Concession?

Well fuck its now December. That means its been a while since we talked right? Well I’m a busy motherfucker. In case you forgot, I was running for president there.

That’s right, little girls. If you’ll recall, in October of 2010, I, the critic, launched a campaign for President of the United States of America. By now you may have realized through shitty media that my bid lost. But it didn’t exactly lose.. per say.. Not how you think. So, in light of the events that November brought, I thought it might be fun to recap two years of hard work by a lot of people other than me and give out the proper thanks where it is due.

I lived this epic ride of doom, bitch. Of course I have credentials. All this shit happened to me. So this blog of truth is not so much a lesson in reality as it is a lesson of history. My history for the last two years on the campaign trail. This is an emotional tail, so get some fucking tissues. This shit is way more real than twilight.

 

Oh, I should sidebar this shit. Yeah, I said sidebar. You may have noticed in my last blog I didn’t give you a tip on surviving the zombie apocalypse. I think this may have severely hindered my chances at the presidency. You see, I did this out of.. well lets face it, it didn’t go with the flow of my last blog. I could do one here? Even thought the campaign is over. You want it? Of course you do, you dirty whore. One last time for memories sake then. Here you go.

Get good at running.

Yeah, it was short but way fucking sweet. Really, you were hoping I’d take care of your needs but I was just out to satisfy myself. Hurts right? Whatever. You got yours too, I know you did. Sluts.

So where was I? Ahh yes, the beginning of our campaign. October 2010 is when I announced my candidacy. Immediately I was selected as the candidate for the Truth Party. We have a cool logo too. But its not a fucking elephant or donkey. Oh no.

Yeah, a fuckin lion. Which can eat a donkey or an elephant. But not a tiger. Noting can defeat a tiger. Ever.

Anywho, so back to the tale. Based on my years of political work in the country I’m king of and my tons of weird ass experience through history, my advisors felt it safe to launch this campaign with an epic chance of victory because.. well.. the opposition… well they’re all fucking cunts, right? Of course they are. So that’s why we did it. Our early rallies and such were such wide huge successes that we adopted a victory sign which is common among winners in history.

It didn’t take long before we came up with a cool ass logo. Something simple, to the point and something that would grab peoples tits attention.

This same logo would be used time and time again. I gave you my real name at first, cr1ck3e, so you’d all know who you were voting for. As this year dawned anew and we drew closer to the election, my advisors told me I should change this logo. I told them to go impale their dicks on a  cocktail sword. They didn’t like that. We needed a more grown up look, apparently. So we struck our lot with the old motherfuckers in this country and went for the more mature look. I thought it turned out pretty alright. Fuck it, whatever.

Also, my promiscuous behavior became a problem. Tabloids everywhere linked me to having all kinds of sexual escapades. You’ll notice that our comment on this was “We do not address media trash like this. It is not newsworthy nor worth our time.” – That worked out pretty well. Plus if anyone asked me about it I’d just slap them. How do you like that bitch? It’s a good thing I have a lawyer.

No, with all this gallivanting about, it was time for the critic to settle down with someone who has class, and elegance, and solid moral fiber. Someone who everyone looks up to, wants to be like. Someone who would make a perfect first lady. I picked the only sensible person I could.  The only logical choice. Kim Kardashian.

Check it out, I haven’t used that graphic in a fucking long time. Anyways, post election Kim and I broke up, I’m sorry to say. My heart will never be the same. Unless Pamela Anderson wants to get frisky. Maybe I should have picked her as a wife. She’s from Canadia. Canadia is socialist. That could have pulled not only the socialist, but the democrat vote as well. Fuck man. Good ideas always come too late. And she’s a classy lady too. I really fucked up on that one. Good news though, this little paragraph has given me a good reason to put up a Pamela picture. PAMELA AND KIM IN THE SAME BLOG. You’re fucking welcome.

 

Anyway, I need a snack. Shut the fuck up, I do what I like.

Ahh now I’m full. So I’m fucking back. Where were we? Ah yes, the campaign.

So we started our ads running against the competition and I think we had a great slogan. I mean really what most people run on is the same premise but they don’t tell the truth. That’s kind of the jist with our party. Telling the truth. So we did.

But then the unexpected happened.
Not that unexpected really. We were prepared for all kinds of negative ads. Ads saying how unreliable I am.. or how I don’t understand socialism. Or crazy right wing let God run your emotions crap. We were ready for anything the opposition had to throw at us.. except this.

How they dug up that picture of me with the Scottish Turban is beyond me. Furthermore, the fact that they used it is absofuckinglutely deplorable. Assholes. But, whatever, we didn’t let that keep us from the goal, so we decided we needed some celebrity power. An endorser who is know for their brain, logical thinking, and sound mentality to really give us an edge. We picked the only choice possible. Megan Fox.

It was a close race still. I was a bit shocked as to how this was even possible. What with the celebrity power we had behind us, man, I thought this fucking train was running away, yet still it was close. But then I did the thing that would set me over the top for good. The VP Candidate. Like everyone normally does in a race like this I picked my running mate in secret. But, it was leaked. Of course. Because of the fucking internet. So we had to make our intentions known to the world. I did it through social media.

That’s right, bitches. If anyone knows the truth as well as I do. Its Mr. T. He’s always pitying foos for their lack of knowledge. Telling kids to stay in school, and he’s a bad motherfucker. What else would America need? Fucking NOTHING bitch!

So we started a new approach this year, talking about the apocalypse in just a couple weeks now, and we used that spin for our political uses. Because that’s what fucking politicians do. We find shit that’s happened, or going to happen, and we use it to our own advantage. That’s how it fucking works.

Everything was going great. Then.. the trouble started. Apparently there is a flaw in the constitution that says you have to be at least the age of 35 to become president. Despite the fact that I am, like Dick Clark once was, the Highlander, and really hundreds of years old, I can’t tell everyone that. I only tell you that. Because I love you.

A lot.

No seriously.

No there’s no one else.

Promise.

So with this bullshit in the constitution, I apparently could not become president. Apparently these motherfuckers don’t know me very well, so I appealed. The national stage was set for the idiot who won the election and the idiot who tried to beat him. When I appealed to the debate committee they told me I could not join in on a three way. Apparently it IS gay when its in a three way. With three guys. Who are all politicians. Whatever. So I challenged them to a dual, 1700’s style. They said no. Fuckers. I also found it ironic that we’ve had Presidents in the past who have dueled with pistols and yet the current one called it “barbaric” – which I call bullshit on. I was even gonna lend him a wig. Whatever. Its totally not barbaric if you’re wearing a wig.

Its probably for the better. I’m a lover not a fighter. Plus he has secret service, they’d turn me into swiss cheese before I could even think about it. Good thing he said no. Kudos to the president, he saved my life.

I’m wearing the wig right now though.

But the good news is, the current president did accept my challenge to a debate, as did the vice president accept it. As our legal battle continued on, so did our campaign. Nothing was going to stop us.

As you all well know by now, I kicked the president’s ass in debate. He kept talking about all this political bullshit, and I pretty much kept telling him…that it was bullshit. “We’re gonna do this.. or that.. or something else..” “Bullshit.” – It was like Ali and the rope a dope. Eventually it wore him down. Critics agree.. the critic was victorious.

Gotta say though.. that was one uncomfortable suit.

Mr. T also held his own in his debate. He pitied Joe Biden so hard that Biden went temporarily insane. He was so scared he would shift from times where he was in uncontrollable fits of crying to hysterical laughing. I feel bad for Biden, Mr. T is hard to debate. We disagreed once. I gave up after he stared me down. He was probably right anyways. Goddamn that man can debate.

In the end, the votes were counted, but despite the mass amounts of votes that went our way, our legal battle would not fall in our favor. The supreme court decided the uphold the flaw in the constitution that says I wasn’t old enough to be president. Alas, we shall have to wait until next time.

And there will be another time. I even have a running mate in mind. I don’t know much about her yet, but judging by this sign, I think we’ll get along fucking great.

So our epic run at the presidency is over, but what a run it was. I couldn’t have done it without your support. So since the election, I’ve been quiet. So you say, dear critic, where hast thou been? Well, I had to find a new job, bitch. What else? I am not no rich ass Mitt Romney, I can’t just lose something this big and be able to sit in my tree house and survive. So I got a new job. What’s that job? Its just like my last job. To bring you the truth. To represent the truth, the truth party and to take the country by storm in a wave of kickassness. And to fondle as many breasts as possible. That’s just the perks of the job, don’t blame me. I’m doing this shit like a Kennedy. So what's next? We’re not stopping motherfuckers. Its 2016 is what's next. Don’t think for a minute its not. And by then I’ll look like I’m over 35. Hence our new slogan.

That’s right bitch. This time.. its legal. Bring on the new campaign!

The Kim Kardashian Relief Fund

Today I had a desire, one desire only, and that brought me to where I am, looking like the starving writer that I am, because though the truth is important, its also cheap. Like your mom.

That desire was simple, but it was wonderful. Pie. I needed pie like you need the sauce. Really fucking bad. So here I came, to VI. Village Inn. I recently met someone who did not know what Village Inn is. I was in shock, I was sullen, I was down mothafuckin trodden. And then the spark of life and truth and everything I stand for hit me, and I introduced said person to VI. And yes, there was pie. So for those of you out there who have never heard of Village Inn, let me first say: where have you been your whole life? Living under a rock? Now for you who haven't heard of it before you should know its kind of like Denny’s.  But better. With a SHIT LOAD of pie. So now you know. I came here for pie and a hot cock cocoa. Life would be better if I could smoke here, but the land locked hell hole state government and the fruity fuck ass lickers who live here decided that cigarette smoke is bad for them and they didn’t want to smell it while they ate and therefore they voted and banned it. The power of stupid people with opinions oppressing the smarter people of the world who just want to be left alone with their cigarettes and smokers cough is amazing. Moving on.

As you may have learned if you pay attention to anything in the media, the poor sad Kim Kardashian recently filed for divorce. This was because she was married to a dickwad who didn’t appreciate her for what she is: A bitch probably rich hot chick with herpes I’d guess a TV show and a fat ass millions of dollars in the bank, a fat ass beautiful smile, sex tape pretty hair, and a luscious posterior. She is this pirates primo booty beauty, and so, after reading about lots fall out around her 72 day marriage and how unpopular she is becoming, it is left to me, the critic, to bring her relief, and therefore I have created this relief fund for my love, Kim Kardashian.

This should be good. Really fucking good. You’re asking yourself what possible credentials could I possibly have that would make me qualified to write about her and what would bring her relief? Easy. I’ve been stalking her for 6 years. The last time I broke into her house I even wore a whipped cream banana hammock, regrettably the guards tackled me and called the police. Also I know what women want. No, not really, that’s a straight up lie. It’s a proven fact that not even women know what women want, which is what makes that movie with Mel Gibson so infuriating. Ever notice how Mel was normal until he made that movie and then he became the jew and woman hating fuck rag he is today? All after making the movie WHAT WOMEN WANT. You see the fact is, if you try to know what women truly want, you will in fact lose your mind like Mel Gibson. That info can be found on Web MD.com I think.

Regardless, the real truth is, I don’t know what women want, and I’m so poor with them I can’t even keep a girl interested in me for more than a very short time. This includes but its not limited to my exwife. Oh well, fuck em. I’m pretty ok with me anyways, and that’s what makes my credentials sound. I’m male, and I’m an opinionated one. This is my house motherfucker and I’m fucking king of this castle. If you don’t like it, build your own goddamn castle, but just remember, if you do, I’m going to siege it. And steal your gold… and booty. Because everything can take a pirate twist and don’t you fucking forget it pal!

Now what the fuck am I talking about? I’m talking about the hottie Kim Kardashian. Move over Pam Anderson, there’s a new sheriff in town and she isn’t a Canadian Import like Canada Dry.

Look guys, being rich isn’t easy. You wouldn’t know because you’re poor as fuck. Being so hot that the melting of the polar ice caps is blamed on you openly in the media… How could you know what that’s like? That’s pressure and stress that no normal person could ever live up to. Fortunately for Kim she is super human and bred with the strongest of hot bitch genes. And they are big jeans, because she has an enormous huge wide ass. Did you see? Genes and jeans.. play on words. Ok fuck you it was a bad joke. Kiss my ass. No wait, don’t go, I love you. Please don’t leave me alone. I’m afraid of the dark.

Are we ok? Are you sure? Ok. Good.

Anyways what were we talking about? Ahh yes, the stress of being awesome. You see, I feel for Kimmy because I understand what that pressure is like, being awesome myself. Granted I may not be attractive or cut like Thor or anything, but I am popular beyond all my wildest dreams. Which isn’t that impressive because usually I dream of Cheetos. Whatever.

The Kim Kardashian Relief Fund was created as a way to help Kim know that she’s not alone, nor does she ever have to be alone again. Because here Kim, here I am. For you and only you. Fact: I am not rich unless you consider personality. In which case, I am still not rich. I am, however a know it all fuck, but if you want to always be right, that’s ok, because you can afford to buy me my Lotus Elise I’ve been craving for the last 7 seconds since I just thought it up.

Why would Kim choose a fucker like the critic? Easy. She married a guy who was half black half white, which seems to be a good mix breed of things, hell I’m not a racist, go for it and get down. But the truth his, he is a basketball player, I say player because he is not a star. This fucker is not Jordan. He’s not even the cheap imitation of Jordan: Kobe.  No sir, he’s a mediocre professional athlete which means he’s stronger and more athletic than I’ll ever be. But athletes don’t ever work out. Especially ones in the NBA which is on strike. That’s right, the real reason why their marriage failed? HE IS A FUCKING BUM! If you’re not working, how can you afford to do all the great things that Kim likes to do. Like feed her enormous ass. And go to the beach. You can’t. Dear jerk who stole the love of my life for 72 days: Get a fucking job. Asshole. Hell I’m glad he fucked up, that makes Kim more readily available for me. Ha! The Critic is not black or half black. All of her previous relationships have been with black stars. This is nothing against the color thing, its just that she doesn’t realize her preference is really for a skinny white guy with no athletic abilities. Oh and I can’t rap either.

But we do make quite the handsome couple, there can never be any denying that. As you can see from the pictures here, the couple dates we did go on made me so happy, I was all smiles. She was all hotness, like normal, and all huge ass, but I’m down with that. Feed the posterior.

I do have some things going for me that those other cock suckers didn’t though. First off, I have half a brain that can fathom something other than any particular sport. I also think about sex and drinking. Those fuckers have no idea. I may not be able to rap, but that’s just like being a poet. Face the facts, good poets are women, or gay, or E.A. Poe. And that guy was morbid and used to fuck dead bodies, so whatever, maybe I don’t want to be a poet. You see these things are not against me, they’re working for me, because Kim, you need to try something new, something that will be everlasting! Which in case you were wondering how long everlasting is, its like.. more than 72 days, at least. Prolly around a year or so. I’m ok with a year.

But I know something those pro sports stars don’t- the definition of happiness. Happiness is having a shit load of money, your own TV show, awesome cars, money in the bank. I have all those things. I would like all of those things, and for that I’d make a really shitty pool boy, but I am pretty good arm candy, don’t you think? Also remember what life is like without the critic. Unbearable. It’s a proven fact that can be cross referenced with FOX News that previous to meeting me, Kimmy was a depressed, sad rich girl with an awesome house and everything anyone could ever want. But after she me, the critic, she became infused with the truth and the truth can bring on lots of happiness. It can also cause clinical depression and lead to suicide, but who cares about that shit?

The fact of the matter is, without me, there is no happy Kim Kardashian, but with me, she is the bubbly happy girl that other girls envy. She is the same girl who poses for Playboy and makes all the guys drool, and makes a calendar every year that we all buy with our saved up allowances. (Thanks mom!)

So now, lets look back at why the critic is the perfect mate for Kim.

• Like Kim, he sucks at relationships
• Like Kim, he is divorced
• Like Kim he is awesome
• He is rich
• He is cut like Thor
• He has a great personality
• He is a smart ass
• He has no ass and she has an over abundance of it
• He has ambition

Oh that’s right motherfuckers, I’m not done with this shit yet. I’m going to twist it now, are you ready? Buckle your seat belts and hold on to your sombreros its time to get crazy.

I’ve got more ambition than most people, and I know how to use that for my future. As you all know by now, our Army of truth seeking assholes grows every day, and with that, it fuels my election campaign. That’s right Kim, you may have a nice house now, but wait till you see my future house. It looks a little something like this:

She interested now.

You all know I launched my official campaign for president of the US of motha fuckin A last year in October. It was there I showed you my experience as a politician, motivator and leader. But there’s more to do, because 2012 is upon us, and its time to defeat our opponents in a 300-esque manner that will make them scream and cry for their mama’s, suck their thumbs and disappear into obscurity where they fucking belong.

Well to give you an update just over a year later, the campaign is going strong, and we’re gaining steam every day. One of the biggest and most exciting things is our new ad campaign. Last year we went by my first name, cr1ck3e- thus capturing the hearts and minds of you, the younger crowd. But some of you are saying, wait! I am not part of this young crowd! I am part of the older crowd, well now, for you, to capture your hearts and minds and wallets we’ve decided to go with a more professional look at the campaign and use my birth name: the critic.

Also, last year we did a lot to slam on our rivals, you may remember.. His name is Satan? right, well Vote for me because my opponent is the devil? If that’s not a good enough reason than nothing is. Except for maybe.. this:

That’s right folks, you have questions, and fuck it, so do I! I want to know the same shit that you do. Fortunately for me, I will become president and will get that book, “The President’s Book” or whatever it was called. I know you saw National Treasure 2. It was alright. I’m not a huge Nick Cage fan, but whatever. I’m going to get that and in it are the answers to your mind so craves. And guess what? It is my oath to you that when I find out, you will find out. Can you see it now? From the White House, with my loving doll Kim on my shoulder, I will announce to the world exactly who it was that killed JFK.

Kim will be as shocked as you. I won’t look so shocked, because I will have read it already and have to keep my composure for the country. Or maybe you’re like my friend, the mcp.. I know what he wants to know, and I know I want to know too. And I know you do too. And if its not in the President’s Book, I’ll just fly Air Force 1 out there, with video cameras and Kim, and we’ll find out together..

Its just that simple friends. You want answers, I want votes. Lets work together now for a change. How many other presidential candidates can you say will do that? The answer is fucking zero. Not just ZERO, FUCKIN ZERO, BITCH!

That’s why I am here, as a beacon of truth and light, and hope for you, your friends, family, and even your easy mom.

The one thing that will surely launch me straight to the White House is the help of Kim Kardashian. She is essential to this process because she is popular, sexy as fuck, and has a huge ass. She is America’s Sweetheart. The world is unhappy with her now, because she is unhappy. So write letters, find her on facebook, follow her twitter world wide and send her the message: The Critic is the man for you, Kim! HE is your relief fund, and only through him will you find true and eternal happiness. Forever and ever. At least one year of it.

And if that doesn’t work out, I’m going to have to apologize big time to Pam Anderson, she’s prolly pissed at me, but good news is, she’s a really fun chick and has a heart of gold and understands just how I have to wrangle the media to my command with Kim’s help, to launch me to a successful political career. Brilliant no? The first guy to use a celebrity status to launch his campaign since.. One of the most popular Presidents of all time.. Ronald Regan. THE ACTOR! So please please please, remind Kimmy to find the critic on facebook, point her here, and tell her all you can that she is destined for great things with yours truly. And never forget to remind everyone you know, 4 more years of corrupt politicians, or 4 years of real honesty and truth. Besides, could you see Kim as the first lady? Fuck that’d be awesome. And we’d have limos like she’s accustomed to, I’d have salary forever, and secret service, and thus would not be like that bum basketball player she married the last time. It’s a match made in heaven. And that is what you call some serious fucking relief.