Archive | Culture RSS feed for this section

Kid’s Letters To Santa. Mr. Know-It-All Responds (Classic Repost)

21 Dec

December 21, 2011

Here’s an oldie but a goodie. A scary, scary goodie. I’ve dug deep in the holiday archives for this one. Say hi to an old friend.

from December 8, 2007

Hi kids! Your drunken pal Mr. Know-It-All here. Somebody told me that Christmas is coming. It was that tattoo guy down on 13th street, under the train, in the old box next to the dumpster. He does great work, but I can’t remember why I had to take my pants off for an arm tattoo and why do I have these strange tattoos on my cock? They kind of look like teeth marks. Shit that crystal meth fucks you up.

But in the spirit of Christmas, I’ve got some letters to Santa I found in my office last week. Funny, I don’t remember having a big oak desk in my office, and who were all those strange people in the pictures on the wall? I must have also hired a new secretary because this one didn’t recognize me at all. For some reason I also don’t remember my office being all blurry and headachy. Mr. Know-It-All hasn’t gotten a paycheck in a while either.

Anyway, it is my pleasure to answer these questions. I love Christmas. For a long time they called me Mr. Mistletoe Pants. (The trick is to hang it off your belt right above your crotch.)

So here is letter numero uno:

Dear Santa,
This is from Marisa, Victoria and Katie. Please bring us something nice for Christmas. Please bring Mommy and Daddy something nice too!!
Have a safe trip and a Merry Christmas.

We love you,
The Wager’s Girls

Hey girls, no problem. Tell Daddy those divorce papers went through and tell Mommy that her test was positive for Chlamydia. And write back when you grow up to be the Wager’s Women. 36D and above, please.

————————————————————————-

I’ll try to bring more seasonal sunshine to the next poor kid.

Dear Mrs Claus,
Please tell Santa that we would like to ask for a Sony Playstation and the following games – Colin McCrae Rally, and Command and Conquer Retaliation. We have been good boys and have been doing our homework. It would be nice to get a couple of surprises too.

Gareth and Andrew Gone

Who the fuck do you think you are, dickshine? Who the fuck writes to MRS. Claus? That bitch better be in the kitchen making dinner for Santa and practicing her deep knee bends. When Mr. K-I-A was married he had his wife barefoot and pregnant on her wedding day. The only word she said was “more.” Then she bought a gun and the rest you can look up in the New York Times.

Anyway kid, you got a look of friggin’ nerve asking for- Hey? Your name is “Gareth?” “Gareth Gone?” I take it back kid, you better have great big balls the way your family fucked you.

——————————————–

Dear Santa:
Hi. My name is Ryan Smith, I’m 15 months old. I have tried my best to be a good boy. But I have an older sister and we sometimes don’t get along. I don’t like to share. My Mommy is helping me to e-mail you. I would like a Lights and Sounds Ernie and a surprise gift for Christmas. I like suprises. I hope that all is well in the North Pole and I guess you are all really busy getting ready for Christmas Eve. Mommy, my sister and I are going to leave you some cookies and milk. Hope you can find our home in Pugwash, Nova Scotia. Have a jolly trip on Christmas Eve.

Love, Ryan

OK, ok, alright, 15 month old kid. Let me talk to your Mom, the mastermind here.

Listen lady, what the Hell do you think you are doing writing to Santa? The kid can’t read- his mind can’t even process how the poop got in his pants. So what the fuck are you doing writing to Santa? Let me come over to “Pugwash” and give you some “Pudwash” from my “North Pole” and then you’ll give that kid a Christmas memory he’ll never forget. And no cookies and milk. I want booze and blow.

Shit yeah Mr. Know-It-All talks a good game! Too bad I can’t even take a leak without pissing my left leg.

———————————————-

Dear Santa:
I know I might not have been good this year, but could you pleas! I would be so happy! If I could have a Pocket Pickachu so happy I would not need anything else. Have a Happy Yuletide

From, Wolf

Yeah, I got a pocket Pickachu too. You’re growing up right.

———————————————–

Dear Santa:
I liked the things you gave me last year I hope you can make my wishes come true again all I want is some money so I can Buy what I want. I love you Heaps

kellie hogan

Look me up when you turn fifteen kid. Man, will you make some good whore.

I was a fifteen year old whore too. I called myself Monique and, umm, on to the next letter. Fast.

———————————————-

Dear Santa:
I want a New Born Baby. Are the raindeer redy for the trip? Weel Goodbye

REBECCA ASHLEY RUSH

There’s a few easy steps for that.

1-     Tell me where your Mom lives.

2-     When is she alone?

3-     Leave a big bottle of Viagra for me and a bottle of Quaaludes for her.

4-     Wait nine months.

5-     Bail me out of jail for non-payment of child support.

And screw the reindeer.

———————————————–

That’s it. I can’t take these greedy brats any more. Where are the hot MILF’s letters to Santa? I want to write back to them. They have the coolest wishes and the best pills. And desperate MILFs will do anything, even if the board of health has condemned your cock and you have needle marks all over your balls and your apartment is really just a filthy alley behind a pizzeria.

As you can see, Christmas brings out the best in Mr. Know-It-All.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Why We Fight (with apologies to Frank Capra)

20 Dec

December 20, 2011

Not long ago The Editors and Staff of Mr. Blog’s Tepid Ride (pretty much just me) posted on The Official Mr. Blog’s Tepid Facebook Page a self-serving and egotistical chart of this blog’s phenomenal growth over the past two years. (See? I’m being self-serving again. I can’t stop!) Anyway, at one end of the chart was this teeny tiny little blip that represented all the views that hit this blog on November 2009, the first month of Mr. Blog on WordPress. The other end of the chart was November 2011. That bar (for it was a bar chart. Sorry pie chart fans.) was about a bazillion times bigger than the first bar. So if you do the math, this blog has about a bazillion times more hits per month now than it had two years ago.

Or something like that. I do my math with strictly irrational numbers.

Below the chart I posted this message: “I worked damn hard for that growth. Now if only I had worked that hard for money.”

HA HA! Mr. Blog is nothing if not self-effacing. (Women have destroyed my ego.)

But getting back to whatever point I may have had (and in fact, I have two of them) this brings up some questions. A (or 1 if you prefer) – Why do I do it? And 2 (B if you prefer) – Why don’t I make any money off of this thing? (It also brings up related questions C- Why don’t I get a life? And D- Shut up.)

Since the answers to both questions are related it won’t matter to anyone but the compulsively anal if I answer B first. (Heh heh, I said “anal.”)

B- (Or 2 if you prefer. Sigh, I am going to milk this. Be prepared.) Why don’t I make any money off this thing?

(Before you continue, ask yourself this question: Would you pay for this stuff?)

It wouldn’t be hard to put a paypal link over on the sidebar above the Pierre D. Duck (World’s Greatest Duck) Facebook Page and a short message begging for some donations to keep this site in crappy Late Night movies and Mikey Teutul jokes.

But that’s opening up a big can of worms. Because what happens if I get no donations? Zero. Not a single cent. That would be a CRUSHING DEATH BLOW to my ego. Why go on? Why write anymore? Why continue to do whatever it is I continue to do if no one likes it enough to give me a couple of bucks?

And if no one was willing to pay for the blog (which I admit is free, so why pay anyway?), who would pay for a hardcover copy of Mr. Blog’s Tepid Book, which would just be best-of (ha!) compilation of my favorite blogs, which I already admitted are free? Oh sure, maybe I could get Mike Monge to illustrate it, but seriously, you’ve already read and not paid for the blogs, it would be a HUGE KILLING STROKE to my already fragile sense of self-worth if you failed to pay me a second time.

But there are two other options.

Let’s say that I put up the paypal link and asked for donations and at the end of the month I got about $3.17. That would be not only crushing but a cruel insult as well. Seriously, $3.17? What kind of an amount is that? Would you tip a waiter $3.17? I like to think I am a bit more entertaining than a waiter, unless of course it is one of those fancy singing waiters. I can’t compete with them. But on the other hand I don’t spit in your food.

And now let’s say I got a lot of money. Could I handle the responsibility? People are paying me! I HAVE to blog! And I have to be interesting and funny! OK, I can pull off interesting about half the time, and funny is hit or miss, but now the pressure is on. I can’t handle the pressure! I’ll crack! I’ll be like Henry Hill in Goodfellas, I might crack under questioning.

Seriously, it is better that I don’t ask for money from you.

So getting back to question A and/or 1, however you prefer to roll, why do I do this?

I dunno. It’s something to do, I guess.

I think my hopes for this blog can be summed up in a short scenario.

Picture this. The year is 2035. It is a taping of a late night talk show hosted by the kid in the Jimmy Fallon Capital One commercial, all grown up. The first guest is a hot comedian, Carrot Top 4.0. Unlike the first Carrot Top, this one is funny.

Baby, all grown up: 4.0, I have to ask, who were your comedic influences growing up?
Carrot Top 4.0: Well, my grandfather, Carrot Top 2.0, of course, and my mother, Chelsea Clinton.
Baby, all grown up: I loved it when Carrot Top 2.0 dyed his genitals blue.
Carrot Top 4.0: It was a great bit.
Baby, all grown up: But what about other comedians? I know you are a fan of classic TV.
Carrot Top 4.0: I never laughed harder than I do at old Chris Matthews MSNBC reruns.
Baby, all grown up: Yeah, it’s a shame he died the way he did. That diaper did nothing to help his image. Who else?
Carrot Top 4.0: Remember the internet?
Baby, all grown up: Vaguely. That was before the Taliban took over the FCC, right?
Carrot Top 4.0: Yeah. Back then when I was growing up I’d read this blog, Mr. Blog’s Tepid Ride.
Baby, all grown up: Wait, a “blog”? You read a “blog”? One of those sex things?
Carrot Top 4.0: No, this was one of the non-sex blogs. It was run by some guy who had too much time on his hands and made fun of the news and spent too much time writing about American Chopper. Later on he got really obsessed about 2012 prophecies and his blog just became unreadable. Of course that was in 2023 so I have no idea what was going on there.
Baby, all grown up: Hmm, I wonder if we can track him down. Might be an interesting interview.
Carrot Top 4.0: I think he died and his cats ate him.

Eventually a reporter for TMZ tracked me down and luckily for me, I was not dead and made a funny 30 second clip on the show.

And that is my hope for this blog. That someday somebody funny may say they liked my blog.

Is that too much to ask?

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →