comedy is founded on the sadness of humanity. And though this is not exclusive to Roseanne, I take serious issue with marriage-related humor. The sad depravity and complete lack of happiness that is a sitcom marriage, only held together by the floss-thin strings of moralistic “oh, you make me miserable, but I still love you.” If the jokes are written in, and the commercial breaks are scheduled, and marriage is STILL that unbearable, what chance do the normal, unfunny, regular people have? There is no resolution at the top of the hour.

And with that brand of humor that revolves around everyday life, we’ve got the kids. Oh the kids. God, all sitcom parents hate their kids. And all sitcom kids are fucking terrible human beings. And much like their marriages, when the credits roll, everything is chocked up to “as much as I hate/don’t understand/wish I never had you, you’re my kid and I still love you.” Is this the foundation of functionality? Is this the reality we want to mirror to the society that consumes this bullshit? The fact that these sitcoms are supposed to be about average people is fucking crazy.

If I’ve learned anything this morning, at 5:56 (with an alarm that will be sounding in exactly 4 minutes), it’s that Roseanne is exactly, 100%, to the letter, everything I do not want my life to become. I don’t want to hate my spouse. I don’t want to hate my children. I will not give in to this insanely morose construct that is the average American life.

I apologize to all 3 readers of this blog; I know this one isn’t all that funny. As I’m pretty sure I know them all personally, I’ll send them an email or something. Anyway, the point is: don’t give up the fight for happiness. If I repeat that phrase, perhaps I’ll commit to it.

And fuck Roseanne, and her show.

Sex!!!

February 18, 2008

That got your attention. Sex.

Sex sells. The very word draws you in. Ad Executives the world over realise its power within their effective marketing campaigns, whether they are selling cartons of milk, beans, expensive cars or luscious, fruitfully delicious Cisco brand Strawberry wine.

Take cartons of milk (no really…we’ll only have to throw them away in a few days if you don’t). Unless poured slowly over the pert breasts and firm body of nubile sex goddesses, milk is a fairly unsexy commodity. So how do the Ad Executives get you to purchase. Through the careful placement of the smiling face of Wendy (aged 17, missing from Delaware since May 21st).

Her pretty face staring out at you, the contours of her body beneath that highschool sweater, the beads of moisture slowly dripping down the outside of the carton.

You want to buy milk. You want it so bad.

Here at Forklifts Unlimited, we’re here to help you. Through our ten step programme we can wein you off your addition to sex. It is not a claim we make lightly. Let us help you, you deserve it.

Seamus C. Mhaille
Ad Executive, Forklifts Unlimited

Fuck Milk

February 13, 2008

I wanna know what the deal is with the “Got Milk?” campaign. First of all, when exactly did “Got Milk?” become the official slogan, and who the fuck authorized such a half-assed marketing idea to become the basis of recognition for one of the most widely produced food products in the world? Well, I guess that’s better than Coca Cola’s “Enjoy Coca Cola.” And on a side note, no I will not “Enjoy Coca Cola.” I am rendered incapable of enjoying Coca Cola, by the Coca Cola company’s inability to produce something that does not taste like bullshit. That’s what it tastes like. Watered down bullshit. Think about that, parents of the world. Not only is purchasing Coca Cola bad for your kids because of all the sugar and caffeine you’re pumping into their veins, but you are in fact wasting your money on liquefied bovine fecal matter, and then giving it to your kids. What kind of parent does that? …Assholes.

I remember “back in my day,” when milk used to “[do] a body good.” Remember that? None of this taunting me and my dry, cookie-filled mouth and throat, with that sweet, white cow nectar: milk. Guess what. Milk doesn’t do my body good anymore. It doesn’t even fucking do it pretty well. Milk does my body bad. It does my body hard. It does my body like three well endowed black men, equipped with metal condoms, having a go at gangbanging my vital internal organs. For you see, despite the fact that milk supplies my body with much-needed nutrients, such as calcium (for strong bones, unlike that neighbor whose arms fell off while pushing his wheelbarrow), it also supplies my body with much-unneeded fat. Fat that I can’t work off. Fat that I will not work off. You know why? Because there’s FUCKING MILK INSIDE ME! Have you ever tried working out with milk sloshing around in your stomach?! No, you haven’t, because if you had, you would have wound up in the hospital, with several large metal tools sticking in every orifice of your body, all because you tried to work out while milk was in your system, and as such you would have run away in utter terror from this article at the mere mention of the word “milk,” making it impossible for you to be reading the sentence that I’m typing to you right now. Yeah. You fucking pussy.

“Well Rod,” you may say, “you could just buy non-fat milk to solve that problem.” Well you know what. I can, and I will, from now on. Thanks for the suggestion. But alas, fat is not my only concern. Do you know what those “Got Milk?” ads can do to a young, impressionable mind, such as my own? Two words: Psychological Addiction. Come seven o’clock, when I turn on the television, you can bet I’ll end up seeing a few of those “Got Milk?” ads. Hell, that shit’s plastered all over the billboards in LA like a fucking Camel logo. Fuck man, I kicked the habit of cigarettes. It’s a little known fact I kicked the cocaine habit (that’s a lie), but lemme tell you, you CAN’T kick a milk habit. Cocaine withdrawals are fucking peanuts compared to milk. And the mass media does not fucking help. I’ve got a god damn addiction, so what do they do? PLASTER THAT SHIT ALL OVER! Thanks for reminding me about it, ASSHOLES! What if I don’t have any of the good stuff on me, huh? What then? You just contributed to the terrible withdrawals of a psychologically tormented milk addict. Eat my middle finger, fuckers!

Who the fuck runs the “Got Milk?” campaign anyways? Have you ever seen the guys behind it? No, you haven’t, because if you had seen them by now, they’d be dead. If I wouldn’t have killed them by now, somebody else would. And if they killed them….well, I’d have to kill them again. You’d just have these former “Got Milk?” campaign runners, dead hundreds of times over, laying around……dead….assholes. They know what would happen if they exposed themselves. They don’t want to take the responsibility for taking milk and turning it from a nutritious, delicious snack-drink, into a lethally addictive drug. They don’t want to take the responsibility for MILLIONS OF MILK ADDICTS ALL OVER THE WORLD!

But seriously, who runs it? Is it all just one company? How many milk companies are there even? Are there more than one? I’ve never seen advertisements from “Got Milk?” competitors on my TV. It’s not like there’s a fucking opposition to “Got Milk?”. I mean, when the guy says “Got Milk?”, it’s not like another company comes in and goes, “WE DO!” Maybe there really are a bunch of milk companies, that all work together. They’re all working together to get me addicted to their bastardized dairy products, through their two-word ad campaigns. They split between them the neverending, perpetual milk profit attained from all us milk addicts! Think about this. It’s not like we’re getting un-addicted. It’s not like there’s a fucking Milk Addicts Anonymous or anything. It’s all a part of their grand money-making scheme! ASSHOLES!

Maybe it’s just that one guy. The guy who does the “Got Milk?” voiceover at the end of every fucking commercial. Shit, that makes sense. All he ever had to do was say two fucking words. One time (maybe a couple if he fucked it up the first time). Boom! You’ve just hypnotized every weak-spirited, impressionable, milk lover in the world. You’ve got them doing everything for you, giving you their money, drinking your poorly advertised product, writing articles on a little known blog about it! It’s BRILLIANT! Brilliant….and evil.

Maybe it’s all just in my imagination. Can it be? Perhaps…the milk is a lie! Even better yet: maybe the milk commercials are a cruel hallucination brought on by the withdrawal symptoms I’m having, which were caused by my psychological dependence on the milk itself, which was caused by the milk commercials! WHAT THE FUCK! ASSHOLES!!!

I have to go lay down…

Rod Jenson

If Not Me, What Customers Are You Servicing?

February 9, 2008

Dear Cisco Customer Service,

You have no reason to be angry at me god damn it.

Yes, I got drunk and called your automated comments and concerns line. First of all, what else is new? I get drunk all the fucking time. I’m drunk right now, and its not even 2:30 in the afternoon. Secondly, it is your product that got me drunk in the first place. You think I wanted to get drunk on luscious, fruitfully delicious Cisco brand Strawberry bum wine? OF COURSE I DID! Who asked you to print the customer service number on the label?!

So I called you and said I was a man named Wendell who’d drank four bottles of Cisco while listening to Chuck Berry and not giving a damn. SO WHAT?! Did I not thoroughly express the fact that I find your product delectable? Did I not say “I’d gladly surrender a kidney to a black market organ trader for a lifetime supply of Cisco”? I believe I did, yet instead of coming back with a legitimate offer for one of my fully-functional kidneys, you ask me to cease further calls to your service center.

Hey FUCK YOU Cisco customer service! If I want to indulge in your strawberry, peach, or even perhaps your passion fruit liquor, and then invite you to party with a man named Wendell, I am going to do just that! And if that man is also (coincidentally) a heavy drinker, what’re you gunna do about it? Ask me to cease further calls to your service center? Hm…

Why do you even have a customer service number? Do people need operating instructions for the twist-off cap? Do people go into such severe coma’s drinking this crazy shit that they grab the phone and dial you up to chat? They can’t chat, Cisco customer service: they’re in fucking comas! I feel betrayed and, at the very least, completely not-serviced.

In short, you can stop me from making the call, but you can NEVER stop me from making the purchase. The purchase of sweet, mouth-watering Cisco-brand Cisco’s Strawberry Cisco. Or Peach. Seriously, I love your product, and pushing me away is only making me want you that much more. I have to go now, the librarian heard me yelling.

Still Drunk from this Morning,

Wendell St. Thinker,
Homeless and Lovin’ It!

In Addition: My Introduction

February 9, 2008

I’d like to add to my friend Thinker’s post by saying that our goal at Forklifts unlimited, as he so humorously stated, is in fact to make you, the reader, laugh. Read that man’s writings, as 99% of the time, the outcome will be the violent laughtergasm he so described in his introduction.

But alas, we here at FU (or FUn for the more family oriented of our readers) take part in this for much more reason than simply your entertainment. No, our latent motives behind this site are much more disturbing than that, and there is absolutely nothing metaphorical about them. The truth is, us FUnseekers at Forklifts Unlimited don’t just post a blog and then leave you to your own interpretations and reactions. We stick around for a while. In fact, we sit at our blog stats page for a while, and repeatedly click the refresh button, much as you lonely souls may click the Myspace.com refresh button, in anticipation that someone has read our post since the last time we checked.

The truth is, we get off to it. It makes us feel good, sexually and otherwise, to know that people we’ve never met and likely never will meet are reading our daily spew of self-satisfying comedy. The more amused you become, the more aroused I become. As such, on days when Thinker posts, I become thoroughly aroused by your immense amusement. Combined with the initial laughtergasm I have in reaction to his metaphorically sexual post, you can imagine how pleasant and disgustingly sexual those days can be for me. I try not to leave the house on those days.

What I’m trying to say here is, that no matter what you do, laugh. It means something to me. So much so that on days when you don’t laugh, I don’t laugh. I can’t laugh. I fall into a pit of despair, unprecedented within the frame of reference that your every day life provides for you. I become a lifeless shell of a man, devoid of all stimulations, all sensation, and sympathy, all will to exist. My heart blackens and hardens, until it closely resembles a chunk of obsidian rock, without the shiny. I try not to leave the house on those days either.

In retrospect, I don’t leave the house very often.

Enjoy Forklifts Unlimited (like you have a choice),

Rod Jenson
Forklifts Unlimited Official Stagnator and Co-founder

Welcome to Another Rendition of Thunderdome!

February 5, 2008

Welcome, welcome, welcome.

Welcome to what all the fuss is about. Welcome to the talk of the town. A warm welcome especially to the cool kids (but definitely not you, fatty). Welcome to the Forklifts Unlimited blog. I don’t know what “blog” means, but my friends assure me that it’s a great way to get laid.

Our aim here at FU is mainly to entertain, but we also realize that entertainment isn’t what you’re after. You’re on the internet. You want sex. Steamy, graphic, socially deplorable SEX. Hell sailor, SO DO WE! So, interspliced with the so-called “entertainment” of the blog, we promise lots and lots kinky, frankly disgusting acts of a blatantly sexual nature.

But WAIT, modern forward-thinking human! You’re smart! You keep up with world events! You got high and discovered the true message of Dark Side of the Moon! You like subtext, subtlety, and deeper meanings that dwell beyond the surface. We know, we got high too! Thus, the filthy, eye-popping sex we promise will be 100% metaphorical. This allows each reader to find fulfillment in any sentence they should so choose. I found it in this sentence I’m currently typing, and blew like Old Faithful (ironically while typing the words “Old Faithful”). The ecstasy was incalculable. I have high hopes for this blog.

Basically folks, we want you to laugh. And cream your shorts. Do both regularly, and with great fervor. Do both while reading this blog (especially my posts, which will undoubtedly cause you to do so involuntarily). Do both with growing confidence, and growing strength in the air. Do both in the beaches, and on the landing grounds. Do both because god damn it, Winston Churchill commands it to be, and that motherfucker hated Nazis like no other human being possibly could. You don’t like Nazis…do you? JIZZ YOURSELF YOU COMMIE BASTARD! (No homo.)

Enjoy Forklifts Unlimited. Seriously, do it or I’ll fucking find you. I’ve had a hard couple of months. I need this.

All Due Love and Even Less Respect,

Thinker St. James
Forklifts Unlimited CEO and Co-founder