Posts Tagged ‘Conspiracy’


April 16, 2008

The fact that you are reading this means that I have already called the police. I notified them that there was an incident of child molestation I have knowledge about, and that something should be done. I only wrote this article before actually calling the police because…well, you see, this intro was not originally a part of this article. In fact, when I began writing this article, I had no intentions of calling the police. I had no reason to call the police. That’s because I didn’t know then what I know now. But by the time I finished this article, I knew. Now, why would I take the time to type this intro then, if I in fact had perfect knowledge of the heinous crimes that were being committed? Well, I’m merely reassuring myself that this is in fact the case. But now that I’ve read over this several times, given it a week to mull over, and typed out this intro, I’m definitely about 99% certain that after writing this intro and making this post, I should pick up the phone and call the police (after I have a short shower, and maybe some Cheese Nips) to let them know that the entire population of Korea are in fact a lousy bunch of child molesters.

Perhaps I should explain. I’ll start from the beginning. Or rather, I started from the beginning. Seeing as I wrote this before this intro (seriously, I totally wrote it beforehand). Anyways, here you go:

Today, I was driving home from Orange County to Corona. If you know what that means in terms of driving on a Friday afternoon (editorial note: I wrote this on a Friday, I swear), then you know exactly what this article is going to be about. If you don’t know, well you probably could have figured it out from the blatant implication made in that last sentence. Provided you are an idiot (which you probably are) and you still don’t know what I’m talking about, what I’m trying to say is, there was a fucking lot of traffic. Far too much traffic. Enough traffic to make you scream. Enough traffic to drive a man off the deep end. Enough traffic to force a man to take the prescription pills sitting in his glove compartment in order to put himself out of his misery. Don’t worry, I didn’t. Well, I did, but there were only four pills left in the bottle (I was on my way to refill my prescription ironically), so all it seemed to do was make me rather drowsy. This normally would have some effect on my driving, but on a day like today, it didn’t matter. As I inched along I-91, losing confidence in my ability to reach my destination before nightfall with every second, I realized something. I had been following the same exact delivery truck for one hour. Through the haze in my vision caused by the pills, mixed with the fact the air conditioner was blowing my hair all around my face (it was 110 degrees out, which didn’t make things any better), I made out the name of the company on the back of the truck, as if I hadn’t memorized it by heart at this point: Hankook Performance Tires.

I know nothing about Hankook Performance Tires. My initial thought was that it could be some small company exclusive to the west coast. Conveniently, my ten year old laptop computer was sitting right next to me in the passenger seat. Taking my hands off the wheel (I’d already turned on the parking break 3 minutes prior), I booted up the laptop. Once the 256 megahertz processor finally finished booting, I removed the parking break so that I could scoot up about an inch on the road, not wanting to inadvertently lose my place in line. Back to the laptop, I opened up firefox, and searched for “Hankook” in the convenient wikipedia search bar on the upper right hand corner of the browser. I was taken to the Hankook Tire page. Apparently Hankook is “the seventh largest tire company in the world” and is based in Seoul, South Korea. Skimming the page, I was trying to find something having to do with their credibility, namely that it was bad, as by this point the haze of drowsiness mixed with my utter hatred for whatever happened to be in my way for all this time had completely convinced me that there has never been a form of evil more malicious than that of Hankook Performance Tires. “Eh, blah blah blah, exports to US, uh huh, blah blah, increasing notoriety, mmhmm, bias-ply protection, ok ok, hmmmm……AH HA!” I had found it! The section entitled “Hankook Controversy In Hungaria” did it. I was most certain these foul men were none other than war-mongers, genocidal maniacs operating in secret to destroy the Hungarian people. Assholes.

Now, despite the fact that Hungary really seems to contribute nothing to the world in general, and that it’s a relatively small, insignificant country, if a bit well known, mass genocide is still just not right. Closing the laptop, I could only shake my fist at the Hankook truck driver, though he was unable to see me. At least I could assume so, since “if you can’t see me I can’t see you” was written on his mirror. For all I knew though, I might not have been able to see his face all that way in the mirror through the hairy, hazy, mess in my eyes. Though looking back, he probably couldn’t see me, since I was actually able to read that writing on the mirror, but could not see him. Anyways, that’s when a thought dawned on me. “Oh my God,” I thought. “This truck driver must not know what he’s supporting. They wouldn’t just throw the main proprietors of this international genocide into the roads of America to do their dirty work.” Of course, by this point it was international, and definitely not limited to simply Hungary. Hungary was just a start. They were building their way up. You’ve got to start small, but once you get a taste of it, you can’t stop. You’ve got to kill more and more until everyone around you is dead, or you’re dead. And even if you’re dead, you may have a slight chance at becoming reanimated, and if I had so much as five seconds as a fucking zombie in this world, oh man, I’d kill every last human, I swear. Oh, fuck. Anyways.

I was now determined to tell this man exactly what he was completely unaware of. He was working for an international crime syndicate, bent on world domination and the destruction of the human species. The poor fucking tool. He had no clue. In the traffic, it was possible to get out of your car for a few minutes, perhaps if you needed a smoke, or maybe a bong hit, or perhaps a bottle of gin. Hell, I saw a guy sitting on his roof shooting up. Anyways, after I’d finished the bottle of gin, I hobbled drunkenly over to the high-rised truck and pounded on the door. I shouted at the driver that he had to listen to me, and that what I had to say was very important. I told him about his affiliation with the crime syndicate. Very clearly, I several times repeated “MAAAN, you gotta get OUT of this maaaaan….you’re killing people maaaaan!” He never responded. It was just as I feared. The man did not speak a word of English. Curses, foiled. I was determined though. I went back to my car and pulled the laptop out again. The browser was still on the Hankook page. I glanced at the top, where it said they were based in Korea. “Of course,” I thought. “Fucking Il Kong Jim and those fucking Koreans. They deliberately employed people who don’t speak my language so I couldn’t tell them about the unspeakable evils I found on the internet. It must suck to be a Mexican living in Korea. You’re not allowed to use the internet to find out how your country is killing everybody off, and you’re not allowed to learn English. Hell, they probably teach you Japanese or some shit. Fucking assholes” It went just like that. With the quotes and everything.

By this point, I had forgotten that my original intent on going to the car was in fact to find an online translator, so that I could give this man a rough description of what I was trying to say. Instead, I absentmindedly clicked my favorites toolbar, immediately hovered my mouse over to my favorite porn site (which at the time is Tube8, for all those interested), and sitting there in the middle of traffic (in my car at least), I jerked off to a 30-something woman pleasuring herself with a cucumber. It was not my most dignified moment. Then again, it was not my most level-minded moment. If I had had more fucking pills with me, it wouldn’t have even been a moment of any kind for me. Fucking ay…..God dammit! I just remembered, I never did refill my prescription. Fuck! Well, I’ll stop by the store on the way home from Orange County tomorrow and do it.

So now I sit here. Utterly pissed off at Jim Long Dong Kil and the Korean Mafia crime syndicate, bent on universal genocide and a world of tears. Well, metaphorically a world of tears. There won’t actually be any real tears, since everyone will be dead. Last time I checked, corpses don’t cry, and trust me on this, I’ve seen Dawn Of The Dead 54 times. Man, those God damn Communists. Shit, they’re probably Communists too, yeah. Wait a minute…..waaaiiiit a minute! I never saw that man. Holy shit. I know exactly what’s going on now! (editorial note: you see? This is where I peace it all together; I really am a fucking genius) That man in the truck wasn’t a fucking man! I couldn’t see him through that raised up window because he was too SHORT to be a man! He was…..he was a kid! OH MY GOD! Those fucking Korean Communist, anarchist, fucking anti-Christ Mafia members are employing MEXICAN CHILDREN to drive their tires to their malicious, vile, havock-causing destinations! Why didn’t I see it before! But wait. Children can’t deliver tires in a delivery truck…..they have no job experience. So….they must be….oh my God….oh my God, oh my God. Shit! They’re sending these kids in these trucks to places all over the US, thinking they’re going to fucking Disneyland or something (those poor, underprivileged, Mexican kids. We Californians are the only ones in the world who get to enjoy Disneyland. And they don’t let you in if you speak Japanese). When in reality, they’re being sent to their death! Not just their death, but to MOLESTATION! OH MY GOD! THOSE FILTHY KOREANS ARE MOLESTING CHILDREN!

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I’ve gotta call the police on this. Shit. Shit. Shit. Ok, I’m gonna think it over for a bit, finish this post, and then I’m going to call the police! God damn filthy Korean assholes!

Ah man, maybe I’ll take a shower or something and get some cheese nips beforehand actually. Fucking Koreans. Making me all stressed out and shit. I need to relax for a bit man. Fuckin…..fuckin shit man.


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