All right, all right. I suppose I should write something before I lose any more followers. However, today I’m staring down the barrel of four classes’ homework, waiting to hear back from a potential employer (for a position working- you’ll love this- security at a porno shop), and the ever-growing pile of filthy laundry Mrs. Randy needs me to do while she toils away at her fabulous job as a hand model. So before I ignore all that and waste the entire day playing Minecraft, you’re getting this abortion of an article. Rejoice!
Hey everyone! I’m currently at school, in between classes waiting for the hobos outside to stop digging through the trash so I can have a turn “diggin’ fer gold”, and reflecting on a thought I just had- probably brought on by a possible E. Coli bug from “eating my way to riches”. In today’s installment of my never-ending dissatisfaction with everything on Earth, we’re going to discuss personal hygiene. Namely, yours- or your LACK OF IT. That’s right, we’re going to talk about how you smell like raccoons fucking.
Hey everybody! I’ve been so great this past week or two, I can’t even begin to describe it. Eating out of dumpsters, fighting hobos for cigarette butts in the rain, sleeping fifteen minutes at a time because I’m afraid the railroad dicks will find me… oh yes, let the good times ROLL!
Hey there, true believers! I know it’s been a while, but I’m back with a fresh batch of Adderall and a list as long as your daddy’s pecker of shit that needs hating- so let’s get started, yeah?
Hey, everybody! How was your summer vacation? Good? Didja go down the shore with your Uncle Fritz and softly cry to yourself while he was busy playing “Doo-Doo Hole Treasure Hunt”? That’s great, really.
I’ve been quite the busy little beaver this past month or so; between the fat camp my rich overweight parents sent me to and all this Brazilian tranny porn I’ve had to watch for my Writing in Film class, I’ve barely had a chance to wipe myself after a trip to the can, much less wrestle hobos for their moth-eaten gypsy souls. Oh, and write anything for you whiny, overprivileged fucks.
Okay, one COULD make the case that I’ve been insanely busy with summer classes and trying to find some kind of employment to not starve to death. I’m just saying- which one would you rather believe? (Hint: your mother and I wouldn’t blame you if it was the first one!)
But fear not, my entitled brats! My schedule is clearing up very soon, as soon as my ankle-monitor that smartass judge said I have to wear gets activated. I swear, you drunkenly masturbate yourself at ONE Dunkin’ Donuts and all of a sudden you have a “problem”. Well, besides the crippling addiction to smelling my own farts. So cheer up, homo kid- I’ll be back to bitching about anything and everything under the sun (including the fucking sun, that dirty prick) soon enough. Now if you’ll pardon me, it’s time for my bracelet fitting. Have you seen the Vaseline?
Good evening, children! I’m taking time from my busy schedule of summer classes (which was a dumb idea, considering I could be working instead of wondering what the fuck possessed me to take a full load of credits) to bring you this Very Important public service announcement. Okay, public service bitching. Still, it’s important, so pay attention.
Good morning, everybody! I realize it’s been a few days since my last update, but I didn’t realize that I was lying… in a pool of my own filth. Now I’m back, fresh out of (yet another) stint in dairy-related rehab. And I tell you what- those Holsteins are fucking brutal. Don’t ever let ANYONE tell you cows are pacifists- I have the hoof-marks on my nutsack to prove otherwise.
Actually, that’d make a pretty good movie, right? Something funny, maybe with Seth Rogen or somebody- guy gets addicted to dairy products, gets shipped off to “dairy rehab”, anthropomorphic cows beat the head cheese out of him, and in the process he learns about love, life and how they make half-and-half. Not bad for off the top of my head, eh? See, Hollywood? It really is THAT easy. But apparently coming up with an original idea is more difficult than finding a beer in Utah, because all the movie news I’ve heard about so far this year has made me about as hard as Eating Food for Dummies™.
Hey there, kids! I’m pleased to announce that Finals Week is now over, which means more savings for you! Unfortunately, it also means that I’m currently suffering from a case of stress-related hives, but whatever- you can’t make an omelet without breaking some red, irritated areas on your skin. I’ve also got a shitload of new readers- like, I’m well over two thousand followers on Tumblr- which means I have a lot of new people to disappoint, both comedically AND sexually. But I swear, you guys, that has NEVER HAPPENED to me before. Wait, where are you going? Come back! I paid for the whole hour!!!
Oh shit! My ad went up, which means I should probably take a break from my self-imposed exile on Fuckass Island and actually, y’know… write something. So if you’re new to the site, welcome- here’s hoping you enjoy swearing and infantile jokes about bodily functions. If not, then I don’t know what you were really expecting with a title like “Shit Randy Hates”. Additionally, weiner fart cocks. LOL!!!
For all my returning readers (who are now already outnumbered by the new folks, all four of you), if I flunk my C programming final I’m blaming you instead of my daily Clorox-and-urine smoothie in the mornings. Clear? All right.
Speaking of things that are made entirely of urine, that poorly-done segue brings us to tonight’s hate- M. Night Shyamalan and his body of “work”. Now, I know that it’s kind of easy to talk about what a fucking hack this guy is, but I’m an American and everybody knows that we love to take the easy road. So here we go. Oh, and I’m totally not a ghost, by the way. Just so you know. Not a ghost. Click the jump to read more about how I’m totally not dead and haunting the shit out of you.
Hey, kids! I just wanted to send out a quick note to everybody (the seven of you left) still reading my “writing”- I haven’t ignored you or stopped altogether, so don’t worry. Daddy’s sorry, he’s just been a little busy with school lately. Daddy still loves you, baby. Why are you crying? Aw, Daddy’s sorry. He didn’t mean to make you cry. Come here. That’s right, shhhhhh. Come sit on my lap, and I’ll make those tears go away.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know that I haven’t forgotten about you, and that more hilarity is on the way as soon as finals are over and this abomination of a college term is done next week. And believe me, there’s been plenty of shit lately that’s been hate-worthy (the BP oil spill, Hollywood, my bank account, my growing addiction to amputee pornography, and amputees) that I feel needs to be addressed. I simply haven’t had the time to do any of it justice, but that will change. With extreme prejudice. So don’t despair! I still love you, but your mother and I just won’t be living together anymore, that’s all.
Additionally, I wanted to ask you all this- what would you think about listening to an audio file of me ranting versus the written word? I swiped my neighbor’s Rock Band microphone when he wasn’t looking, so now I actually have a means to record myself actually saying all the stupid shit I “write”. Would that be relevant to your interests?