Friday, April 28, 2006

Word up whitebread, how you livin'?


The Zarkman is back, and he's hatin' the email.
Yeah, I been gettin' all your email haterade. All y'all infidels be texting and emailing, and it's all like "yo Zarks where u at? Al Qaeda cut off your TypePad account? LOL!!!"

Hey cuz, act like you know. Like the Zarkman got time to be blogging this bitch with the Q1 decapitation reports overdue, and Fatima all up in my grille wantin’ money for the kids' summer martyr camp, and Team Satan sendin’ another crew of laser-guided "downsizing consultants" every freaking day.

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Okay, so a few dhimmis throw us a few bucks every month. But Holy fucking Prophet, otherwise they’re as useless as tits on an Imam. “Sorry, Zarkman, can’t help you with the wiring diagrams, my Ph.D. is in deconstructivist semiotics,” whatever the fuck that means. I mean, holy dung, how do these motards chew gum and protest march at the same time? And the ones that actually do get over here never want to volunteer for anything other than being a stupid hostage, and then they start whining for vegan meals and high-speed internet, and then they get all pissy and crying when you actually cut off one of the other’s heads. Helloooooo, Moby McMoonbeam: that’s what you fucking hostages are for. Shit, I swear the only victory we’ve had lately is when Team Satan came and took those Unitarian peace creeps off our hands. Your problem now, dawg.

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And to top it all off, guess who just showed up at the back door? You got it. Those kuffar peace creeps, volunteering for hostage duty again. I’m totally curious: how come all those badass hard muthafuckin’ Wu Tang infidels end up on Team Satan, and Zarkman gets stuck with the dipshits too stoned to tune their stupid guitars?

So whuzzup wit me? Same shit, different day, and if you peckerwood email haters expect a personal reply, you can kiss my fat shrapneled Jordanian ass. I hate email, and wouldn’t use it at all if I didn’t think that Nazi Bush was tapping my phone.

Read it all, homies.