The Uppity Bastard

Smug Life

so true

I got this piece of genius from McSweeneys



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In white culture, it is common to inscribe the name of your future bride on the hindquarters of 12 hamsters. After carefully bagging each hamster in burlap, the future groom installs a zip line from the easternmost garden in his future in-laws’ backyard to their master bedroom. The hamsters are then slid along the zip line into the bedroom, where a small fire burns at the base of the zip line to burn the burlap from the hamsters. As each hamster ignites, the inscription of the future bride’s name is revealed to the in-laws, signaling the occurrence of an important event. At that moment, the future groom, dressed in a hamster suit, removes his top hat to reveal a large fortune cookie. The fortune cookie is opened by the father of the future bride. The color of the jelly inside reveals the future groom’s intentions: red for marriage, green for murder. For this reason, mint jelly is taboo in white culture.


In white culture, the man steals the woman’s kerchief and drops it from a balloon. Wherever the kerchief lands, a chapel is erected by a collective of albino children (from the caves). The chapel is then burned, after which the ashes are smeared in the eyes of the bride and she wanders, temporarily blinded, through a field west of town. Where she drops, exhausted, the wedding ceremony takes place.


In white culture, haircuts are bartered in the town square and barbers are arranged in the square according to hairstyle. The hairstyle of the barber dictates the hairstyle you will receive. Bald barbers are virtually unemployable. After you select a barber with a suitable hairstyle, it is customary to present the barber with a promissory note specifying a particular chore you will perform in the future in exchange for the haircut. Yard work is a permissible chore (not including gardening). Basement build-outs and sex are impermissible (but acceptable when combined).


In white culture, rent is allocated among housemates through a system of weights, measures, and woolen sweaters. First, each housemate is weighed and the results are recorded on the underside of separate toads, which are then set free within the house. Next, the forearm of each housemate is measured from elbow to wrist, and each measurement is recorded on a separate spool of thread. Then, each housemate puts on a woolen sweater embroidered with a macramé flower. The spools of thread are placed inside a pillowcase and each housemate draws one. The number recorded on the spool is the length in leagues of wool yarn that is unwound from the bottom of that housemate’s woolen sweater. The housemate then uses that yarn to create a partition in the home, within which the housemate is entitled to roam. At noon the next day, each housemate collects the toads that are in his or her partition and adds the weights on their bellies together. The percentage that this amount represents of the combined weight of all the housemates is calculated, and that is the percentage of the rent that housemate is responsible for. The toads are then eaten in a psychedelic ritual to the tunes of the first Jefferson Airplane album.


In white culture, a single piece of international-standard A4 paper is folded horizontally into thirds and then in half the other way. The letters of the alphabet are then printed in the six rectangles created by the fold lines, starting with A in the upper left, B in the upper center, C in the upper right, D in the lower right, and so on, going around clockwise. The paper is cut along the fold lines and the individual rectangles are inserted into bottles, which are plugged with corks and dropped into the bay. The first bottle carried under Forrester’s Bridge is pulverized and the bits are used to make a pie for the people south of the funicular tracks. The second bottle is opened and the letters in the enclosed rectangle are used to construct the name of your firstborn child.


In white culture, it is popular to braise cabbage using the following traditional method.

Combine the below ingredients in an inverted traffic cone:

1 head red cabbage, sliced into alphabet shapes

2 tart apples, peeled, chopped, and pieces arranged in descending size order

1 onion whole

3 tbsp. cider vinegar strained through a bag of pipe cleaners

1 bottle dry red wine (set aside)

a thimble of salt

1/2 cup water from a local pond, skimmed

2 bay leaves

6 slices of clove gum

Empty cone’s contents into large Dutch oven. Drink bottle of wine. Simmer covered for one hour. Simmer uncovered until liquid is mostly gone, about 45 more minutes. Simmer covered again until conglomeration is solid and bricklike. Remove and eat whole onion. Return traffic cone to construction zone. Shake brick until flaky. Eat frozen.


May 25, 2008 Posted by | great ideas, random shite, rants | , , , | Leave a comment

Real Talk

this is super old, but I just came across it again and it made me laugh out loud.

R. Kelly = Visionary

April 17, 2008 Posted by | Music, random shite | , , | Leave a comment

the uppity gets its first fuck yous of many fuck yous…

Shep Shepard here. So despite my laziness and overwhelming desire to skirt responsibility of any kind, the Uppity Bastard has persuaded me to get off my ass and get angry. Fueled by a strong Napoleonic complex, an abundance of testosterone, and no less than 4 cups of coffee, I’ve finally mustered the *CHUTSPA* (a little yiddish) to drop some bombs on your moms. For starters, well keep it simple, a couple FUCK YOUS:


Seriously, this has gotten completely out of hand. Ever since the term MILF has entered the lexicon, its become cool for old women to dress in more velour than a Soprano (I’m taking to you Lynn Spears, you whore of mother…or is it mother of whore, irrelevant). The truth is that what made MILFs sexy was that you dressed like a mom, but still had a little sex appeal, it doesn’t work the other way around. Truth is: If I’m going to stick my dick in a female wearing a forever 21 jump suit, she better be closer to the legal drinking age than the legal social security age. In fact, I’m going to go so far as to say that all clothing lines aimed at women between the age of 16 – 30 need to install Menopause testers in their clothing, and if no unfertilized eggs are detected in said womb, the pants immediately explode, freeing the world of another tacky whore. FUCK YOU.


I don’t care what Pizza Hut and Taco Bell say, “melty” is not a word. [Editor’s note: he’s right, “melty” isn’t recognized by Microsoft word, though neither is “Yiddish.” Bill Gates must be anti-deliciousness and anti-Semitic – UB] It is neither a flavor, nor cheese texture. Those are probably the two worst commercials ever and their creators should be banned from even owning TVs let alone producing something I am forced to watch. FUCK YOU. [writers note: Melty can be used in one circumstance. When spelled Melt-E, the word is used to describe the adverse effects of Ecstasy on some individuals, usually Asians, who are so incapable of handling their drugs; they end up as puddles of human goo on the dance floor. For example: “I tried to find you guys all night but tripped on a Melt-E, falling to the floor and breaking my sternum, I’m never going to a rave again.”- from my diary, June 13, 1994.]

MIKE HUCKABEE [a little politics in honor of freedom from HuckNoris day]:
Alright so here is what Mike Huckabee said at his concession speech:

Thank you very much. Well, George Brett was one of the greatest baseball players of all time, and in his career for the Kansas City royals. He was asked when he was nearing the end of his career, how he wanted his last play in the major leagues to go. Well everyone assumed that he would say that he wanted to hit a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth to win a game, perhaps even a world series. He surprised all the sports writers because what he said was, ‘I want my last play at bat to be that I hit an easy…just one bounce, to the second baseman and he throws me out at first. But I was running as hard as I could towards the bag when they got me.’ And he said, ‘because I want it to be said of George Brett that no matter what, he played his best game, he gave it his best all the way to the very end.’ And he certainly did just that. Ladies and Gentleman, I called Senator McCain a few moments ago, it looks pretty apparent tonight, he will in fact achieve 1191 delegates to become the republican nominee for our party…” [went on to blah, blah, republican, thank you, blah, blah, Jesus.]

Wow, what a nice speech. Seriously, George Brett was a gentleman to say such things, we should give everything our all, try our best, and leave it all on the field. But honestly, Mr. Huckabee, that has nothing to do with you. Is anyone really impressed that he’s been in the race this long? This man has been mathematically ELIMINATED from this race for weeks and should have bowed out “gracefully” a long time ago. Not only have you wasted our time, you’ve wasted millions of dollars given to you by people who believed in your cause in order to inflate your own ego. I hate you. You’re not the man running out the ground ball, you’re the man who breaks into the park in January and has to be escorted off the premises with tear gas and handcuffs. FUCK YOU and may God have mercy on your soul.

Shepshepard out.

March 5, 2008 Posted by | rants | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment