Well, that whole Hospital World thing really didn't work out, and um, my slum apartment was raided by both the BATF and DEA for drugs and weapons (of course I was innocent....), and, um, oh yeah, they busted me for the whole "death card" thing, so um, I just finished a four year stint at the State Prison. Actually my sentence was 25 years, but they let me out on good behavior.
Anyhoo, that is a chapter in my life that I'd rather forget about...
My apartment was eventually taken over by the landlord, who discovered the toxic shit I had been storing, so the entire complex was condemned and torn down. Along with that went everything I owned. All 4 shirts and 2 pairs of beach baggies. Fucking gone. And my flip-flops. You just don't throw away a man's flip-flops. That shit aint right.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Friday, January 4, 2008
I, Dog.....
OK - so you know how they say that a man and his dog are one and the same? Well, I morphed myself and my bulldog today, and WTF - it's true. I am my dog.Now before you pundits and other assorted kooks start throwing out "man on dog sex" slams, you must know that my dog fucking ROCKS. Yeah, he pretty much just lays on the couch all day, trying to figure out how he could lick his own balls. This no regular, run of the mill dog. He has crazy mad skillz. For example, he can eat very, very well. He can whine like a little bitch when he's been outside too long. He can sleep with his tongue handing out and still manage to drool on the couch.
......but then again, so can I.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
I'M BACK, BITCHES!!!!!!
Aaight, you'se crazy bitches, feast your eyes on my now-rehabbed-for-the second-time-ass. Yeah, I know - higher power, gotta hit your lowest before you can climb out, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Now lets get to the real shiznit - put some gossip to rest:
1. Unacrapper did not throw a death card at me. As you can plainly see from my rehab graduation photo above, I'm alive and well.
2. Sharky was not fired from Hospital World. At least I don't think I was. Last time I showed up, no one was around, so I used it as an excuse to binge.
3. Brittney's baby isn't mine. At least not this time.
I hear some things gonna be changing at Hospital World. Maybe it's for the best. That Jane was bitchy all the time, and buckethead - well buckethead just scared the shit out of me sometimes. Beating up defenseless crippled people. It's a damned shame if you ask me.
Quick survey: I'm thinking about having "Thug Life" tattoed across my stomach. Take a look at my photo above and comment. Don't laugh bitches.......
Captain Sharky
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Here I Am, Sitting Beside Myself....
Looks like the heat has died down after my last hit, so I'm back. Gotta be sure to remember to cover my tracks better on the next hit. Geez, you smack a crippled hispanic protesting chick, and the whole fucking world gets its panties in a wad. Granted, I kinda fell of the wagon and fell back into the favor of a woman of ill repute, and the resultant rounds of antibiotics to ward off a scorching case of the clap has me all torn up on the insides, but I think I'll probably survive.
Anyhoo, I came back to the Hospital, and no one was there. Looked like Enron with papers and all kinds of shit just strewn about. The shredders had been going non stop for quite some time when I walked in, and the only people left were the patients. They were hungry and a little dehydrated, but had remained diligently working at destroying any evidence.
Back to my great escape... After getting caught up with the crack whore on "Blind Date," I needed to lay low, so I went to visit my brother in East Texas. East Texas, as most of you are probably aware, is a brutal mix of double-wide trailers sitting damn-square in the middle of Marlboro Country. For most of the people who have found themselves here in this part of the world, East Texas represents the end of the road. That probably includes me… The cocky farmers, the whores, the bums, the fine array of meth labs and dope heads just Jonesing for another hit on that glass dick. It’s beautiful and trendy at the same time, and I loved it. For some, this place has probably always represented home – a road that led to nowhere. They never got out of the fucking gate. For others, it is a disappointing dream that led nowhere, and now they are stuck. Most of the younger ones are acting like white rappers; Eas-Tex Pimps, if you will. You don’t want to fuck around with these dudes – they will fuck you up real quick.
At any rate, my time for laying low expired, and once I figured out that the fuzz wasn't on to me, I rented a vehicle to get me back to Hospital World. Two days later, I finally arrived in a rented black Cadillac Escalade with 22 inch spinner rims with hard-crusted, sun-baked scum of 100 rotten bananas and 2 dozen or so coconuts, 26 pounds of catsup and French fry residue, and about 5 pounds of raw sewage– along with a layer or so of vomit and a goodly number of bad dings, dents and scrapes that were covered, thank Christ, by the rental insurance. Even the fucking spinners wouldn’t spin when I brought the piece of shit back to the rental place. Needless to say, I’m Jonesing for some reliable transportation right now. The truck wasn’t a happy looking gang-banging vehicle when I turned it in… but they gritted their teeth and took it after I showed them my Corporate Compliance credentials from the Hospital.
Upon returning to the Hospital, I found no one there, except the Enron thing going on. It was a real Hitler scene in this shit-hole of a corporate office; I was busted down in the basement by some guy who said he was an auditor. I had a death card at the ready, but didn't use it. The guy looked at me like it was all he could do to restrain himself from ripping out my floating rib and eating it. He asked me a few simple questions and really started quizzing me about Jane and Buckethead and what I thought about working for them. I was tempted to Mace the bastard, but instead, I backed off and went back to my office for a drink. With Jane and Buckethead laying low, the fucking days are flipping by like pages off a cheap calendar, and sometimes it’s hard to understand how all this running-around-advancing-behavior can amount to much.
I smell a fresh batch of Cheetos in Administration; looks like the ladies may be back in town...
-Captain Sharky
Anyhoo, I came back to the Hospital, and no one was there. Looked like Enron with papers and all kinds of shit just strewn about. The shredders had been going non stop for quite some time when I walked in, and the only people left were the patients. They were hungry and a little dehydrated, but had remained diligently working at destroying any evidence.
Back to my great escape... After getting caught up with the crack whore on "Blind Date," I needed to lay low, so I went to visit my brother in East Texas. East Texas, as most of you are probably aware, is a brutal mix of double-wide trailers sitting damn-square in the middle of Marlboro Country. For most of the people who have found themselves here in this part of the world, East Texas represents the end of the road. That probably includes me… The cocky farmers, the whores, the bums, the fine array of meth labs and dope heads just Jonesing for another hit on that glass dick. It’s beautiful and trendy at the same time, and I loved it. For some, this place has probably always represented home – a road that led to nowhere. They never got out of the fucking gate. For others, it is a disappointing dream that led nowhere, and now they are stuck. Most of the younger ones are acting like white rappers; Eas-Tex Pimps, if you will. You don’t want to fuck around with these dudes – they will fuck you up real quick.
At any rate, my time for laying low expired, and once I figured out that the fuzz wasn't on to me, I rented a vehicle to get me back to Hospital World. Two days later, I finally arrived in a rented black Cadillac Escalade with 22 inch spinner rims with hard-crusted, sun-baked scum of 100 rotten bananas and 2 dozen or so coconuts, 26 pounds of catsup and French fry residue, and about 5 pounds of raw sewage– along with a layer or so of vomit and a goodly number of bad dings, dents and scrapes that were covered, thank Christ, by the rental insurance. Even the fucking spinners wouldn’t spin when I brought the piece of shit back to the rental place. Needless to say, I’m Jonesing for some reliable transportation right now. The truck wasn’t a happy looking gang-banging vehicle when I turned it in… but they gritted their teeth and took it after I showed them my Corporate Compliance credentials from the Hospital.
Upon returning to the Hospital, I found no one there, except the Enron thing going on. It was a real Hitler scene in this shit-hole of a corporate office; I was busted down in the basement by some guy who said he was an auditor. I had a death card at the ready, but didn't use it. The guy looked at me like it was all he could do to restrain himself from ripping out my floating rib and eating it. He asked me a few simple questions and really started quizzing me about Jane and Buckethead and what I thought about working for them. I was tempted to Mace the bastard, but instead, I backed off and went back to my office for a drink. With Jane and Buckethead laying low, the fucking days are flipping by like pages off a cheap calendar, and sometimes it’s hard to understand how all this running-around-advancing-behavior can amount to much.
I smell a fresh batch of Cheetos in Administration; looks like the ladies may be back in town...
-Captain Sharky
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Where the fuck is everybody?
Jesus, I come back from my Jail/Crack Whore/Road Trip, and the Hospital is empty. No patients, no staff, and I found nothing but rats and roaches eating cheetos in the administratative offices.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Sharky Takes a Road Trip
OK. Given all of the "drama" I've had in my life over the past few days, it is obvious that I need a break. I've decided that the best course of action at this point is to load up all of the drugs I can find and go on a road trip before Jane and Buckethead force me to come back to work or demand explanations for my activities over the past week. Kinda clear the decks mentally.... Almost everybody who goes to the mats gets beaten, one way or another, but not all of us gets broken… But I digress. Anyway, I thought you might like my booking photo.
Perhaps you are wondering how I was able to get our of jail without paying the $100,000 bond or coughing up a kidney or something. It was so easy that it’s almost not worth mentioning. My first attempt was a brutally ignorant escape attempt and that’s what led me to being placed on lockdown. I traded a carton of Pal Mal's for an old cop uniform my cellmate used when he stripped at La Bare. I put it on and tried to walk out. Unfortunately, someone noticed that I was wearing beach baggies and flip-flops. What a dumb-ass I can be sometimes.
The next time, I did it right. I claimed to be severely bleeding from my rectum, and when they took me down to sick bay, I snuck into a Janitor’s Closet and was befriended by a Rastafarian named Jibbie, who hid me among a group of Jamaican nationals until I was finally rolled out of the jail in a Janitors Cart. All this for less then a quarter pound of the finest Ganja. In an interesting twist of fate, I ate so much Jerk Chicken before leaving town, that I am now actually bleeding from the rectum….
My first night on the road, I stopped at a small seedy hotel in Lake Charles Louisiana that was owned by a small Asian man named When or Yen of some shit like that. After obtaining a room at a hideously high price for someone on the lam, the night clerk agreed to accept twenty American dollars for the company of his daughter for the rest of the night (although all I was trying to get was a room). He described her as a “young and beautiful student – not a bar girl” who spoke excellent English and would certainly have no objection to being awakened at three in the morning and hauled over to the hotel by taxi in a hellish rainstorm, just in order to “make me happy – long time.”
“Look,” I said. “You are dealing with a very tired person. The only thing I need to make me happy is a long sleep in a big bed with nobody bothering me. I have nothing against meeting your daughter; I’m sure she’s a wonderful person and all – but why don’t I just give you twenty dollars and never mind about waking her up tonight. If she’s free around noon tomorrow, maybe we can have lunch at the Hi-De-Ho.”
The man winced. Nobody’s “daughter” goes near the Hi-De-Ho. It is one of the scurviest and most infamous shitholes in all of Lake Charles – even worse than the infamous “Lucy’s” in Saigon – and the moment I said the name and saw the man’s face, I knew I’d said both the right and the wrong thing at the same time. He was grievously insulted, but at least we understood each other. So he had one of his assistant pimps carry my bag up to my room. I asked he bellman if he would get me a bucket of ice. Somewhere in the bowels of my scant luggage I had a film-cannister full of extremely powerful Cambodian Red Pot, along with a quart of Jack Daniel’s, a handful of Ritalin tablets, and the prospect of a few iced drinks along with a pipeload of paralytic hallucinogens seemed just about right for that moment……followed by fifteen or sixteen hours of stuporous sleep.
I blew a large hole in the hotel floor with my .40 Sig the next morning – a hideous accident caused by a mixture of gunpowder and LSD. The hotel guests in the room below me left at once. The slug tore through the hardwood floor, the sub-flooring and made hash of the acoustical ceiling tile in their room just below me. They told the manager that it sounded like a bomb was being dropped on them. When the Manager came to my room to investigate the ruckus, I answered the door in a cheap bathrobe that was about 2 sizes too small, with a Pal Mal between my teeth, a bottle of cheap Tequila in my hand, and my gun tucked into the robe. I asked where the fucking candy machine was.
The next time, I did it right. I claimed to be severely bleeding from my rectum, and when they took me down to sick bay, I snuck into a Janitor’s Closet and was befriended by a Rastafarian named Jibbie, who hid me among a group of Jamaican nationals until I was finally rolled out of the jail in a Janitors Cart. All this for less then a quarter pound of the finest Ganja. In an interesting twist of fate, I ate so much Jerk Chicken before leaving town, that I am now actually bleeding from the rectum….
My first night on the road, I stopped at a small seedy hotel in Lake Charles Louisiana that was owned by a small Asian man named When or Yen of some shit like that. After obtaining a room at a hideously high price for someone on the lam, the night clerk agreed to accept twenty American dollars for the company of his daughter for the rest of the night (although all I was trying to get was a room). He described her as a “young and beautiful student – not a bar girl” who spoke excellent English and would certainly have no objection to being awakened at three in the morning and hauled over to the hotel by taxi in a hellish rainstorm, just in order to “make me happy – long time.”
“Look,” I said. “You are dealing with a very tired person. The only thing I need to make me happy is a long sleep in a big bed with nobody bothering me. I have nothing against meeting your daughter; I’m sure she’s a wonderful person and all – but why don’t I just give you twenty dollars and never mind about waking her up tonight. If she’s free around noon tomorrow, maybe we can have lunch at the Hi-De-Ho.”
The man winced. Nobody’s “daughter” goes near the Hi-De-Ho. It is one of the scurviest and most infamous shitholes in all of Lake Charles – even worse than the infamous “Lucy’s” in Saigon – and the moment I said the name and saw the man’s face, I knew I’d said both the right and the wrong thing at the same time. He was grievously insulted, but at least we understood each other. So he had one of his assistant pimps carry my bag up to my room. I asked he bellman if he would get me a bucket of ice. Somewhere in the bowels of my scant luggage I had a film-cannister full of extremely powerful Cambodian Red Pot, along with a quart of Jack Daniel’s, a handful of Ritalin tablets, and the prospect of a few iced drinks along with a pipeload of paralytic hallucinogens seemed just about right for that moment……followed by fifteen or sixteen hours of stuporous sleep.
I blew a large hole in the hotel floor with my .40 Sig the next morning – a hideous accident caused by a mixture of gunpowder and LSD. The hotel guests in the room below me left at once. The slug tore through the hardwood floor, the sub-flooring and made hash of the acoustical ceiling tile in their room just below me. They told the manager that it sounded like a bomb was being dropped on them. When the Manager came to my room to investigate the ruckus, I answered the door in a cheap bathrobe that was about 2 sizes too small, with a Pal Mal between my teeth, a bottle of cheap Tequila in my hand, and my gun tucked into the robe. I asked where the fucking candy machine was.
....maybe this road trip isn't as healing as I thought it would be. And to top it all off, I just realized that Propecia the Crack Whore stole my credit cards. Now I'm really fucked.....
-Captain Sharky
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Out of Jail and in Serious Trouble....
Please help me; I'm totally out of control....
-Captain Sharky
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Sharky has Fallen Off the Wagon.....
As many of you may have surmised by now, Sharky's sudden sobriety was doomed to only last for so long. This afternoon, Sharky's Press Agent released the following statement.
"After drinking alcohol and ingesting massive illegal chemical substances on Tuesday night, Captain Sharky did a number of things that were very wrong and for which he is deeply ashamed. Captain Sharky drove a car when he should not have, and was stopped by the County sheriffs. Inside the car, arresting officers found several transvestite midgets and blow up dolls, several kilos of assorted recreational drugs, bananas, hairbrushes, and a Silverback Ape from the local zoo. Captain Sharky has repeatedly stated that the arresting officer was "just doing his job," and he "feels fortunate that he was apprehended before he caused injury to another person, animal or vinyl doll." Captain Sharky stated while in the pokey, "I acted like a person completely out of control when I was arrested, and said things that I do not believe to be true and which are despicable. I am deeply ashamed of everything I said. Also, I take this opportunity to apologize to the deputies involved for my belligerent behavior. They have always been there for me in my community and indeed probably saved me from myself. I disgraced myself and my fellow employees at Hospital World with my behavior and for that I am truly sorry. I have battled the disease of alcoholism and drug abuse for all of my adult life and profoundly regret my horrific relapse. I apologize for any behavior unbecoming of me in my inebriated state and have already taken necessary steps to ensure my return to health."
At press time, Captain Sharky remains in the County Jail under $100,000 bond.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Rollin' in the Ghetto
Back to my ritualistic post-kill ritual. I'm back in the 'hood and my speakas' be thumpin'. Today I listen to Snoop Dogg.
*man pissing*Heah hah hah!Im serious nigga one of yall niggaz got this ass motherfuckin up
Aiy baby, aiy baby... aiy baby get some bubblegum in this motherfucker
Steady long, steady long nigga
Alright! Now any song that starts with "man pissing" can only get better. Its simply a sign of whats to come. Snoop nevers shoots his wad during the first couple of lines......
With so much drama in the l-b-c
Its kinda hard bein snoop d-o-double-g
But i, somehow, some way
Keep comin up with funky ass shit like every single day
May i, kick a little something for the gs (yeah)
And, make a few ends as (yeah!) I breeze, through
Two in the mornin and the partys still jumpin
Cause my momma aint home
I got bitches in the living room gettin it on
And, they aint leavin til six in the mornin (six in the mornin)
So what you wanna do, sheeeit
I got a pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too
So turn off the lights and close the doors
But (but what) we dont love them hoes, yeah!
So we gonna smoke a ounce to this
Gs up, hoes down, while you motherfuckers bounce to this
Man, I TOLD you this shit was going to be kickin'. "G's up, Ho's Down..." - this man CLEARLY knows his target audience. He don't need no Rand Corporation or or Healthcare Concepts Company telling him who he is targeting. Even when he smokes an ounce, which is a considerable amount of dope, Snoop is still on his game, coming up with funky ass shit like every single day.
Even the gangstas that just rolled up on me at the traffic light be hoppin to these scandalous lines.
Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juiceLaid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]
You damned skippy! (English translation: You said it all!).
Now, that, I got me some seagrams gin
Everybody got they cups, but they aint chipped in
Now this types of shit, happens all the time
You got to get yours but fool I gotta get mine
Everything is fine when you listenin to the d-o-g
I got the cultivating music that be captivating he
Who listens, to the words that I speak
As I take me a drink to the middle of the street
And get to mackin to this bitch named sadie (sadie? )
She used to be the homeboys lady (oh, that bitch)
Eighty degrees, when I tell that bitch please
Raise up off these n-u-ts, cause you gets none of these
At ease, as I mob with the dogg pound, feel the breeze
Beeeitch, Im just
DAMN, Snoop be testifying up in here. I don't even understand the shit he be spittin' out, but I'm sure it has something to do with moochers and hookin' up with the local ho.
Rollin' down the street, smoking Indo, sippin' on gin and juice Laid Back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]
He do be speaking the truth. When I smoke Indo and sip on Gin and Juice, my mind is clearly on my money, and my money is therefore (by default, almost) on my mind.
Later on that day
My homey dr. dre came through with a gang of tanqueray
And a fat ass j, of some bubonic chronic that made me choke
Shit, this aint no jokeI had to back up off of it and sit my cup down
Tanqueray and chronic, yeah Im fucked up now
But it aint no stoppin, Im still poppin
Dre got some bitches from the city of compton
To serve me, not with a cherry on top
Cause when I bust my nut, Im raisin up off the cot
Dont get upset girl, thats just how it goes
I dont love you hoes, Im out the do'
And Ill be
As you may have clearly surmised by now, Dr. Dre is not my homey, nor has he ever brought pot or booze to my crib. And those baby mamas from Compton are just a tad bit too scary for the old Sharky. But the last part is classic Snoop - "I don't love you ho's, I'm out the do'". I love it......
Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)Laid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)Laid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]
Yo, dawg, that be some straight up shit. Snoop always makes me feel empowered. When I summon up the strength to do something I'd rather not do (like ask for a raise, or something of the sort), I listen to Snoop to get my nerve up. Makes me feel better about cappin' somebody's ass as an added benefit.
I don't love you ho's, I'm out the do'.
- Captain Sharky
*man pissing*Heah hah hah!Im serious nigga one of yall niggaz got this ass motherfuckin up
Aiy baby, aiy baby... aiy baby get some bubblegum in this motherfucker
Steady long, steady long nigga
Alright! Now any song that starts with "man pissing" can only get better. Its simply a sign of whats to come. Snoop nevers shoots his wad during the first couple of lines......
With so much drama in the l-b-c
Its kinda hard bein snoop d-o-double-g
But i, somehow, some way
Keep comin up with funky ass shit like every single day
May i, kick a little something for the gs (yeah)
And, make a few ends as (yeah!) I breeze, through
Two in the mornin and the partys still jumpin
Cause my momma aint home
I got bitches in the living room gettin it on
And, they aint leavin til six in the mornin (six in the mornin)
So what you wanna do, sheeeit
I got a pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too
So turn off the lights and close the doors
But (but what) we dont love them hoes, yeah!
So we gonna smoke a ounce to this
Gs up, hoes down, while you motherfuckers bounce to this
Man, I TOLD you this shit was going to be kickin'. "G's up, Ho's Down..." - this man CLEARLY knows his target audience. He don't need no Rand Corporation or or Healthcare Concepts Company telling him who he is targeting. Even when he smokes an ounce, which is a considerable amount of dope, Snoop is still on his game, coming up with funky ass shit like every single day.
Even the gangstas that just rolled up on me at the traffic light be hoppin to these scandalous lines.
Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juiceLaid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]
You damned skippy! (English translation: You said it all!).
Now, that, I got me some seagrams gin
Everybody got they cups, but they aint chipped in
Now this types of shit, happens all the time
You got to get yours but fool I gotta get mine
Everything is fine when you listenin to the d-o-g
I got the cultivating music that be captivating he
Who listens, to the words that I speak
As I take me a drink to the middle of the street
And get to mackin to this bitch named sadie (sadie? )
She used to be the homeboys lady (oh, that bitch)
Eighty degrees, when I tell that bitch please
Raise up off these n-u-ts, cause you gets none of these
At ease, as I mob with the dogg pound, feel the breeze
Beeeitch, Im just
DAMN, Snoop be testifying up in here. I don't even understand the shit he be spittin' out, but I'm sure it has something to do with moochers and hookin' up with the local ho.
Rollin' down the street, smoking Indo, sippin' on gin and juice Laid Back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]
He do be speaking the truth. When I smoke Indo and sip on Gin and Juice, my mind is clearly on my money, and my money is therefore (by default, almost) on my mind.
Later on that day
My homey dr. dre came through with a gang of tanqueray
And a fat ass j, of some bubonic chronic that made me choke
Shit, this aint no jokeI had to back up off of it and sit my cup down
Tanqueray and chronic, yeah Im fucked up now
But it aint no stoppin, Im still poppin
Dre got some bitches from the city of compton
To serve me, not with a cherry on top
Cause when I bust my nut, Im raisin up off the cot
Dont get upset girl, thats just how it goes
I dont love you hoes, Im out the do'
And Ill be
As you may have clearly surmised by now, Dr. Dre is not my homey, nor has he ever brought pot or booze to my crib. And those baby mamas from Compton are just a tad bit too scary for the old Sharky. But the last part is classic Snoop - "I don't love you ho's, I'm out the do'". I love it......
Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)Laid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)Laid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]
Yo, dawg, that be some straight up shit. Snoop always makes me feel empowered. When I summon up the strength to do something I'd rather not do (like ask for a raise, or something of the sort), I listen to Snoop to get my nerve up. Makes me feel better about cappin' somebody's ass as an added benefit.
I don't love you ho's, I'm out the do'.
- Captain Sharky
That fucking little green midget UnaCrapper is Still Alive!!
Sonofabitch! I just realized that I didn't actually kill that little slimy green bastard UnaCrapper. I went up into the ceiling crawlspace, and there was all these empty bottles of KY, Vodka bottles, and a film projector with the following film running. I must have just missed his little punk-ass, or he heard me coming.
Alright, you little bastard, WATCH YOUR BACK!!!!!!!
-Captain Sharky
Alright, you little bastard, WATCH YOUR BACK!!!!!!!
-Captain Sharky
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Sharky analyzes the Miss Teen USA South Carolina Answer.....
Now, I'm not an educated man, but I think I've gotten to the bottom of this debacle. Let me break her answer down for you bit by bit.
"I personally believe that US Americans..."
Not "us" Americans, not "we" Americans, but US Americans. This clearly shows Miss South Carolina's depth of knowledge, for she understands the complex nature of the "haves" versus the "have-nots" in this country. See, to live in the U.S. is free, but to be an U.S. American, you have to pay your taxes to support the welfare crack addicts, vote for men who proposition other men in public bathrooms, and wear hats and t-shirts with American flags on. She gets it...
"... are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don't have maps..."
This inherently is a true statement, and deserves little discussion and analysis. However, after rummaging through the trash in Miss South Carolina's Hotel room this past week, I found this, which might explain her statement:
"...and I believe that our education like such as south Africa and the Iraq and everywhere like such...."
Our education is clearly like such as South Africa and the Iraq.
"...as and I believe that they should our education over here in the US should help the US..."
Honey, we probably would, if we could get our own shit together...
"...or should help south Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future."
We have our finest working on this as we speak.
So in closing, it is clear that this has been a big misunderstanding. The real culprit here is the introduction of Ebonics into Southern Schools back in the 90's.
-Captain Sharky
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Jane and Buckethead - PLEASE HELP!!
We have a real problem here. I've been trying to meet with you guys, but you are always in meetings behind closed doors and all I hear is the sound of crunching cheetos. I know that you guys are cheating on the new Federal Compliance Bill already, but thats another problem to face another day. For now, I have a serious problem in front of the Hospital. It seems that our employee, Estella Guadalajara Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington is now taking her complaint against Jane public. She has been wandering around the public entrances sitting in her wheelchair and holding various signs that outline her problems with Jane's extracurricular activities. I advised Ms. Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington that she could not do this on private property, and she moved to the street outside the Hospital premises.
I thought she might tire of it and move on, but she's been out there every day for almost 2 weeks now, drinking Fantas and leaving taco wrappers in the street. The employees are starting to rally around her cause, as many of them are noticing shoes and medication missing from their own homes.
Here's my problem. I'm having a real ethical problem throwing a death card at a disabled person. The death card itself isnt the problem - I cant seem to throw it AND meet current ADA guidelines in throwing it. And to top it all off, I keep tripping over that damned hoop when I'm sneaking up behind her, and it gives me away.
I am formally requesting the following:
1. A variance on hoop-jumping to get the job done; and
2. A consultant to help us best accomplish my death card throwing AND meet Federal ADA guidelines. I'm thinking that maybe if I throw the death card from a wheelchair that I myself am sitting in, it might meet the standard, but I don't want to whack my own legs just to find out that I'm still due a big fine from the feds.
Please help!
-Captain Sharky
I thought she might tire of it and move on, but she's been out there every day for almost 2 weeks now, drinking Fantas and leaving taco wrappers in the street. The employees are starting to rally around her cause, as many of them are noticing shoes and medication missing from their own homes.
Here's my problem. I'm having a real ethical problem throwing a death card at a disabled person. The death card itself isnt the problem - I cant seem to throw it AND meet current ADA guidelines in throwing it. And to top it all off, I keep tripping over that damned hoop when I'm sneaking up behind her, and it gives me away.
I am formally requesting the following:
1. A variance on hoop-jumping to get the job done; and
2. A consultant to help us best accomplish my death card throwing AND meet Federal ADA guidelines. I'm thinking that maybe if I throw the death card from a wheelchair that I myself am sitting in, it might meet the standard, but I don't want to whack my own legs just to find out that I'm still due a big fine from the feds.
Please help!
-Captain Sharky
Saturday, August 25, 2007
My weekend, summed up (thus far)
I can't help myself. I wonder if the Hospital has an Employee Assistance Plan for stoners like me?
Uno Mas Complaintenet Slut Jane
I come to you one more tine to complaint Jane CEO. She no good. She take my medicine and she drunk slut for my man. He make moving Funsaver movie I find of Jane CEO slut whore.
She nasty. She come in my house and eat my food and take my shoes. I no like. She slut many time my man. You stay away whore woman.
You tell company Jane CEO bad slut whore and steal man. I tell her man she slut.
My name Estella Guadalajara Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington
Thursday, August 23, 2007
La Complainta
Meester Complaint Sharky:
How como you no savvy my "EL Loco CEO" complaint? You CEO - she still trash white. She no good. She slut. She sleep my man and eat my food. She paint fingernail red like slut and she take my bra. I dont like. She no bueno.
I take another picture Funsaver:
How como you no savvy my "EL Loco CEO" complaint? You CEO - she still trash white. She no good. She slut. She sleep my man and eat my food. She paint fingernail red like slut and she take my bra. I dont like. She no bueno.
I take another picture Funsaver:
She send picture to my man like this. She take my medicine when she here and replace it with vitamins of Flintstone. She think I estupido, but I no estupido - I un-estupido. She soy gringo estupido pendejo.
You tell she bad. Stay away my husband and my medication.
My name Estella Guadalajara Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington
Saturday, August 18, 2007
My Post-Kill Ritual
Most hired killers smoke cigars and drink brandy for their post-kill ritual. I roll into the 5th Ward, playing gangsta rap music thumpin at full blast, drinking Colt-45's. To each his own.
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas
It's about time we had our own song
Don't know what took so long
Cause nowadays it's like a badge of honor
To be a baby mama
I see ya payin' ya bills
I see ya workin' ya job
I see ya goin' to school
And girl I know it's hard
And even though ya fed up
With makin' beds up
Girl, keep ya head up
All my
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas
It's about time we had our own song
Don't know what took so long
Cause nowadays it's like a badge of honor
To be a baby mama
I see ya payin' ya bills
I see ya workin' ya job
I see ya goin' to school
And girl I know it's hard
And even though ya fed up
With makin' beds up
Girl, keep ya head up
All my
Oh, yes, my girl Fantasia Barrino, spittin' out some scandalous lyrics.... But now that you mention it, I guess it is time that it's about time that ya'll had your own song.
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas
I see you get that support check in the mail
You open it and you're like, "What the Hell?"
You say, "This ain't even half of daycare"
Sayin' to yourself, "This shit ain't fair"
And all my girls who don't get no help
Who gotta do everything by yourself
Remember, what don't kill you can only make you stronger
My baby mama
This may come as a surprise to most of you, but I actually have a Baby Mama. We're generally not on speaking terms, but there's no doubt that I see that she gets that support check in the mail and opens it and says "What the Hell?" But my Baby Mama generally follows with "I can't hit the Neiman Marcus One Day Sale!"
.......My Baby Mama. I should have been a rapper instead of a Sea Captain or a Compliance Dude. I could have called myself "Grand Master Cap'n S" or perhaps "Sharky Whiteface Killa" or even "Cap'n Crunk."
For those of you who may be interested, this is a photograph of my Baby mama from our wedding:
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas
Cause we the backbone (of the hood)
I always knew that (that we could)
We can go anywhere, we can do anything
I know we can make it if we dream
And I think it should be a holiday
For single mothers, tryin' to make a way
But until then, here is your song
Show love to my....
This is the same woman who won American Idol, right? I mean, seriously - what the fuck were we thinking?
You know, it comes as
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas
Not to minimize the plight of inner city Baby Mamas and the general opression of the masses by "The Man," generally referred to as that Sum-Bitch George Bush, but DAMN Fantasia, you could have done much better with your debut album. Now I'm depressed....
UnaCrapper
UnaCrapper: You dawg, yo ass done been called out. I'm throwin' out my first death card on yo' ass.
I now know that it was your sorry ass who crapped on both Charlene desk and my own desk. You thought you were slick, sitting up there in the ceiling crawlspace, eating stolen Cheetos and drinking cheap malt liquor and touching yourself. I almost had your punk ass the other day, but you caught me at a weak moment and got away. And to shove it in my face, you broke into the CEO's and CFO's office, and stole their bonus Cheetos that they were supposed to distribute out to staff but kept for themselves. But I punk'd yo' sorry ass. Thats right, I dilly-dally diseased yo' ass by poisoning the Cheetos you stole. And I know you ate the shit too, because I've been tracking you through the Hospital crawl spaces. You're feeling weak now, arent you? The constant cramping has kept you retching and shitting almost non-stop. Your insides are turning to mush as you read this, you nasty-ass little green midget. Your eyesight is getting fuzzy and you are hearing things. Blood is trickling out of your orifices, and you have jock itch. That botulism is some pretty nasty stuff, and unfortunately for you, this particular strain is not curable. So wherever you are in the deep recesses of the Hospital, will be your final resting place.
You must be wondering how I figured it all out, since the Hospital doesn't have the technology to perform DNA testing on poo. Well, the answer was simple. I needed an extremely powerful source of energy to create a reverse magnetic phosphodiesterase, so I pulled the dilethium crystals from Belinda Biatchs's vibrator, used the acid diethylamide from the remaining blotter acid that Luther Cobblebritches and I consumed last weekend, and after ingesting this nearly toxic substance, used a simple magnifying glass to determine that the corn in the poo sample you left on my desk was of the same consistency you left in the sample you left on Charlene's desk, and the same that you left in the crawlspaces within the Hospital.
I'd like to close by laughing uncontrollably like they do on the James Bond Movies or like they did in Wayne's World (Uh-wah-ha-ha-ha), but it doesnt sound quite as good on paper.
-Captain Sharky
El CEO es Loco....
Deer Mister Comply:
I em work you Hospital. CEO Jane, she no good. No bueno. Ms. Jane she go to bad place like tramp. She pick up mucho man and crack smoking. She dress like whore on weekend and take drug and make love mucho man. She have bambino for my man. She stealed from the Target I work on weekend and go jail.
Here picture I take with Funsaver.
She whore. You tell company. She not gud CEO, she like tramp.
My name Estella Guadalajara Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington
Friday, August 17, 2007
M E M O R A N D U M
August 19, 2007
TO: Jane Smith, CEO
CC: Buckethead, CFO
FROM: Captain Sharky, Chief of Compliance
I understand that you have 2 positions posted in Human Resources, one for a Janitor and one for a Director of Human Resources. I believe that I have 2 contacts who are more than qualified for these positions.
Human Resources Director: I would like to recommend my friend Touchy-Feely Guy for this position. Touchy-Feely Guy has been in Human Resources for over 1 year and has held Director of Human Resources positions in over 12 organizations. I like the way he sometimes caresses me behind the ear, but that level of contact is not for everyone. But I'm not gay or anything. I like girls - ALOT. Sometimes it just feels good to be needed. I'm just human. But I'm not gay like that Russell guy I keep hearing about. He sometimes stands in my office doorway and just stares at me. He did it today, and I still had a fairly fresh pile of poo in the wastebasket from the attack upon my desk last evening. Russell just stood there and stared. I asked "Hey, Russell, smell something?" And he just stood there and smiled. I guess some people's freak flags fly high, and some not so high. But I'm not gay, mind you. I just want to be clear that I like girls, although they are typically girls of ill repute.
Janitor: Inigo Montoya can clean stuff. He has had recent tragedy in his life but now seems focused and on a mission.
I'm sure that both Touchy-Feely Guy and Inigo Montoya would be excellent additions to the Hospital World team.
On another note, I would like to request a day off on Monday. My friend Javier just muled over a solid kilo of columbian powder that will make steam blow out of your ears. I'm not like an addict or anything, and I'm not gay either.
Also, a death card is about to be laid upon a Hospital World employee's simple behind. Just thought you guys should know that you will be bathing in Cheetos again soon.
-Captain Sharky
TO: Jane Smith, CEO
CC: Buckethead, CFO
FROM: Captain Sharky, Chief of Compliance
I understand that you have 2 positions posted in Human Resources, one for a Janitor and one for a Director of Human Resources. I believe that I have 2 contacts who are more than qualified for these positions.
Human Resources Director: I would like to recommend my friend Touchy-Feely Guy for this position. Touchy-Feely Guy has been in Human Resources for over 1 year and has held Director of Human Resources positions in over 12 organizations. I like the way he sometimes caresses me behind the ear, but that level of contact is not for everyone. But I'm not gay or anything. I like girls - ALOT. Sometimes it just feels good to be needed. I'm just human. But I'm not gay like that Russell guy I keep hearing about. He sometimes stands in my office doorway and just stares at me. He did it today, and I still had a fairly fresh pile of poo in the wastebasket from the attack upon my desk last evening. Russell just stood there and stared. I asked "Hey, Russell, smell something?" And he just stood there and smiled. I guess some people's freak flags fly high, and some not so high. But I'm not gay, mind you. I just want to be clear that I like girls, although they are typically girls of ill repute.
Janitor: Inigo Montoya can clean stuff. He has had recent tragedy in his life but now seems focused and on a mission.
I'm sure that both Touchy-Feely Guy and Inigo Montoya would be excellent additions to the Hospital World team.
On another note, I would like to request a day off on Monday. My friend Javier just muled over a solid kilo of columbian powder that will make steam blow out of your ears. I'm not like an addict or anything, and I'm not gay either.
Also, a death card is about to be laid upon a Hospital World employee's simple behind. Just thought you guys should know that you will be bathing in Cheetos again soon.
-Captain Sharky
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