Sunday, April 24, 2011

an open letter to the other prince of england

dear other prince of england:

whats up you gingery bastard? Man, gotta be crazy with all this royal wedding shit going down, everyones eyes are gonna be on marrying princes hot new wife. but man, you are the one who has every right to celebrate, not her. yeah yeah, she's gonna be royalty and all that jazz, happy times and handjobs for her and her pretty dress, but man, you are the one who has it made my friend, you know why?

the minute new princess says I do, you, my friend, are off the hook. you hope main prince knocks that broad up and when it happens, you do fucking BACKFLIPS. why, you say?

your a fucking PRINCE. OF ENGLAND. you will be in your 20's with no real job other than show up to fancy events wearing pants (note: pants most likely optional), not say anything too RAY-CESS (note: RAY-CESS ness also optional), don't fingerbang your cousin (note: cousin fingering encouraged in royalty land, doubly so if said fingering can get you land or power or an alliance of some sort). you're the younger, more avaliable prince too. I demand debauched  tales of you going on a fuck festival through England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Australia, Canada and any other current or former British territories not named America (we have enough useless people here thank you very much). I mean you gotta plow 10-20 women a day, snort colombia out of cocaine and then snort brazil out of cocaine too. I wanna see you with 3 different models a day, in crazed orgies where someone might die but the royal family will cover it up. you better proceed to pound every hot girl in britain with your unslighty ginger dong and getting enough trim to make tiger woods feel inadequate. you're in the clear, if you weren't a prince, you'd just be some ugly crazy ginger, do you realize how unattractive that is? granted, your skin isn't that pale, so you're a daywalker, but thats still unattractive enough to warrant you not getting poonani for the rest of your days. you, my friend, have been blessed with one of the few automatic panty-dropper titles. you think any girls turning down the chance to allow you to put your pork sword into her pink scabbard? all it takes it 1 sperm to swim up her canal and get pregnant and she is set for how long?


fuck yeah, sandlot!




you hear that, Other Prince of England? you have one job now, sharks in pussies, cocaine snorted, triple fistings. I need an unstable, debauched human being I can admire his antics from afar, yet retreat into my own loving stable life at the end of the day. I wanna hear stories that would make Mick Jagger and Charlie Sheen (WINNING!) feel gross and inadequate in comparison. I want stories that will put all the free sex from 65 to 80 feel like it was tame and vanilla, like the sex super conservative jews have through a sheet. I want violent acts and general mischief that will both impress and disgust me. you can't be a slapdick, other Prince, get your goddamn snacks. now get out there and be cuh-ray-zee.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

a message to the 30 year old gecko from the last bit of 20 year old kwanzaa gecko.

Dear future Gecko:

have the robots destroyed us all? were the mayans right?  did everything go according to that totally secret plan we hid under the mattress? the trip to england? the crazy swedish midget orgies? did you build your  own iron man suit and proceed to change mankind with your raw handsomeness? are you annoyed by my questions? has ted finally met mother on how I met your mother? really, He hasn't? he's gonna die a virgin then, fucking ted ruins the show, god i hate ted. did community rock? it only lasted 3 seasons? ok, I can live with that. what college did we pick? did we enjoy it? you better not be a fucking sellout, or I will cut you when you come to visit me in your time machine. listen future gecko, this is the last message I am leaving you as a 20 year old gecko, no doubt the blog has revolutionized the way people think, act and talk. I mean, I've only been keeping it up 2 years, and its already considered better than your average BAH-STAHN FACKIN DRIVEL ABOUT THE LEGENDARY FARTITUDE OF THE BASEBAWL LARRY BIRDS! anyway, I don't have much time, soon enough the clock will change, and I will die and be reborn as a 21 year old, suave, handsome, ultrasexy K-Gex (did the nickname catch on? when you interview conan, did He call you it? when you went on weaselfucks show, did he call you it and you proceed to hit him in the kisser so hard he got a bit of your talent then spat it out?) do you still like good music, if you like 2020 coldplay, I will cock you in the fucking jaw. can I get a high five, James Van Der Beek?



thanks James! I only got 4 minutes left, before I got break every part of BYU's honor code (that jokes funny now,  trust me, Van Der Beek likes it, right van der beek?

back to back Van Der beeks? nice going dawg. anyway, I am officially done, its midnight, and the soups over (note: the soup was the last bastion of tv people mocking before it got engulfed by the kardashian ass, I hope you guys stopped them before it was too late, its the last thing you better do, future gecko) I Hope you get this letter, from me to me, from you to you, and lets hope these next couple of years stomp enough elephant ass to make us a piano

from:

20 year old Gecko