Blader Digest: Jesus Rollerblading Christ

Aww shit, son! It be all mother fucking June. That mean it all be nice out  and shit for months.

Get them fucking blades out, son, it be mother fucking June!

Or not.

Maybe if it’s raining where you are like it is here in sunny San Francisco, then you’ve got too much time on your hands. Or, if you’re like me, too much time with your hands.

Then, so long as you’re busy killing kittens by disgracing our Lord with your masturbatory filth, might I suggest a lovely little pornography title from an era before our time.

No, I don’t know where you can see the 1976 porno with the title, Rollerbabies. All I know is that someone thought a futuristic fuck fest on roller skates was a good idea. Well, it fucking was!

That’s what’s wrong with us now…even our porn lacks imagination. Long gone are the days of complicated dialogue, extensive sets, man vs. nature plot lines, and more. What is porn now? Shiiiiiit…

Lick a pussy. Suck a cock. Stick it in. Moan. Change positions. Suck the dick again. Spit on the pussy. Bang, bang, bang…. come on her face.

Wow. Riveting.

No wonder the birth rate is rising at such a rapid place with the median age of mothers decreasing by generation. Generations, by the way, used to be like 25 years apart. Now they’re 14. It’s sad.

Anyway, why the pregnancy? I blame the porn. It’s not the existence or prevalence of porn, sexuality or nudity — thank God almighty that it’s there! — but the fact that porn lacks any kind of imagination, so when some high school dude should be doing all this fucked up fantasy shit to his girlfriend that God also knows she won’t be down for when they get married some day, he rabbit bangs her and forgets to prematurely ejaculate on her face. He’s still balls deep in her when he blows it, mistaking a money shot for a money hole — a baby.

Yup, so there’s more kids raising kids, sending them out in the world to make their own kids, so we can all be confused, misguided, and lost as ever before.

We’ll try to teach them things by our own mistakes, but they won’t listen and go out and make worse ones of their own. Then we’ll have to bail them out — figuratively and literally — because we love them and we’re still seeing them as pants-shitting little piles of fatty, stacked straight-don’t-give-a-fuck awesome.

The cool thing about kids is they are rarely short in the imagination category.

When they start losing that imagination, the real trouble starts. They start seeing things for how they really are, and they either try to change it or burn the bitch to the ground.

The kids are going to do what they want, live how they want, and fuck up beyond human comprehension because that’s what kids should be doing on a regular basis. They’re questioning things and are getting promptly pissed off at the world adults have created for them.

This planet and what we’ve created out of it is weird. I mean, think about, in basic form, all the weird shit we build in the name of fun.

We spend so much of our time thinking about other people, what they’re doing, whether they miss us, whether they love us, that we construct these means of communication to reach out to them whenever we want, yet we can never, ever have the right thing to say, but we always manage to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Then there’s the awkwardness…

That fucking sucks.

Our messages will get twisted and contorted around from where they start in the neurotransmitters of our brain cells until they land in the proper cortex of the other person. There are too many senses and body systems at play to get those messages right because we’re built like giant games of Telephone: by the time the message gets around, it’s so far off from what you originally said that you question what you said at the beginning.

We never get it right because there are so many places for it to go so very wrong.

It’s the drugs, the sex, the booze, the silence, the seclusion that makes some of it make sense. It make not solve the problems, but it loosens the noose for a little bit.

Everything around us has the potential to drive us fucking insane, yet we construct these lives based on taste in foods, clothing, music, lifestyle, etc. to project an image of sanity in a world run by crazy people dressed not in tan blue robes and house slippers but suits costly enough to balance foreign debts.

The rest of us in sweaty T-shirts and wax-stained jeans know that going crazy in the opposite direction might save us for yet another day.

The world is a confusing place because we humans do some confusing things, things that will dumbfound us all for eons because we, we members of a so-called evolved species in supposed advanced societies can still find a way to alienate those who aren’t exactly like we are, and in that alienation, we market envy, we manufacture hatred, and we consume greed. We are so incomplete inside that in moments of lapse judgment, we hurl out the closet thing we can find and hope it sticks to someone else.

We get selfish, but we don’t begin to take care of ourselves We look at others and wonder what they do for us. We forget to smile because we’re too caught up in the daily bullshit. We’re tired, but we’re too hyper to notice.

We all should just take a lesson from Bill Murray…

Nothing is ever good enough and we want more, but we don’t know where to get it.We’ll comb through every land and destroy whatever is in our path because we believe we are so close to becoming complete that we must trudge through the mud and blood to get it. But before we even reach it, we can already see the top of the next hill and want what’s there. We blindly pass what we thought we wanted in search for something that could be better.

It’s war. It’s one inside each of us.

Oh yeah, and before I go, I should let you know about what God had to say in response to what I told him a few weeks ago about the lack of a reckoning.

But of course God didn’t tell me directly. No sir, if he did that people would just think I’m crazy and give me tons of money for centuries so I could start a church or something. Nope, God told me everything I need to know through the Oatmeal.

So yeah, here’s what really happened with the rapture:

Comic finishes here:

Wait, what?

Did You say “Jesus Rollerblading Christ”?

What in Your name could you mean?

Yeah, is awesome.

Fuck yeah. I know the big man was on our side. Teaching that kid right, you know, except for the whole rainbow being the international sign of the gay community and rollerblading is called gay—even in joke punchlines—enough thing.


Blade or Die,

— Brian Krans

P.S. — If you want to read something else with as many blading and fucking references (and a thousand more drug references) as this column, do me a favor and buy my book, Freeze Tag on the Highway.


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