smile

Are You Afraid of Another Are You Afraid of the Dark update?

January 27th, 2014 - by: Sarah

It’s been a long fucking time since I did one of those not-really-a-review-but-more-of-a-writing-while0watching-extrvanagnxa-disaster. This time I have new Smeat writer IAMRICKSEE with me, and we’re going to watch this crazy shit together, and possibly kill ourselves before it even gets five minutes in, and if we make it, I shall post this is two parts, the second being his version of this nightmare.  WoOOoo

OMG!

Are You Afraid Of The Dark
S01E06 The Tale of the Super Specs

Pt.1 Sarah

Ooh super spooky opening… Boner Stabone’s going to cut his finger off! Aww, blondie doesn’t like it. Now she’s telling him she doesn’t like it when he makes her smell his ball-fingers. Now he’s playing 80’s techno and turning into Michael Jackson, but white, and sort of Jewy. Nobody likes the glasses dude anymore, and Metallica starts playing. Holy shit, we didn’t even get to the title yet…

Reject from Hogwarts obsessed with stupid magic tricks does some crap to some plastic glasses. Guy who owns the store is a big, gay version of a mix of Luigi, Mario, and Richard Simmons. He wears gold puffy shirts, too. And, he rolls his r’s. Now the magic glasses make you see people in those fabric suit things… terrifying! Wow, little stalker kid just stole someone’s yogurt, now he’s roofie-ing it up, I SHIT YOU NOT! He watched her eat it! Every time magic-kid’s horse-faced girlfriend puts on the glasses, she sees figures in black that look like they came out of a Fatal Frame game.

Little drug dude just roofied a basketball game, pimpin’ ain’t easy, but it’s necessary. Ohh. long-faced depressed girl throws out magic glasses but they keep coming back, being ushered in each time with terrible 80’s synth-pop, chock full of pipe organ and phone noises. She sees a phantom tea kettle, Oh shit’s about to get real! She sees a fireplace in a fireless place©. How deep is that line for the opening of your next novel? They’re coming at her, the camera man must have just fallen, now she’s being chased, only when she looked through the glasses, now they’re like a gang out of West Side Story and they’re all snapping and dancing in unison.

hggjghWow, this dude must have arrived really late to his acting classes. I feel like he still invites people over to watch this episode on repeat while he talks about what it was like to be on Nickelodeon back when it still felt like it mattered. How do so many random grown strangers end up hanging out with elementary school children in empty houses on this show? It’s insane! Yeah random joke shop guy, just come over and put a spell on this thing and dance around in your gold puffy shirt before my parents come home, oh yeah, bring your swim trunks, I’m making brownies, and they’ll be dick-sucking and demon-conjuring right over there by the hot tub. God, this bitch is annoying, she’s like that moon faced guy that used to do the Mcdonald’s commercials. That’s this girl. Fucking over and out!

 

One Google to rule them all…

January 23rd, 2014 - by: Sarah

google

So lately I’ve been thinking about how Google is slowly taking over the whole world, and in a few years it will control every facet of our existence. It knows who we message, text, or call and what we say or send. It knows what we’re looking up, trying to learn more about, or what we’re fondling our squishy little private parts to. It knows our medical histories, what books we’re reading, where we went on vacation, and how much you just paid for your last twelve pack of color-changing heat-sensitive dildos.

So anyway, it occurred to me yesterday whilst in conversation with ole’ Jon, (whom you might remember from when this creaky old website started, in helping me with my sleeping pill comparison chart, among other updates), that Google has within it the power to rewrite history, all willy-nilly, just whenever the hell it behooves them to do so. Picture if you will the following scenario:

You and that really annoying friend of yours that you actually don’t like very much, are in the middle of an argument. Your friend insists that some random bit of information is fact, you, on the other hand, wholeheartedly believe the exact opposite is fact.  What is the first thing you do? Well if you’re like millions of people across the world that no longer have any need for actual books made of paper, you go and consult your Google.  So then you type in whatever it is you’re arguing about, type type type tippy type “Google” you type, “Do all llamas excrete Mountain Dew from their tear ducts every morning upon waking?”, To which a reliable Google may answer by telling you that you’re a complete ass fuck and that you should get off the Internet immediately. But what if Google wanted you to believe that? What if Google told you that you were absolutely correct? You’d hardly dispute the almighty Google. And what if you were the other party, arguing that it is, in fact, Stewarts Cream Soda that gets excreted, and Google corrected you when you went to prove your friend wrong, and told you it was absolutely Mountain Dew. It would be a game changer! You would walk away feeling dejected, and ugly all over. And why would you feel that way? Because Google told you!

Google could already be doing this, just changing facts at random, whenever it pleases. Who was the first President of the United States? Don’t know? Look it up on Google! Sam Kinison? I didn’t even know that dude was alive in… wait what year was that? *checks Google* …I didn’t even know that dude was alive in 459BC. Crazy what Google could teach you!  And they have every website ever made at their disposal to back up all their claims. What the hell do you have to back up your claims? Facts? Books? Those are things of yesteryear, my silly little friends. This is the dawning of the age of Google, and Google knows everything, whether it knows it or not!

And in other news!
New Mp3 of the moment now up, take a listen to the first episode of mine and IAMRICKSEE’s new audio podcast, Ice and The Face, and if you like it (or if you don’t), find us on iTunes.

Why I Probably Hate You: The Shopping Edition

January 8th, 2014 - by: Sarah

dicksWell now that the stupid holiday season has come to a welcome close, it’s time for another installment of “Why I Probably Hate You”, and in this one, I shall tell you all why you make going to a store one of the most miserable experiences of my life.  Say hello to “Why I Probably Hate You: The Shopping Edition”.

1. Cashiers that want to talk it up- Having lived in parts of the world that weren’t the East Coast, I realize that not everybody has a problem with this, but they should. If I just gimped my way through a store, listening to your screaming, fat babies, getting bumped into repeatedly by your wayward shopping carts because your stupid, fat eyeballs are too busy casing the aisles for your fave brand of Pringles, and somehow successfully managed to make it to the checkout, I am in no mood to talk to the cashier about whatever the hell it is she thinks is conversation-worthy in the short amount of time it should take for her to scan and bag and take money.  I honestly couldn’t say I remember what any of them ever look like, because I don’t make eye contact, I don’t want to show any signs at all that I am open for any discussions, of any sort, about anything at all, in any way, whatsoever. The cashier that promptly checks my stuff out, takes my money, gives me change, and moves on to the next person, even without saying a word to me, is the best cashier of all.

2. The no-help helpers- Although I encounter this type of worker in nearly every type of store I’ve ever been to, it seems to be frustratingly common amongst any sort of tech related business. If I’m going to Best Buy, and it takes three people to answer my question about an external hard drive, and in the end, I have to repeatedly correct them because they’re giving me information I know is wrong, I’m just going to take a wild guess and say these people have absolutely no training whatsoever in anything computer-related.  I do have one tip for you, if you need help at Best Buy, look for the small skinny kid with the messed up hair, kind of scraggly, always has his eyes to the ground, I know that he will be able to answer any, and all, technological concerns as if it was the only thing he ever truly cared about. This of course is a generalization, but it has yet to fail me.

3. Lazy shopping cart users– I am so sick and tired of lazy people leaving their shopping carts in the parking lot of the store that I am so close to getting out of my car and killing them with it. First of all, a store isn’t required to have carts, they’re put there for your convenience. But truthfully, even if there were no shopping carts, you’d still need the same things, and you’d still go to the store and get them. So why is it that so many people use this thing, placed there solely for their convenience, and then leave it in the parking lot in order to make someone else’s life harder? The amount of entitlement involved in just emotionlessly saying “Well, someone else will take care of it, they hire people for that.”, is mind blowing. If you’re one of these assholes that likes to leave their carts in parking spots, or even worse, in the handicapped parking spots, please do us all a favor and stay at home, whee you can be happy mowing your lawn and evening out the grass with tiny little scissors, taking sewing classes online, and calling your BFF up to gab about the latest gossip around town, before eating that little piece of chocolate you’ve been saving for yourself all week, and then getting to bed by 8 o’clock soyou can wake up early to fill the bird feeder, and spend the rest of the day looking through L.L. Bean catalogs. Please don’t leave your house, the world doesn’t want you.

4. Your annoying children in the store– Okay, I get it, some people have kids and they have to bring them everywhere or they’ll die, or whatever. But if your kid can’t shut up in a public place filled with people that have ears, then maybe you should tie your kid up outside to one of the bike racks while you go inside and buy whatever pointless crap you’re convinced you can’t live without. I was once in a store and all I could hear was this loud, murder-inducing, kid screaming over and over, and whining because its father wouldn’t buy something. He kept saying if the kid didn’t stop by the time he counted to ten, he would take the kid to sit in the car. He then proceeded to count to ten about five times over, which completely obliterates the counting to ten punishment rule. I was so frustrated by hearing this, I actually said, “dude it doesn’t work if you don’t actually follow through when you get to ten.” Which he may, or may not have heard me say over the shrill tones of his demonic hell-spawn. But, I assumed it’s common knowledge, based on how many parents I see constantly do that shit. I’m starting to realize that all the shitty kids are more the product of shitty parents, than anything else. So stop being shitty parents, which comes from being shitty people, so how about shitty people stop having shitty kids, and then there’s no more shitty parents because there will be no more shitty kids to bring up the completely wrong way!   There’s enough fat ugly babies in the world, anyhooooo.

5. Tip jars on counters- This sort of became a thing I noticed several years ago, and I’m actually really surprised that more people don’t complain about this. Now, I understand that you’re supposed to tip waiters and waitresses, bartenders, or people that actually go out of their way to carry something to your car, but when you’re at a regular store buying some random thing, like a bottle of soda, I don’t understand exactly why there’s a jar in order to tip the cashier. They’ve done absolutely nothing outside of the realm of their job description. It seems extremely egotistical to just have a jar in front of your stupid, flapping mouth (see number 1 on the list) basically insinuating that you deserve more than the money you agree to make with your employer, and that the person patronizing your store is somehow the one that should be giving you the money. Why don’t we just tip for everything, then? If it’s that simple, why shouldn’t the cashier tip me from making my purchase, based on this logic, it’s completely sound for me to assume, and expect, that my having picked up my product and brought it to the counter for her to check it out is worth getting a tip from her, essentially I’m part of the reason why she has job, and if that doesn’t deserve a tip, well I’m not sure what does.

 

Thank you, and have a burgerific day!

Fuck You, Wegmans

November 22nd, 2013 - by: IAMRICKSEE

Corona TowerJPG

I like to drink. Much like Ray from the Trailer Park Boys, it’s a hobby. I’m what one might call, a professional. You should see me: I go into the liquor store. I pick out what I want. I go directly to the cash register and engage in a little chit-chat depending on whether or not the cashier is “with it”. Then, I swipe my debit card and walk right back out the door. After that, I drive home where I open bottles and consume the sweet nectar squozen from the teets of goddesses. And why shouldn’t I?! I’m 34 years old! I’ve done my time *finger points at the sky after I smell it real quick*. However, recently I was cock-blocked whilst my partner in crime was simultaneously cunt punted from receiving our alcoholic wares from the local Wegmans. It was a blood bath of selective stupidity.

There we were, Sarah and myself. From outside in the moonlight, it stands tall with an evil clock tower on its face, and much like the mighty vampires who are undoubtedly sleeping their days away in the dungeon beneath the parking lot, it sucks the blood from the surrounding local businesses with its size, deals, and fierce demon-grip. I believe the clock tower is only there to countdown the minutes that remain until every local business in the area falls victim to its free market sword. It is routine to begin looking for the tramcar upon entering this Dracula’s castle of bargains which is basically the Home Depot of supermarkets. I guess it needs to be called a megamarket, or an ultramarket, or a soopa doopa market. We purchased some knish or some such shit from the pre-packaged section of the store where they pack “home cooked meals” between thick layers of BPA. Now, this store evidently prides itself on looking like an old school Italian marketplace…which begs the question, why don’t we just have a regular fucking marketplace? Attached to this behemoth, which you can get to from inside the “regular” store, is the Wegmans liquor store. Why they don’t just put it all in one store is a mystery that I don’t care to solve, and I won’t try. So, let’s tuck our dicks into our anuses and march through the archway that leads us inside…shall we?

As I’ve already stated, I’m an avid drinker. I have frequented this store many, MANY times. In the past, I have seen parents with toddlers, kids, teenagers, and young adults in this hundred foot high concrete cave of booze, with looming walls of Jim Beam, Fireball Whiskey, and wines from all over the world sticking up like stalactites…or is it stalagmites? Soccer moms and dads walk in with their little snot-nosed accidents, who are usually sporting some kind of emo haircut which has still apparently not gotten old, pick up their booze, pay, and leave. Fairly standard practice, even for people with these smelly little fuckers in tow. I’m thirty four. Sarah is thirty two. I’m in this place nearly every day. This should be a cinch. So I thought.

I sped to the back to grab a sixer of Corona. Sarah did not speed anywhere because she has a disability and is not known for speed. This is fine, and I knew I should hurry it along because it’s not good for her to walk around for too long without a break. I walked up to the counter and said, “Hello,” and I put down my six pack. The woman, who obviously didn’t want to be there any more than I wanted to be anywhere but home drinking, said hello back and scanned my Corona. I then pulled out my debit card, and, out of habit, my license as well. Even though I have prematurely graying hair, gray hair in my goatee and plenty of tattoos, normally I’m flattered when asked for my license. In my mind, I say to myself, “Hey there, you aging fuck…you’re still pulling this shit off! I’ll bet every chick in here wants to fuck you.” It’s a fine moment for me. Then, everything turned to shit.

She then turned to Sarah, and said, “I need to see your ID too.” Sarah had left her ID in the car because had no intentions of buying any alcohol. Suddenly, I felt like I was magically whisked away to the fucking Twilight Zone of dumbfuckery. The cashier became nervous, stuttery and just started looking around like a white person who’s about to tell a black joke. After sensing something was amiss, I broke the awkward silence and said, “She’s not buying anything.” I was then told, “We are supposed to ID everyone.” Then, the mouth-breathing manager, who could’ve been mine and Sarah’s son if I got her pregnant eighteen years ago and she drank and smoked crack in all three trimesters, waddled by. The cashier began to communicate with him in a series of confused and pained single and single-and-half-syllable grunts. “The.” “She.” “No.” “ID.” “Uh.” “Should?” Mind you, this whole time, the woman still had MY license tight in her Kung-Fu grip.

The “manager,” or let’s just call him Johah Hill with glasses but with no commercial success or chance of getting any pussy, looked at me and stared. Judging by his hyperventilaty demeanor (Yes…I just wrote “hyperventilaty.” I have three degrees which means I can make up all the fucking words I want), I assumed he was taking in my tattoos, which still scare people, which is ridiculous in this day and age. Then, his eyes met MINE EYES! I could feel my eyeballs in my head flushing themselves full of blood and becoming red as Satan’s asshole after a $5.99 Mexican buffet washed down with the fucking Corona I just wanted to bring home and drink. C’mon chief, I thought to myself. Make the right decision here, fuckface. What the hell was happening here?

After the transmission of grunts was completed, she somehow made it clear to Jonah that Sarah did not have her license on her. He looked at me, and I, having hurdled past the frustration phase long ago, said that her license was in the car. Sarah stood there, very obviously trying her best to hold herself up before she collapsed. The cashier stood there, still holding my license so tight you’d think it was her Precious. I stood there, waiting to swipe my debit card. And then there is Jonah…the human version of a clogged drain, lost in the middle of the hardest decision he’s ever had to make in his life…something way beyond, Supersize? Or no Supersize? In my ears, trapped in this awkward vortex of barely discernable thought—I couldn’t hear it, but I sensed that high-pitched ringing that happens when some asshole in a movie gets clubbed in the forehead with a set of elephant balls in the middle of a stampede, and as the character is shaken awake, he or she isn’t sure if they are alive or dead, but we, the viewers, are sure that some serious head trauma has taken place before everything comes back into focus and the sound of chaos revs back up—I hear it…just hanging in the air like a senior citizen fart.

VRRROOOOP! “Can she run out to the car and get it?” This was when a fuse legitimately blew in my head. I wanted to say, Does she fucking look like she’s running anywhere? But instead I said, “Forget it!” while I made my first attempt to pry my license out of the cashier’s hand. I wanted to ask, If you need to ID everyone before any purchase can be made, why are we allowed in the store in the first place? and Why do you wait until we walk in, pick out our booze, stand in line, and then ring us up to get to the ID? This seems out of order. That’s when every other asshole with teenagers and toddlers I’ve ever seen buying booze in this place appeared in my mind. I began to wonder why they don’t card the eighteen year old that’s supposedly there with “dad” but they card the two of us. As I continued to try to get this woman to let go of my license, I looked at Sarah, and then, I looked at myself. Then I realized…THAT’S why, and it’s arrogant, selective, bullshit.

Once, when I was a teenager, my friends and I got a homeless guy named Homeless Joe to buy us six 40’s of malt liquor. We didn’t go inside the fucking place. We waited out in the van and hoped he wasn’t going to duck out the back door with our money. He was obviously of lesser means, and we were obviously a bunch of punk rock metal kids looking to get fucked up. The combo stinks of foul play. That said, if Sarah were underage and trying to get someone to buy alcohol for her, she wouldn’t come in the fucking store with me, assholes…she would wait outside. However, at Wegmans, it seems as though their policy is like that of the NSA, it’s all an illusion of safety for…I don’t even know fucking who because I could get crack faster and easier than that if I wanted no matter what my age…and because of this illusion, I’m 34 years old and stuck being policed by people who can barely communicate with each other in my presence. And, unfortunately, in this illusion, Sarah has disabilities, and I’m covered with tattoos, and we are in a liquor store together, so it is a MUST that they card BOTH of us because even in the eyes of capitalist consumerism, we are still considered less than, and some of the most fucked up people in the world, and even if one of us is legit, they have an excuse to frisk the other. That was the reason I didn’t go into the liquor store with Homeless Joe. If I had gone in with my dad, no one would’ve said shit no matter what their policy. If Homeless Joe had gone in with his son, no one would’ve said shit about that, either. The policy is null and void, and I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes. When I see them card the fucking eight year old with its soccer mom, and I get to watch her ass throw a fucking fit, I’ll feel like the policy treats us all as equals. The liquor store is no place for an eight year old anyway, you dumb fucks.

In the end, I successfully pried my license out of the woman’s hand, which was comparable to getting an important key out of the atrophied hand of a corpse, told them their policy was bullshit, slowly made my way to the car with Sarah, went to the liquor store up the road, and paid an extra dollar fifty for Corona.

Apparently, dignity costs a dollar fifty…unless you’re at Wegmans.

Holla!

October 31st, 2013 - by: Sarah
It's that time again!

It’s that time again!

Rick on the Rock!

October 4th, 2013 - by: IAMRICKSEE

OldRockySo, starting last night, I decided to sit down and watch the entire “Rocky” anthology, starring Sly Stallone as Rocky Balboa “The Italian Stallion.” I haven’t watched these movies in MANY years. My dad was a huge fan, so therefore, growing up, I was also a huge fan. One of few items of his I received after he passed away (my POS stepmother butt-fucked me and my sister out of everything else, and hopefully, she gets catapulted into the Fukushima power plant cunt first) was his “Rocky” anthology. I recently realized that I’ve never seen the 6th one, so before I sit down and watch that (which I do not have high hopes for), I have decided to rewatch the first five movies…in doing so, I realized a few things:

Firstly, Rocky 1 is a GREAT movie. Say what you will about Stallone’s acting abilities, but he BECOMES Rocky Balboa in that movie, and that is why the first one is great. It’s gritty, low budget, easy to relate to, and full of heart. It even feels like the cast is enjoying being a part of that film. On a side note, I also realized that Mickey Avalon looks exactly like Rocky in the 70’s and that Yolandi Visser from Die Antwoord looks just like Adrian, except I’d much rather fuck Yolandi…not important, just an observation. But that movie captures the essence of a good person trapped in an unfair situation doing whatever he has to do to survive. He’s a really nice guy who is working for a loan shark and hustling motherfuckers for money because he doesn’t have a high IQ and basically has no choice. I like that. I like good people who do bad things. It adds something irking to the tale. But then, opportunity knocks, and it truly becomes a great story about legitimately pouring your soul into an endeavor and overcoming all odds in the end. What makes it even better (spoiler alert for the slouching FAR behinders) is that Rocky loses the fight in the first movie, yet manages to emerge as a different kind of winner. Awesome!

Then I watched Rocky II. It seems my youth deceived me because number 2 is exactly that: A huge piece of tumbling steaming shit on the chest of the movie industry that never stops happening. It is a Steaming Cleveland combined with a Turkish Earthquake, meaning you’re just falling down the stairs with another person who was squatting over you, who you just blew, mind you, and now, that dude is just spraying shit in the air, and you’ve got diarrhea in your chest hair, not to mention a mouthful of cum, and now THAT’S spewing all over both of you because you’re screaming, while the other dude’s recently serviced dick, which is spittling like grandpa babbling with skewed dentures right in your face, is just flopping in the breeze like the business end of bingo arms. In other words, it is not a good movie. For starters, the writing is awful, and the lines are delivered as if by people who are trying to act instead of actually acting. Bored porn stars with their clitorises removed do a better job. There are so many cringe-worthy lines it’s actually hard to watch. That said, I realize that many movie sequels back then fell victim to the movie studios’ belief that the franchise name would sell the film, and they wouldn’t have to try very hard. See Teen Wolf 2 for another example of this. That doesn’t seem to happen so much anymore, however. It seems that sequels come out now to destroy their predecessors, with the exception of Boondock Saints II, which is such a piece of shit that during the first five minutes, I wondered who set out to destroy that movie franchise on purpose. I’m a huge Boondock Saints fan, and it saddens me to see how many other Boondock Saints fans are in complete denial about the second movie.  I’ve never seen the end of Boondock Saints II because I’d rather chop off my own dick than sit through that movie to its fucking poorly written, poorly acted end. Someday, I’ll eat a bunch of pills and try to slog through it like a champ in order to validate my opinion.

AND, to bring it full circle…I think that’s what happened with Rocky II. I think people at the time loved the first Rocky movie so much that they were willing to completely look past the fact that it was awful. Even the New York Post raved about it like it was some sort of Hollywood achievement (which goes to show who owns what and who’s pulling what strings). Eighty percent of that movie is Stallone walking around acting like someone thinks Rocky Balboa acts with his new found wealth, blowing his money on bullshit while his wife looks at him disapprovingly whilst simultaneously having no qualms about wearing fur coats and diamonds and shit. Hey, look, alright, I understand that the series is about the life of a man who comes from the streets and hurdles to fame and fortune over night, but there was certainly a way it could have been done that required at least some decent writing, acting, and perhaps some real action…and by action, I don’t even necessarily mean violence, though some more believable boxing scenes would have been a treat…just more than a bunch of nothingness, as we follow an idiot around the city and watch him buy cars and clothes. And for fuck sake…beat the fuck out of Pauly or just give the guy a fucking job! What’s with the song and dance?! You’re fucking the guy’s sister, he’s letting you train on his meat, so throw the fucker a bone, which I know he does…but WTF is the hold up about?! The only guy who remains consistent through the series was Mick. Mick is awesome…end of story.

Today, I began Rocky III, and even after watching only the first half hour which includes Hulk Hogan as “Thunderlips: The Ultimate Male”. I absolutely still love this movie. It recaptures everything; there are great scenes, great lines, and it captures that need to climb to the top as the first one did. Not to mention, both the plot and Mr. T are fucking awesome. Mr. T is like an angry rabid badger in that movie, and it’s so visceral, you may actually worry he’s going to climb out of the television and eat your wife. AND…there is a message that remains RESPECTFULLY intact: Never forget where you come from and watch your ego because there is always a hungry motherfucker out there in the shadows ready to take your shit from you no matter how tough you think you are.

Perhaps Boondock Saints NEEDS a third movie for some god damn redemption. Please for the love of all things fucked, someone redeem that franchise! It’s not good when a movie makes me want to get drunk and shoot my fucking T.V.

Rocky rant part 2 is coming soon my pretties.

Smeaty new writer, holla!

Here, have a pic of a marginally confused golden bulgy man.

Here, have a pic of a marginally confused golden bulgy man.

A brand-spanking new writer has joined the ranks of this here smeatysmeat team of maladjusted ruffians. IAMRICKSEE is the new writer, so enjoy sending him naked pictures of your bondage-loving grandmother, or just spam him links to your creepy doll-collecting blog, he loves those (a lot).

New bio, new front page, new updates coming by next week. YES I ALWAYS SAY THAT! The thing I love about you assholes, is you never know whether or not I mean it this time, but you’ll check, anyway. Now that’s dedication, especially after over a decade. You’re all clearly getting old and delusional.

 Also, new old mp3 of the moment, ahoy! 

You’ll be hearing from me…

August 26th, 2013 - by: Sarah

So, I wrote some girl on etsy about some of her “art” like a month ago and never got to post it. I plan on sending her more messages about the other stuff she has for sale and telling her that each one reminds me of a dead relative who died in some horrifically weird way.

Here is the item in question that I am referring to in the message:

This is only $35.00 and nobody has bought it yet? Get on it, folks!

Buy it now! I would, but I'm saving up for a jew harp.

So come with me we’ll go and see the Big Rock Candy Mountains…

March 31st, 2013 - by: Sarah

Festive!

In my Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it, I’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade…

March 29th, 2013 - by: Sarah

Hello, my much-neglected readers, how are you? That’s nice.

The other day I saw someone with a bumper sticker that said “I am Catholic, AND I vote!”, and I thought to myself, who the fuck cares? I wonder what sort of self deluded cunt wipe would actually think they are so important to the world that they need every stranger on a busy highway to be aware of what stupid religion they are. Weirdly, the way it’s worded, it sounds more like a threat than it does any proclamation of who and what they are. Like, hey I believe in dumb shit that will fuck up your life, AND I take part in society by voting to make sure your life is going to suck because of it! YAY!

I don’t put bumper stickers on my car, but I just can’t imagine ever feeling like I was so important to every random driver that passed me, that I needed to let them know who I was and what I believed. I seem to just hate people in general these days, but this new widespread disease of self-importance seems to be running rampant and it’s getting sickening. And once again, I blame facebook. It has deluded millions into thinking that they’re so important people actually give a fuck if they just got out of the shower, if their cat just thew up, or if they happen to be bored at the moment so they’re going to go watch a movie. Who the fuck cares that much about every single moment and detail about someone else’s existence? They’re so much dumb shit constantly posted to the internet that anything actually important is drowned out by the plethora of mind-numbing horse shit people are constantly puking forth from their face holes.

Before you post something, buy a sticker, buy a tshirt, or whatever way you want to proudly scream to the world that you’re a person, and you’re special, think about how fucking boring and stupid and pointless what you’re writing is, then either shut up or go do something worth reading and caring about instead.

All my dumb shit is on my website, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. If I got my posts painted all over my car, I would invite others to have fun egging it.

Oh yeah, fuck Easter.

And one more thing, I realize I don’t post much these days, but so is life when you’re dying. Not, oh I have a cold, omg I’m dying, but, oh I have a fatal bacterial infection slowly eating each of my organs, type of dying, so posts are scarce at times.

It’s that time again…

December 25th, 2012 - by: Sarah



Hey look, it’s Christmas, the time of year I lovingly post the star wars holiday special every single year for you to cry and gauge your eyes out over.
Where have I been, you ask? Like you fucking care. Cheers!

Social Experiment #39043Bh-ZX1

August 2nd, 2012 - by: Sarah

Make this famous, spread the Goldblum.

 

 

Post-op Trannydactyl

July 30th, 2012 - by: Sarah

So, I promised fellow smeat movie reviewer, Joe, that I would make him a “trannydactyl”. Originally I said I’d make one with cut out pictures from magazines, but you’d be surprised how few pictures there really are left of actual pterodactyls. Body parts are easy. So here is your post-op, in femskin, trannydactyl. He still doesn’t have the money for surgery, but he feels confident flying around in his fleshy woman-shaped outer shell, wig, and little slot for his penis head to stick out and pretend it’s an enormous clit.
Pleasant dreams, all.

The internet is ruining us all (parte dos)

July 9th, 2012 - by: Sarah

You know what I hate? Well, you’re reading this crap, so you should, but in case you didn’t know, I hate furries. But more specifically, I hate their propensity for making really terrible artwork of their “fursonas”, it’s horrible, all of it. I don’t want to see a thirty-five year old dude dressed as a raccoon who likes to fuck people in rabbit costumes, and I definitely don’t want to see his mentally challenged crayon drawings of what he thinks he looks like, either. But I DO want to show it all to you. Why? Well because I look at this crap and if I see it, you need to suffer as well. These are the people that are ruining the internet, my second edition…

I call her Sally, the suicidal bat.

I call him, "God I hate the person who made this exist"

Oh, hey guys, this mask is who I am on the -inside-.

Please don't let these people have pets. EVER!

I don't get the weirdo sonic fetish, btw. Fucker runs fast and collects rings, leave him alone.

Also, this isn’t really related, but I wanted you to feel worse about yourself for being here…
you will have nightmares

Been a while since I did one of these…

June 16th, 2012 - by: Sarah

Hey, I'm an ugly whore who won't get better with age!

Haven’t done an Are You Afraid of the Dark? review in a long time, and so I said, hey, I’m going to do one, well, not so much review, these are more… watchalong comments.

S01 E05 The Tale of the Hungry Hounds

Well well if it isn’t the ole’ lesbo gang, hanging out in the woods and blahblahblah. Dun dun dunnnn there’s howling oh nooooo what will they do? Oh they’re still making fun of blondie while simultaneously all lesbo-ing after her. And she’s the storyteller this time around. meh.

Hey this episode stars Mia Kirshner, someone told me I looked like her once, I completely disagree, but it would be kind of cool if it was actually true. There’s an attic with a woman with a white sheet over her head, she must have read that wikihow on how to make a cheap ghost costume. Ahhh she just misquoted Hamlet, that annoys me tremendously. Oh they’re goonie-ing this shit up and finding random stuff in the attic now.

They find an old chest, it can’t be opened, it’s time for dinner, or to feed the dog, or eat it or some shit. Now they look at horses, and she pulls a carrot out of her ass, seriously, she does. She isn’t allowed to ride horses, and her mother is angry about horses, she must have had an uncle turned into glue or something.

Now they’re suddenly playing with a ouija board out in a field, no idea why the board is partly in French, though, but it is. The board tells them they’re annoying little cunts and to stop waking up the ghosts. Her friend has the worst hair cut ever, and she looks like a fifty year old widow. And it also gives the the combination to the chest. 1-4-9 guys, remember that.

The chest seems to have a fog machine in it, and some stuff for bondage night. Now she puts on the clothes and suddenly turns into a whore. It’s weird. This part really seriously makes no fucking sense at all. She walks through a hole in the attic wall, down some stairs to a field, and suddenly they’re in the woods. You know what, fuck this, I went through twelve minutes of hell, and I’m not finishing this. Watch it yourselves, I’m not in the mood for lesbian horse-fucking orgy movies.

Goodnight, fuckos.

ps… new mp3 of the moment up over on the right, particularly spectacular choice this time around if you liked the first Troll movie.

Happy Birthday, Krank!

May 15th, 2012 - by: Sarah

Today is Krank's birthday, so let's all celebrate with the scary birthday clown. Have a good one, you old bastard.

Mugsy’s Request:

May 14th, 2012 - by: Sarah

“Draw me a small home that exists in a world themed after Thanksgiving. include a landscape if needed. and make it erotic.”

A world of mashed potato and gravy hills, cranberry sauce rivers, a giant fork ready to eat it all, and turkey drumstick birds. And yes, the dick plants make it erotic, duh!

ps
mp3 of the moment updated

You’re all horrible people, you’re all going to hell, you should all be ashamed of yourselves…

May 8th, 2012 - by: Sarah

So, it’s been years since I bothered posting search statistics on my site, not because they weren’t horrifyingly interesting to me, but because my host is a dick and navigating through the sludge they call a website is too much trouble for me to give a fuck to bother doing anymore. But I was talking about with the proud owner of Mecha Duck, and decided to see what you wretched fucks have been searching for to end up here in the innocent, lovely old spookymeat. All I have to say is, WHAT. THE. FUCK. You people need some help, and I have no idea how some of that stuff even gets people to smeat in the first place. You all need a good talking to, that’s what I think. When I said the internet is ruining people, I guess I was also talking about my website. It’s going to ruin you, stop it. STOP IT. I take no responsibility for this. NOPE. (I blurred out a phone number, it was of a business, and I don’t think he would enjoy being associated with you filthy hooligans; I also took out anything child related because seriously guys, what the fuck is wrong with you?)

I have some bad news for you…

May 7th, 2012 - by: Sarah

Yesterday my eyeballs had the horror of seeing a fake trangina that allows a dickhead to stick out where a clit should be.

And today you’re sharing my nightmare.

NIGHTMARES

CANTFORGETTHIS

WHYGODWHY

You’re very welcome.

Krank’s request:

April 16th, 2012 - by: Sarah

“Draw me a octopus bodied koala bear eating bacon from the teets of a centaur, please. And make it erotic.”

mmmmmmmmm

(the dildo made it erotic, duh!)