It’s time for my shows!

Hello? Is this thing on? Check. Check. Check one, two. Okay kiddies, let’s get this party started. If Ellis were Jewish, he’d be super shiny gold – mystical super shiny gold. He’s back on antibiotics after being bitten by a snake, I assume from the game of sting pong. He’s kicking the shit out of his fat anyway, Dingo is fat and I don’t believe he’s doing jack shit about it, which like Bobby Brown once said, that’s his prerogative. What’s up with the LA Lakers and their bullshit? What’s up with that chick referee? What’s up with fights being online and not TV? What’s up with that book signing Ellis held in Rancho Cucamonga? Sounds like it turned out to be pretty good even though no t-shirts were there until Cumtard drove them out there. Tully wasn’t there, he says he really wanted to be, but let’s be honest, he probably didn’t. Ellis, Tully & Will got presents from Nipplopolis even though Tully & Will weren’t there. Anyways, lines were so big at the book signing that babies couldn’t hear big dudes and Italians are the greatest machinery on the planet. Just use your EllisMate translation decoder device, you’ll understand what all that means.

What Cumtard must feel like when he comes in with a story.

Devin has been talking about Heelys again so daddy laid it out for her, she’s not allowed to wear them or rollerblades because he name is a stake here. Ellis got caught up in dolls and marathon traffic, so he called Christian because he’s got a bunch of dolls calendar where he marks down events that create higher than average traffic congestion. Apparently Russians in Hollywood are fucking assholes and that means tourism to Russia is lacking because they’re assholes, and maybe too because that place is a miserable shithole. Tully almost rented a room from a good looking, younger Russian chick once, but… Ellis’ neighbor across the street is a hooker and he runs over the parking cones in his driveway. Anyway, Tully, room, Russian chick. He told her about the place where he buys his bread and how shitty the Russian ladies there treat him and wish death upon him. The hot, younger Russian chick told him it’s because they grew up commies and hated it, hated their bosses, basically hated life and that’s just how them bitches roll. Then she was all like “hasta lasagna, don’t get any on ya!” Okay, she didn’t really say that, I just wish she did. We got into some pothole talk, doing stuff with potholes, and how to fix potholes. I don’t believe any motherfucker that says they know how to fix potholes. I think those people just want to spread that sticky shit on the road so we can all hear little rocks of asphalt being permanently tarred to our vehicles. Cumtard thought he was going to punch hot asphalt, thinking some super strong man punched the earth. You can pretty much guess how well that worked out. More pothole talk and then break time.

When you see Ellis this Saturday, try to act normal.

Ellis is going to be at some Harley Davidson thing on Saturday with a pal, Randy, who shot Ellis in the head with an arrow. It’s okay, he was wearing a helmet. You can come down, he’ll sign your book while he gets an old saggy black woman’s titty tattooed on his chest. Jim Florentine gave Ellis’ book a shoutout on That Metal Show. Moto News time, Barcia and Malcolm Stewart had a little mishap during the races. A quick call from kick-asphalt about filling potholes, and then back to the moto. It was kind of a dick move, but it wasn’t nearly as big of a dick move as Alessi pulled on Tickle. Next up, a bit called Who’s Cooler Than Shaun White? Dingo? Nope. Tully? No. Ellis? Nah, mate. Jetta? He’s not even listening. Cumtard? Be serious. Bill Clinton? Ding. Tony Hawk? Yup. Prince? Totally. Papa Roach? Hahahaa! Brad Pitt? Of course. Jared Leto? For now. A guy that lays pipe under the sea? We can’t even begin to discuss that one. The Kardashians? Only Kim. Michael Phelps? Nah. Ringo Starr? We’ll get back to you on that one. Sean Connery? No way. Mike Tyson? Unfortunately, yes. Kid Rock? Yes, especially in Detroit. Shaq? Hell yes. Samuel L. Jackson? They say no, but I say that’s some motherfucking bullshit. And with that, I’m done writing down all these motherfucking names on this motherfucking recap. After almost 2 hours, we go to break.

After being in a frozen hell for months, anything above freezing feels fucking great!

Back from break and we got bitches marrying dogs, saying she “couldn’t think of anything more she’d need from a life partner.” Bitch, is you for real? How about one that doesn’t die in 10-15 years and doesn’t eat their own, or other dogs’ shit? Just a thought. Then we got into some history with well known historians Dingo and Ellis. I didn’t have a chance to jot down notes since I was driving during this segment, but here’s some that I remember. Alexander Graham Bell, most notable for his fat pig of a niece, Amy Bell. He also owned and operated the factory where Bell helmets were forged, and came up with the first analog ringtone, aka an actual bell.  Julius Ceaser, who made the comb-over haircut famous was killed during an orgy with his mother and up to 60 men, including his best friend, Brutus The Barber Beefcake. He also may or may not have invented the sun. Albert Einstein, who made his own mark in the world of hair with his patented “crazy hair.” He also was the first to add and subtract letters instead of numbers, giving math a whole new level of confusing. I know there was a few more, but I can’t remember them. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to remember all these facts anyway, let’s just allow what knowledge has been bestowed on us, to marinate and really sink in to our brains. Dingo went to a rave this weekend with kids that have computers that do things and stuff. Eat your heart out TMZ, you’ll never touch this kind of reporting being done here. This led us into final calls where Jerry was sleeping with a friends husband or something. Sounds like a real stand-up gay man to me. Some other people called about some other shit too, but my brain is still spinning from our history lesson. Well, that or not getting any sleep and the tequila I’m pounding. So just make something up on your own and really, really, really believe in it. That’s how things become actual facts. The fact fairy. And before I go, let me take a moment to tell you about the weather in my area. It is currently 77 degrees Fahrenheit. I really questioned whether we would ever see warmth again in my lifetime, but today gave me hope. Wednesday calls for chances of snow flurries, no shit. Motherfuck. So what’s the weather like in your area? Just kidding, I don’t care about your weather. Only my weather. And that’s why my weather will be winning the world championships of weather this year as it has done for everyday of my awesome guide to life. OH!