Don’t get me wrong this movie IS really cool. Dinosaurs are and always will be awesome, but the big problem I have with this movie are the fucking Velociraptors. Are you fucking kidding me? Sure, the name Velociraptor itself just threatens death, injury and it sounds like something that would rip your face right off, but in actuality the Velociraptor was only about a foot and a half tall and covered in feathers. (No it could not fly, but that would be kick ass if it could.) It was more like a turkey on steroids.
 
The dinosaur depicted in Jurassic Park more closely resembles a Deinonychus— its name derived from the Greek word meaning “terrible claw” due to the unusually large, sickle-shaped talon on the second toe of each hind foot. Even though the Deinonychus is 10 times more badass than the actual Velociraptor the name just doesn’t sound that ominous.  
 
Look at it this way, it would be like making a movie about peanuts and casting Tom fucking Hanks to play the part of George Washington Carver just because George Washington Carver sounds like a white dude name. I say fuck that! Steven Spielberg and Michael Crichton have invented some whole new type of racism and it’s a type of racism I for one can’t get behind.

He who controls the past, controls the future or when myth becomes reality.
By now we all know that mass media is bullshit with a capitol BULLSHIT. You can only really believe about 75% of the shit you read or hear and if you are unaware of this fact you should probably wake up from the dream about the shit sandwich you were just eating. This is not a new trend, this particular type of bullshit has been happening everywhere for thousands of years.  Here are just a few examples:
  • On April 19, 1775 a fella you may have heard of, who went by the by the name of Paul Revere rode a horse a total of about 20 miles (give or take) from Boston to Cambridge (and he actually didn’t even make it to Cambridge) shouting to everyone along the way those famous words “The British are coming!” Well I say, “big fucking deal!”
  • On April 19, 1775 (the same fucking day, same year, same time) a man you’ve never heard of named Israel Bissell  rode around the countryside, and just like Revere he warned people to get ready because the war was on and the British were coming.  But,  Bissell didn’t do this for a mere 20 miles. This motherfucker rode 345miles in four days and six hours from Watertown, MA to Philadelphia, PA and he rode his horse so god damn hard that it died and he had to stop and get a new one. SHIT SON!
Now why is it that we all know of this pussy Paul Revere and not the hard ass Israel Bissell? Well I’m glad you asked, and I’ll tell you why. The media. At the time “mass media” consisted of mostly books, poems, etc.
 
Popular American writer/poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heard of Revere’s story and was inspired to write the poem “Paul Revere’s Ride.” He embellished a bit (like all media outlets do) to make a mediocre story somewhat interesting (and to make Paul Revere not seem like such a puss bag). And you guessed it, the people ate it up and that’s why to this day we all know of Paul Revere and not Israel Bissell.
 
How about Crispus Attucks? Ever heard of this guy? Yeah… didn’t think so. Let me educate you. In 1770 tensions were mounting in Boston between the colonists and the British over shit like unfair taxes and the British snatching up all the good paying jobs. On March 5, 1770, all this bullshit finally erupted when a group of colonists armed with clubs led by Attucks went to confront a British solder, that while keeping his pimp hand strong, smacked the shit out of a boy who accused him of not paying for his haircut(ohh snap!).
 
The group of colonists were met in the streets at gun point by British solders. Things escalated, people started talking shit, and the colonists began throwing snowballs at the solders. Attucks said fuck that shit and he chucked his club hitting one of the British solders. The British soldiers then opened fire killing Attucks and 4 others and wounding 6 in an incident that is later know as the Boston Massacre.
 
And why have you never heard of Crispus Attucks –  the man who sparked rebellion in the British American colonies and basically help start the Revolutionary War?  Because Crispus Attucks was Black and part Native American, the two races everyone hated even more than the fucking British. There was actual legislation passed to keep Attucks identity out of the incident at that time, and in your history books.  
 
I’ll tell you one thing, if Crispus Attucks was a more common known dude I don’t think it would have taken the United States this long to elect a black President.
 
And now, the dick head you all know, Christopher Columbus. We all learned in school that this idiot told Queen Isabella of Spain he was going to prove to her that the Earth was round by sailing around it, forgetting the fact that Aristotle had already proven it was round 2,000 years prior. The reason we are taught this bullshit is because in 1828 the very popular American writer, Washington Irving, wrote the extremely embellished book A History of the Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus and the book ended up replacing actual history as fact (just like the Bible). Although the one thing I will give Columbus credit for is reaching the new world, committing genocide on an entire race of people, and taking credit for it like it was all a fucking commendable act. 
 
See, the media, no matter in what form, has always and will always sell you bullshit and it’s up to you to keep asking questions and decide for yourself what is truth and what is bullshit. Remember, believe only half of what you see and none of what you hear or read and always THINK FOR YOURSELF.  
 

It was a girl, I think, now that I look back on it from this present time that started me down this long, devious, and twisted path. A girl who put me into the current frame of mind and this powerful presence of self empowerment. A hundred thousand lies upon lies that perpetuate this dastardly, diabolical duet dancing to the tune of some unholy ballet from hell. It’s all bullshit.  Some silly suturing idea of a beautiful being, wrapped up in boots and black leather will drift down and appear to me like the Virgin Mary in the deep dark desolate desert. It’s fucking tragic and so god damn beautiful… I laugh my dick right off.  

They are all just black holes connected to each other through 11 dimensions, like some sort of comic game of donkey kong, jumping over nebulas, climbing ladders and up and down galactic elevators to reach the spotless princess only to find that she split with the overwhelming one who took her higher and higher. So I take a swig of this wonderful liquid. It’s that battle array that brings me back to reality, now nothing and everything can go wrong this night and all my missing limbs will be replaced.  
 
An exploding brain is an example of perfect control. So let’s add some more fuel to the never-ending, wickedly mind-bending, tire fire inside my head. Good luck, Buster you are doomed.

He’s that dude.
The Chubby Chaser.

The one who hangs right outside the barbwire fence on the south-east side of the camp for corpulent young women. He’s out there all day eyeballing the Biggums as they saunter by on their daily jaunts about the undergrowth, taking pant after puff from his long rockets whilst the Boom-Box, plastic zip-tied  to the front of his ten-speed, thumps out Unskinny Bop by Poison in excess.

Outfitted with only an unzipped black leather jacket, a pair of teal “Sleep Away Camp” gym shorts, and a red, white and blue headband, he intermittently whistles at each rotund goddess that he deems laudable of a hand job and a hot tub. He knew he had an obsession early in life when he found himself jerking off to Pillsbury Doh-Boy commercials. Now-a-days, this is where he hangs- outside the camp enticing the “chosen” girls with Fun-Size Snickers bars in a reflection of delightful excellence. They call him the Snake Charmer.