MrWrong's guide to the English fucking language

Ok kids, obviously some of you need to go back to middle school English class
I have a list that might help u rite gudder:

 

Here we go:

Lose - the opposite of win, to misplace something

As in "Did you lose your fucking mind?"
IT HAS ONE FUCKING 'O'

Loose - the opposite of tight

As in "your mother/wife/sister is loose as fuck"

IT HAS TWO FUCKING O's

Your - a possessive...similar to 'mine', 'his', 'her'
As in "Your loose slut of a sister gets railroaded by your whole inbred, shitbag excuse for a family"
NO FUCKING APOSTROPHE


You're - a contraction of 'you are'
As in "you're a dipshit"
1 FUCKING APOSTROPHE

Its - another possessive, similar to 'your'
NO FUCKING APOSTROPHE

It's - a contraction of "it is"
As in 'it's fucking simple'
1FUCKING APOSTROPHE

Need a trick?
When using 'it's' or 'you're' try expanding the contraction.
Example: "You're head is full of shit" becomes "You are head is full of shit"
See?
It doesn't make any sense.
That's because you're using the wrong word.
(It might make sense to you, but that's part of what makes you a fucking idiot)

All right, let's keep moving...

To - a preposition
As in "turn to the right" or "it's back to the fucking 3rd grade for you, asshole"
ONE FUCKING O

Too - an adverb (know what that is?) synonymous with "also" or "as well"
As in "Really? I finished middle school too. But, I actually read a fucking book while I was there"
It can also be used to mean "very, or excessively"
As in "It's too late for you, moron"
TWO FUCKING O's

Two - a number, it comes after one and before three

There 
(Adverb) Similar to 'here'
As in "Your short bus is over there"
(Pronoun) Used to indicate an unspecified person in direct address: "Hello there, asshole"
(Noun) A place or point
As in "I came and then I kicked your mom out of the car right there"

Their - yet another possessive...similar to 'your'
As in "It's not their fault that you're a fucking retard."

They're - a contraction of "they are"
As in "they're not responsible for your ignorance of your own language"


It's not that fucking tough, is it?

By the way, grammar is spelled with TWO FUCKING A's.
So next time you want to flame someone for bad "grammer"; at least spell it right.

Welcome to the Fucking Neighborhood

Today's rant was brought to you by a dupatta-wearing Pakistani bitch that came to pick up a car her husband bought and called me 'stupid' & a 'racist' because I was taking advantage of her 'stupid' husband by selling him a car that needed $500 worth of work for $2000 under it's book value And by the other dope who bought a lifted antique Wrangler project for his daughter's first car.
Here we go.....

.

I don't care what color you are.
I don't care where you're from.
I don't care what you do for a living.
I don't care what class you are, how you dress, what you smoke, what you drink, who you know, or whom you've fucked.

If you are an asshole, I'm going to tell you are.
And I fucking hate all of you.

Every. Last. Fucking. One. Of. You.

Fuck you Craigslist car buyers. I'm selling a car $2000 Below Kelly Blue Book value! Isn't it fair to assume it's not fucking going to look like it rolled off the fucking showroom floor?

Fuck you people who call at 11:30 PM offering me fucking less than 1/2 of my advertised price.

Fuck you dumb-fucks that text 20 questions already answered in my ad...
Read the ad.
Am I supposed to believe you learned to read in the 30 fucking seconds it took you to text me?

Fuck you guy that buys a lifted modified 25 year old unfinished 'project' Jeep for less than the lift cost and wants to hand the keys to his 17 year old daughter for her first car. Then expects me to give him his money back when his wife gets mad...Grow some balls; tell either your daughter and your wife 'no' for once.

Now for the rest of you assholes in the world:

Fuck you, semi-truck drivers, for running the yellow light so that I have to wait through my green just to have the dubious fucking pleasure of sniffing your tailpipe while I'm stuck behind your slow ass.

Fuck you, bicyclists - you're not exempt from the traffic laws just because you're peddling, you miserable spandex-covered neon-reflective fucks.

Fuck you too, pedestrians. Use the fucking crosswalk if you don't want to get hit, and use it before the little countdown clock says '3'. Your fat ass doesn't have enough goddamn time to lope across four lanes of traffic.

Fuck you chick on your cellphone that came out of nowhere to blew through the yield sign nearly wiping out my Jeep and my 4 year daughter...That red triangle means I have the right of way.

Fuck you attitude packed minimum-wager that makes my coffee.

Fuck you douche bag doing ten under the limit in the passing lane on the highway.
Fuck you, little punk ass prick, and fuck your loud ass stereo at the light in front of my house
And Fuck you for turning it up louder when I point to my girls and ask you (nicely) to turn it down because "fuck bitches, get money" isn't the message I want to send them...Didn't you see the hammer in my hand?
You're lucky I'm still on probation

Fuck you dirtbag counting out exact change at the counter at the liquor store.

Fuck you kids having a conversation while blocking the exit. And fuck you also for not getting the fuck out of my way.

Fuck taxes.
Fuck welfare.
Fuck the whole selfish, over politicized, party driven government system. I'm sick and fucking tired of policies and new laws with 700 bylaws that nobody reads.
Fuck the political parties, fuck the conventions, and fuck your campaigns. Do some real fucking work for a change.

Fuck you, bottle of water.
You're water. You're not worth two fucking dollars.
Fuck you trendsetters.
Fuck your little dogs and and your idiotic outfits
Fuck your high heels in the snow.
Fuck your health kick, your diet, and your new fucking interest in kickboxing or sushi.

Fuck your culture.
Fuck your race.
Fuck your sense of entitlement.
Fuck your sense of uniqueness.
Fuck you all for the belief that you have something unique and interesting to contribute.
Fuck you for filling the internet with your useless garbage.
Fuck your blogs, your wikis, your facebook, fuck your forums.

And most of all, fuck whatever you believe.
It. Is. All. Fucking. Wrong.

Finally:
Fuck you IPhone for auto-correcting 'fucking' to 'ficking' at least 25 times during this rant

Fuck it.

 

Welcome to the fucking neighborhood.

Coal for You, Asshole

Hi kids!

As Christmas approaches, I feel I need to tell y'all about my thoughts on gift giving.

Disclaimer: Before anyone thinks, "Fine, you asshole. I hope you get nothing for Christmas!" please realize that I don't want or need anything for Christmas. In fact, that is the whole point here.
If I need something, I don't ask Santa for it. I fucking buy it like an adult.
What do I want for Chris...

tmas? I don't know....
Since I'm writing this at 4am, I guess the ability to sleep would be nice.

Here are some specific things that I DON'T want this holiday season:

#1. Novelty Boxer Shorts

Unless the woman you're trying to seduce has a fantasy about fucking a clown, there's no reason to ever be wearing underwear covered in images of Snoopy, Sponge Bob, or Charlie Brown.
You say "But it's a holiday theme!!!"
Terrific, but that doesn't change the fact that the woman I undress in front of will be trying to decide whether to fuck me or read me a Bernstein Bears story.

#2. Whatever 'For Dummies' book pertains to the career I'm pursuing

I know that certain scientific laws make it impossible to give gifts that aren't tangible like, in this case, spitting in my face, but I must say, you've come pretty damn close with your choice to give me this gift.
Your lack of faith wouldn't be more obvious if you just gave me a job application to Wal-Mart.

#3. The DVD first season of some short-lived, completely forgettable show

There is absolutely no reason anyone (including Andy Griffith) should ever need to have instant access to any specific episode of Matlock. Is this one where Matlock wastes the courts time to make reference to his love of Southern cooking or is it the one where the black guy goes to a seedy bar and uses his street smarts to wrangle information?
The whole point of day-time reruns of crappy television is to bore people into canning the "I'm sick" bullshit so they can get back to work.

#4. The gift from the out of touch relative who thinks I'm 3 decades younger than I actually am

A vintage Star Wars lunch box! Oh Boy!!!
It even snaps shut so there's no way my sandwich, chips, or chances of ever having sex again will fall out.
Perfect.
I'll set it on top of that bin in the basement I keep my baseball cards in.
Honestly, if I didn't use my dick to take a leak, your gifts would make me forget that I have one.

#5. The Obvious Last-Minute Gift

Forgive me if I can't honestly believe that your intention a month ago was to get me a porcelain cat figurine for Christmas despite the fact that I really don't like cats and even go out of my way to express my dislike for cats. We've all been there, but next time you're thinking of picking up a gift for me at the gas station on the way to my house, just stop at the package store and buy some rum. And if you don't mind grabbing the mail on the way in, I'd love that too.

#6. The really small gift card for the big, expensive store

Wow, $10 to Nordstrom! Yay!
Now if I can just scrape together another $10 out of my own pocket, I'll be able to buy a key chain

#7. Any type of donation being made in my name

Even though I think karma is merely a way to keep morons from really enjoying themselves, I do know that if it does exist, it doesn't work like a gift card. In other words, you can't do something nice and have the karma points added to my account. If you really want to distract God from what a huge asshole I am, come answer the phone for me so I don't have to tell the low-lifes I deal with to fuck off 20 times a day

#8. A starter kit for some obscure hobby I have zero interest in and I am pretty sure you also have zero interest in.

Alright! A butterfly net with a book about catching and identifying butterflies! Is there a head injury in my future that I don't know about yet? If the day ever arrives that I'm reduced to the type of mongoloid who spends his days puttering around the backyard with a butterfly net, I give you full permission to take me down to the creek, tell me about the rabbit farm, and then blow my fucking brains out.

#9 Any gift that serves as an attempt to include me in whatever cultish fad you're currently wasting your time with.

Yes, I've heard of The Secret and honestly I'm glad you've found something to momentarily distract you from the fact that your job is slowly driving you insane and you're a spilled drink on the couch away from your third divorce. However, because I don't see you often enough to warrant showing any real concern for your life, please realize that it's just easier for me smile and nod in response to whatever cup of poisonous Kool-Aid you happen to be drinking at the moment than to give you my honest opinion. All I ask is that you just leave me the hell out of it.

Anyway, Merry Christmas!!!

Pretty Fly for a White Guy

I've got to send out props to the straight-up G white guy at food bag in Berlin today.

C'mon, you know who you were, you mac-daddyin' chick magnet mother fucker.
Hell, you didn't even wait to arrive in the parking lot to announce your pimpin ways; your bumpin' stereo was audible 2 blocks away
Nothing says 'bad-ass-a-comin' more than a sound system that has nothing to do with music, but everythi...

ng to do with noise.

Once you pulled into the parking lot, there was simply no doubt as to who you are as a man.
Your white 1999 4-door Chevy S-10 Blazer was done right!
(No full-size SUV needed when you already got a grip on the street cred. Right, Todd?)
Cadillac side vents...two sets! The window tinted so dark that they looked painted. And that's what a gangsta gotsta have, right? I mean, ya don't want no one peeking in your donked ride while you getting your hourly swerve on with da next lucky female in the back. Right, Jonathan?

And there is no doubt, whatsoever, that you are a player, because you had, affixed to your back window, a 10-inch chromed cut-out of the shape of a Playboy bunny and a pair of chrome reclining naked ladies.

Can there be any doubt as to your gift with the ladies when the already-impressed citizenry get a look at these universal symbols of studliness?

I dont think so.

Your 22-in rims were icing on the cake. It's true that the size of the wheels left so little room for the rubber bands that were masquerading as tires, that you may as well have had no tires at all.
And that you had to take 2 tries to make it up the tiny grade covered in 1/10th" of snow?
Such things are trivial.
What counts is that your crunchin' mini S-Calade was hooked up. Right, Aaron?

And here was no doubt you were gangsta once you stepped from your ride and walking inside. (of course leaving your stereo cranked to the max)
Even though you were pushing 40 and as white a mother fucker as I have ever seen, your threads and bling were off the hook, aight?

White basketball jersey that barely contained a roll of fat and man-boobs and your name spelled out on your back.
Wait?!! Was that really Lebron James? I had to check twice, but then I realized at 5'11" and 280 lbs. of twisted steel and sex appeal, you just weren't tan enough.

And those basketball shorts in winter? That so hood.
Size XXXL, weren't they, LeBron?
But you were saggin' correctly, although this was mostly because your back fat forced your white basketball shorts to hang halfway down your neon-white ass

Of course you had the latest in $250 dollar basketball shoes.
Were the shoelaces untied simply because, like any real Gangsta up in the hizzy, it's how you roll, or was it because your fat gut prevented you from tying them?
Regardless, I'm convinced that those kicks see a lot of hoop time when you and the posse chill at the courts before rolling out for the nights of cappin', pimpin', hoin', and slingin'

I was so glad for the following things:

1) I'm glad I got to check out the inside of your S10-Calade as I reached in to turn off your fucking stereo.

2) I'm also glad you just gave me a dirty look and muttered some shit at me while skulking back to your ride so I didn't have to grab one of the 5 fake 1" gold chains hanging around your neck and use it to choke the shit out of you.

3) As you left the gas station with your V6 screaming and tires spinning, I was humbled by your bad-assery and your sleek gangsta ride.
But I was glad because I realized that I had just seen the blueprint of what it means to be a real man.