3 Scandals I'd Like to See.

Charlie Sheen isn’t winning, was never winning and never will win.  Why?  It’s because winning is reserved for people who commit real scandals.  Now, you must be wondering, “A briefcase of cocaine, porn stars and being a dickhead isn’t a scandal?”

No, it’s not.  Again you ask, “Why Drew?  It seems pretty scandalous to me!” 

That’s because you aren’t a celebrity, dickwad.  If you or your boss was caught with a briefcase of cocaine and Bree Olsen was suckling at your genitals like a newborn cub to her mother, then it’d be a scandal.  But the fact here remains:  I expect no less from a man in Hollywood.  If you have millions of dollars it’s only logical to buy cocaine and fuck porn stars.  Because those are essentially included in your rent in Hollywood.

Today’s scandals are terrible.  Nothing is really out of the ordinary and nothin’ really fuckin’ matters.  If you can’t trust your own daughter not to send a picture of her tittays to some dude, then don’t expect that girl from High School Musical to do any different.  Just because she’s owned by righteous Christians doesn’t mean she won’t show some nip to her boytoy.  Real scandals need to have an element of surprise peppered with the bizarre; to demonstrate this, I’ve created a list of scandals I’d like to see.

  

3.  2Fast2Faithful:  Holy Drift

Every night Pope Benedict wakes up in a cold sweat.  His nerves are racked and he respires sporadically.  Precarious memories of Hitler Youth leak into his dreams; he tries to suppress them, but the training was too intense and he realizes there is absolutely no way he can’t become a warrior of God. 

By day, he’s blessing the world and dictating the Catholic faith with steady hands and a warm heart.  However, when the sun reaches its final hour the roar of a souped-up Hyundai (with spoiler) echoes through the Valley of Darkness.  And he will strike down with great furor on those who directly oppose the Alpha and Omega. 

As he goes on his Pope-tours, as does this bite-the-bullet vigilante.  Benedict takes to the streets in his NOS-powered vehicle and converts the world to Catholicism one street race at a time. 

...or die.

When the public catches wind of the Pope’s other life, the world slinks into a frenzy.  How could the holiest of mortal holies possibly be a street racer?  How long has he been doing this?  And most of all, how can we possibly stop him? 




The Feds come after him.  Vatican City shuts down.  The Catholic world is turned onto its head.  There is suddenly a rift in the community, those in favor of the Pope’s unorthodox methods and those who believe he must be taken down. 

It all comes to an end in the Himalayas.  The Pope is racing down a mountain tailed by helicopters and a cavalcade of Federal muscle cars.  He knows it’s his end, but like anyone in street racing knows…  It’s do or die.  With God behind him, he races off of a cliff directly into a helicopter, causing a chain reaction of explosions that ultimately eradicate the entire team tailing him.  When the dust clears, the Pope is engrained in history forever as both a hero and a menace.  

2.  Guess Who’s Coming into Taylor?

After that stupid “scandal” that Kanye pulled against Taylor Swift, the media has been stroking her tits non-stop.  As the fame began to blow her head up, another thing also grew…  Her hunger for big black schlongs. 

One evening Taylor Swift is recording in the studio when all of a sudden Kanye burst in.  No stranger to being interrupted by Mister West, she decides to shrug it off.  Then walks in Terry Crews, Michael Clarke Duncan and…  Arsenio Hall because why the fuck not?

Kanye whips a camera out of no where and sets it up on a table.  The four of them approach Taylor Swift without shirts on.  A look of terror in her face quickly shifts into a look of pure delight.  She falls to her knees and goes to town on all four of those swinging hotdogs. 

"It could be bigger..."

Needless to say, this sextape goes down in history as the most fantastic thing ever.  Why?  Because everyone secretly loves interracial gangbangs starring celebrities, especially when those celebrities can potentially make a hilarious cast for a black comedy.  All four of the black men are skyrocketed to the top of stardom.  They’re mentioned in rap songs for at least six months (which is like an eternity in hip-hop).

As for Taylor Swift?  Well, she winds up getting her own reality T.V. show…  And by that I mean she’s put on “Celebrity Intervention” and she’s forced to admit she’s addicted to big, black cawks.  That’s right, Taylor Swift is addicted to big, throbbing, veiny, black monstrosities-for-dicks.

1.  Brokeback Mobsters.

It’s 2011.  Secrets are no longer as strong as they used to be.  Access to information and speculation has become so easy that even the toughest of safes can be opened.  In this case, Italian-American actors Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci’s secret is finally out.  They’re butt-buddies.

Who would've thought?

Once word of this escapes, the macho credibility of their movies goes out the window and become strange comedies.  Seeing Joe Pesci, the gay actor, surrounded by a bunch of Italian men in [insert mob movie here] is like seeing a fat kid in a bakery.  He may be calm on the outside, but deep beneath this is an undying need to put something in his mouth. 

As it turns out, Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro (or Bobbayyy De Liscious in the gay community) have been partners since they first got into the business.  These Goodfellas were playing with each others Raging Bulls as if they had a hot streak in a Casino.  All hilarious pop-culture-turned-gay-jokes aside, this scandal breaks down everything macho Italians have been centering their lives around.  Every grab of their balls, every kiss on the cheek, every hug and every “whack” they’ve ever participated in is now totally gay. 

This scandal will cause decay in New Jersey/York culture and ultimately destroy every tool that’s walked the earth.  The only thing left for Italians and rappers to watch will be Scarface…  That is until we find out cocaine makes you gay.

Research pending...

No Race-o.

When you hang out with black people as much as I do, there's always a certain amount of anxiety when you're having a conversation.  God forbid the flow becomes too comfortable and you say something unintentionally prejudice.  Example:

Brotha:  So how was the party?

Honky:  It was awesome, there were a lot of black people.

Brotha:  Why'd you have to mention that?  You think just because I'm black I need to know that there were other black people at the party?  What are you gunna ask next, if I knew any of them?

These situations are usually followed by a cold, dead silence or a swift jab to the jaw.  As I have stated before, my white readers, I am here to act as a bridge between communities; my first order of business is to enact the "Unintentionally Racist Statement" statement, also known as "No Race-o." 

Used a lot like "no homo" for our homophobic friends, "no race-o" is meant to be delivered swiftly after dishing out a mild, unintentional racist comment.  Let's take a look at this technique administered in the same situation as before:

Brotha:  So how was the party?

Honky:  It was awesome, there were a lot of black people.  No race-o.
Brotha:  Oh, whaaaaat?  Was Rahkeem there?

Flawless.  Notice how the "brotha's" reception was muuuuch different than before?  This is because the "honky" added "no race-o" to the end of his statement.

Ah, enjoy that haters.  This is fuckin' real shit right here.  I am doing things for the community your mom fantasizes about doing with her vagina.

I don't care about skata.

I'm Greek, haters.  Do I like being Greek?  No.  Why?  I'm 5'9'', hairy and my penis isn't big.  If you need more reason than that, I'll smother you in the grease of my hair.  The only Greek thing I happen to know and love is the word "skata."  Skata means shit; if you didn't know I love the word "shit" then you have a lot of skata to catch up on, hater.

I've been a professional hater out of the womb; the only thing to match my haterskill is my incredibly ability to eat the box like it's bento.  Hatin' on an entire half of my ethnicity take a lot of hard work, but that skata pays off, haterinos.  Every so often the media faces a storm of bad jokes directly from Greek culture.  It found its height when "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" came out, which should have been name "My Big Fat Greek Foreheads."

There's more forehead per square inch than there are actual Greeks in the world.

Seriously.  Even Aiden from Sex and the City has a forehead I can post bills on.  But that's not even the point I'm trying to make.  After this movie came out, I was literally embarrassed to be Greek because this movie glorified Greek people to be these festive, unintentionally funny people who say "OPA!" all the time.  Seriously, every time I've heard "OPA!" since seeing this movie it has brought me one step closer to an aneurysm. 

Greek people are stubborn, resentful and boring as skata.  If you like sitting around on leather-coated furniture and watching television with fat people who wear their brown leather sandals with white socks, then Greeks are for you.  Seriously, Greek people are eating themselves away from existence and it's pretty sad.  In fact, Greeks are statistically fatter than Americans and probably lazier...  Americans are supposed to be like the fattest people ever, too.  But these stubborn Greeks just had to be lazier than Americans despite their mild climate, beaches, parks, mountains and other scenery ripe for exercising around.  What bugs me even more is that the internet is slower out there, their T.V. sucks and they're behind on videogames.  This means these greasy fucks have no excuse for being lazy.

The key to success for a Greek person is to ignore the fact that they are Greek at all.  Jennifer Aniston went as far as to denounce her ethnicity by deconstructing her Big Fat Greek Nose.  Once she did that, she became a superstar.

Being Greek is like being part caveman.  Sure, the cavemen invented fire...  But does that make you want to be one?  No, because humans have developed ways to use fire better than cavemen.  The same theory applies to Greeks.  They may have invented philosophy (by the way, you can't invent philosophy, that's like inventing thinking) but that doesn't mean they got it right on the first try.

If you're Greek, you understand where I'm coming from.  You need to supress your Greek genes because they make you suck.  For those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about, I'll make it simple:

Being Greek is like having mild retardism (no it's not a real word).

Vote.

Haters are wanting to change the game, I want to change some panties.  The only way I get that done is by voting.  Oh what, hater?  You're too much of a cocksniffer to vote?  Well sit down and learn something.

Hate for the system's at an all time high.  People are complaining more than Jewish mothers and it's bothering me.  What haters need to get through their hating skulls is that there ain't shit wrong with the system, it's the people we got working in there. 

The next time you slip into a pair of skinny jeans, gear up and go to your hardcore music show to have your period about how much life sucks, I'm gunna be chillin' in a voter booth with a glass of rosay.  Whatchu know about that voting, dawg?  I know I live in a state that is ranked last in voter turnouts...

By the way, I live in New York.  One of the most densely populated places in this country has the least people showing up to vote.  Then what happens?  Smoking gets banned from all parks, Time Square and the sidewalks of most government facilities.  For a state filled with artsy-fartsy, tobacco smokin' hipsters and the highest concentration of gay people who've been proven to smoke more than pussy-lovers, you'd think that New York would be the last place to be affected by tobacco-hate, but it's not.

This is only a small example of why you need to get your hatin' ass on down to the voter booth and elect decent people into office.  Not for tobacco, dick, but rather so you have better representation.  The men who record shit all the time say that a "high" voter turnout is somewhere in the 15% percent range.  If a simple majority is deciding who gets voted in, that means about 8% of the population is deciding everything. 

Oooooh shit, haters.  The noggin-sauce is oozin' out my bloodthirsty cawk and it's time you took a sip and learned something.  People our age (18-30) have very similar ideas of what should be goin' down in our areas.  If we just voted people that we like into all the offices, then we'd be getting much different results.  Your district votes in a cool ass liberal, the district next to you sees this and mimicks it with their own liberal.  You start a chain reaction until the entire state has higher turnouts and the people we actually want in office will be runnin' shit. 

Oh, oh, what?  Didn't think this Greek hater could learn you a few things in voting, huh?  Stop being stupid and make a change the way those crazy fucks wearing wigs wanted us to.

Incoming Hate #3: Pharmasluttical.

Saddle up Paul Revere, 'cause the hate's coming.  I've got my ass-cannon ready to fire off some chocolate balls at pharmacies, AKA white-collar drug dealers.  And god damn, they're fuckin' fine...

Ever since I had a job at a hospital I saw firsthand the tits methods pharmaceutical companies use to sell their drugs.  And quite frankly?  I wish every drug dealer used the same methods.

Just imagine sitting at home when suddenly a fine woman sporting the "slutty secretary look" comes up to your door with a briefcase.  Turns out, the briefcase is filled with samples of weed that she wants to sell to you for a price of - OH MY GOD THOSE TITS ARE FANTASTIC.  MAKE IT RAIN, HATER, MAKE IT RAIN.

The fact her lace bra was playing hide-and-seek with you the entire time forces you to buy a few samples.  Now you have a super hot woman delivering your drugs.  Sounds like an offer money can easily buy and will.

It's the oldest ploy, sex.  And pharmacies are using it day in and day out.  They sell the drugs to the doctors with sex, the doctors give it to the patients, the patients are now "prescribed" and the pharmacy banks.

These women pharmaceutical companies hire are beyond hot, they're fantasy.  And they're running around from office to office selling their drugs through their bodies like the transvestitutes in New York.

And let's face it, if you're a young and attractive woman surrounded by wealthy doctors (some of which are physically fit and handsome), you're probably gunna get banged at some point; and that will only sell more drugs.  Win, win, win, win, win.  It's a self-sufficient process that I can jerk off to in my mind all day (only because they mix sex, drugs and money so well).

At the end of the day, these women are worse than strippers, porn stars or even escorts.  Their entire job is to seduce your care provider (the person who provides you with care) and inject a little bit of their poison into the system.  Because of her tight body and perky boobs  business savy and charisma you're being prescribed unfamiliar drugs for (in most cases) more money.

God bless America (and sex).

Time is time is time is time...

Let's face it haters, you're no more human than I am.  We're all terrified of time and getting sexed up by rabid wolverines.  Both are irrational fears that we need to get over.

What we're forgetting is that the value of time has changed.  Thanks to the media the amount of things we can accomplish in a minute has gone from thinking up a full sentence to learning everything about someone from their facebook profile.  What's that mean besides perverts being at an all-time high knuckle-bust rate?  It means you need to stop complaining about how much time you have left and start using it.

Haters get so anxious after they end a relationship; what is there to fear?  You don't think you can meet someone else?  Hater, you need to fuckin' recognize that you can meet ten new people within ten minutes of ditching a slut.  That's the beauty of technology.

Back in the day things moved so slow.  You had to make a night out of meeting new people, collect numbers in your pockets, stay attached to your pager, update your black book, wait until you get home to listen to an answering machine, etc.  Things were so slow ten years ago that you had to load porn before you went to work, come home, make dinner and shower before you could sit down and rub one out.  The point I'm trying to make, hater, is that you're wasting precious time complaining  about your precious time.

People are so accessible now-a-days we have the dickpic.  Forgot about those, huh?  The dickpic is new, haters.  Do you think guys used to hit the local one-hour photo to make a few cockmonster copies to hand out at clubs with their cards?  Of course not.  Women have the luxury of seeing a dick before they suck on it now, you're welcome.

Speed dating is regular dating now, everything is in overdrive and people still complain about how hard it is to meet someone.  Aside from meeting people in public, you have friend suggestions, dating sites, BBM groups, chatrooms, etc.

So, next time you're worried about meeting someone (or just bored and need to make new friends), blindfold yourself and pick one of those thousands of people you're friends with on facebook.  I guarantee at least one of them will be good enough to share that precious time with, hater.

Incoming Hate #2: College Peeples.

If haters are gunna hate.  I'm gunna send a heat-seeking shit-missile directly into the dorms of college peeples.  Anyone who has the audacity to complain about their lives while having the most sex they will ever have ever should be taken down a peg.

Here I am, haters, giving you a taste of your own medicine. 

So, I'm on facebook getting my boss networking on when I see a bunch of old high school acquaintances posting pictures of a bitchin' party I was never invited to.  A few minutes a later, some slut from the party musters up the period to post this:

"Sooooo hungover my moms making me go to shopping.  :(("


Too fuckin' bad you can't just skip shopping like class after a long night of getting date-raped by a frat dude, huh?  If anyone knows a thing or two about me, they should know I party.  I party like an animal.  I party like an animal that's been caged for years.  Mu'fuckas I've been let out, so I will party until I can't stay awake on the toilet.  And that's a lot of partying considering my shits are so painful I can't even blink, let alone close my eyes to sleep.  Still, I'll show up to work (unless I happened to pass out on the toilet). 

Now we have Dildo Baggins too tired to get up and go shopping at a quarter-to-noon with her mother.  Boo-hoo hater.


The only thing worse than this slizz is her drunken lay from the night before.  College dudes are the epitome of pathetic.  I once had the fleeting thought that they were tools; I was wrong.  College dudes spend all their time having unprotected sex and getting their egos inflated - at least that's what we're made to think.  In reality, there's about twelve fails before they get to have their turn with the wasted girl wearing a short dress and no panties.  These college dudes are so obsessed with the frat life (even if they aren't in one) that the pressure forces them to become complete douchefags with low self-esteem.  So come the summertime they try to bag that girl they've had their sights on from high school as if that'd normalize that empty void inside of them.

Truth is, college dude, that girl has already been nailed by someone more exciting, physically fit and older; so don't even try.

That's all I got time for; next time, I'm hating on myself.

Update. 7/02/11

So, you may have heard that I've been hating on hipsters.

I had mentioned that no one should be riding a bike while wearing a business suit.  There is, however, an exception to that rule.

So if you aren't watching child pornography, don't wear a suit while riding a bike.

Incoming Hate #1: Hipsturds.

Hateristical data shows SoHo can blow-ho me.   For those of you who don't know what SoHo is, it's an area of New York that starts south of Houston street.  SoHo is essentially like any part of the village in New York, it's filled with hipsters who take vintage pictures with digital cameras.

Since I'm an artist in my own respect I can't hate hipsters because they're artsy, I can't hate a hipster because of their stupid colloquialisms and I can't hate a hipster for complaining about gentrification. 

I can hate a hipster for wearing a full suit while riding a bicycle that Jesus used to ride.

The basket is there to hold his tampons.

Hipsturds don't even have endearing personalities like their hippie predecessors; they are generally racist, they trim their facial hair, they all shop at Salvation Army (rather than volunteer there) and the smoking gun?

Hipsters are essentially poor people who've managed to create an imaginary pedestal from which they can condescend to everyone else.  Read that shit like this:  Hipsturds are douchebigots. 

The hate ain't done until I sex a hipster's uncle up; believe it.  These pasty puddles of hippie afterbirth don't even smell manly when they don't shower.  Put me up against a hipster any day for ten days, no showers.  I guarantee by the end I'll have a stench with body, a salty smell that will attract a French woman from miles away.  The hipster will smell like a coffee can full of queef. 

TGIF Update #1.

It's Friday morning and we're getting raw with shit.  It's good to know that my art is making personal friends on the rag try to embarrass me via the internet.  Bad news, you can't embarrass me on the internet.  My ass is on the internet.  Literally.

Keep track of this blog, it'll be seeing more action.  We're talking comic strips, videos, announcements and even a contest.  So stay tuned, haters.