Immigrants gone wild - by Chad Robuckle

You know, a lot of attention has been focused on the subject of illegal immigration, especially here in Los Angeles.

Immigrants state that they play a valuable role in society, often performing the jobs regular Americans won't do. Their opponents claim they undercut American workers and de-value the marketplace.

Of course, real-world issues are never this black and white and the truth often lies somewhere in the rich shades of grey in which we live our daily lives.

When we think of immigrants and the jobs they go to every day, we often think of them working on farms, picking beans, or perhaps bussing tables or doing the dishes in a restaurant, but this is only one side of the picture.

Immigrants are involved in many facets of the American workplace and I want to speak about one of those today. A side not brought up in the media, one that you may not have thought about before.

Would you believe that immigrants are fast becoming a force to reckon with in what has now become a 14 billion dollar industry in America?

Like I said, when you think of 'ol Pepe or Juan jumping the fence down in Tejas, you probably say, "Well, chances are they're not going to take my job: I'm a high-paid banker with a brand new Porsche Cayman that I consider my daily commuter, which I say with a smug laugh every time I tell someone about driving it to work."

OK, fair enough, your banking job is probably safe. But you're a banker, right? You've got a lot of cash floating around. Your wife is probably getting fat and your bastard kids drive you nuts. Your mother-in-law has been riding you for months, asking you whether you're all coming out for Thanksgiving even though when you do, she complains about too many people being at her house and she's a terrible fucking cook and you just want to have a nice, quiet Thanksgiving for a change and not deal with all that bullshit.
You're stressed and you need some "relief".

So you call up the local escort service and you answer the door, expecting the big-boobed blonde from the ad, right?

Nope. Instead, you get "Yessica": a 23 year-old mother of sixteen from Guadalajara, whose feet are still muddy from traipsing through the shallow waters of the Rio Grande. At least you hope that's mud.

You see, not only are foreign immigrant sex workers undercutting their American counterparts in the price department, sometimes drastically so, they are also introducing a host of new sexual services (and parasites), often heretofore unheard of on our native soil.

Think about it this way: you're an American who picks corn for 30 bucks an hour or whatever the hell minimum wage is these days. Along comes Tito and Jesus offering farmer Ted to pick his corn under the table for 17 cents a day, which is a King's Ransom back in Mexico.

You're shit out of luck, right?

Well now imagine that not only will Tito and Jesus pick the corn for less than you, they're willing to stick it in their asses while they do so. And they tell Farmer Ted it's cool if 99 of his farmer buddies come over and throw those stringy corn husk things in their faces as they do it.

Call me old fashioned, I just long for the days of yesteryear, when you could drive over to the black side of town, pick up a normal, yet dangerously young-looking girl for some regular sex, pay her a decent, but fair amount of money and be on your way.

I also remember a time when you could "settle disputes" with these independent contractors and not have it turn into a federal hate crime case, but that's neither here nor there.

Look, I'm not blaming the immigrants. I know that for a long time, American prostitutes have had it easy. They have been sheltered from the outside world by a society that protects and cherishes them. Within the global economy, competition is relied on to set prices. Supply and demand dictate the specifics of the situation.

The system works and I'm not one to call for restrictions placed on a free-market economy, but I’m sorry, it just makes me a little sad. I can't help but get nostalgic when I think about the way things have changed.

Don't get me wrong, I love a good Dirty Sanchez as much as the next guy and anyone who's gone to TJ with me knows my first stop is always the donkey show, but I guess what I'm lamenting is the fact that as much as I claim to love dehumanizing people, especially women, I can't prevent my heart of gold from shining through.

We all know prostitutes aren't real people. At least that's what we tell ourselves because then it makes it easier to beat them up, but that's because we know that no matter how close to the edge of life and death we take them, they've got things like health insurance and OSHA to fix them up as good as new.

When you're knocking some bitch's teeth out and she's pleading with you to stop and think about her children, you keep going because you know those kids are Americans and Americans go to college. Hell, they'll probably write their thesis on women's studies and cite as examples all the times their whore mother got her ass kicked by some coked-out psycho who just couldn't deal with the shame of his own erectile dysfunction to prove how women are still second-class citizens in our society. The irony is delicious!

If only these whiny liberals knew how good they have it.

In summation, I join the long line of pussies who long for a simpler time while simultaneously accepting the fact there is nothing that can be done about it. Sure, I can urge you to "buy American" but I know that the second your wallet is feeling a little light, or your tastes skew to the obscene or bizarre, your ideals will go out the window. Morals are fine but only if they don't affect the bottom line.

And when that happens, they’ve won.

It's sad, but we all know it's true. In the words of W.C. Fields: "A hole is a hole is a hole."

Viral Video Reviews!

Hey everybody, I have a favor to ask.

I started a new webpage called viralvideoreviews.com. Viral videos are those crazy videos that people post on the web and then get passed around all over the place. Like those two Asian guys singing Backstreet Boys' songs or whatever.

Well, until now, you had to rely on getting forwards from your friends or searching all over by yourself, which is kind of a pain.

Enter me and my site, viralvideoreviews.com. What I am going to do is post links to these videos in one convenient place so you don't have to look all over the place. You can just go to my site and know I'll have only really funny or bizarre videos up there.

Not only this, I will review them for you, providing a short synopsis of what the video contains, so that you don't have to waste your time if it's not something you're interested in. All with my patented "Hollywood Phony" sense of humor!

It's great!

This site is entirely free and all I ask is that you check it out and if you see a video you like, tell your friends about it. Also, if you have any videos you'd like to share, just let me know and I'll put them up so then you don't have to send it out yourself, you can just send people to my site. Just drop me an email.

Thanks again, I really appreciate all your support.

I have a miracle cure for baldness

Don't waste your money on Rogaine or all sorts of quack cures, my solution is simple:

Don't be bald.

Visualize the hair. It will grow back. Sometimes in as little as sixteen seconds.

Your hair loss isn't due to clogged pores or hereditary issues and it sure as hell isn't your genes.

It's your negative thoughts. Think positive.

This also works for cancer.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

The Bachelor Party

I didn't want to let Chad write this blog, but he said he would kill one member of my family if I didn't. Anyone else, I would consider it an idle threat, but with Chad...

So anyway, here it is, he gave me a little preview of what he's going to write about and it's pretty bad, so if you're sensitive or one of those relatives whose life I may have saved, stop reading now---

OK, Chad Robuckle here, that pussy wouldn't shut the hell up so I shut him up. With my fists.

Just kidding, I actually threw some orange juice in his face. How come I never film this shit? There's your reality show. Trust me, it was hilarious. "Oh shit, my eye! You got it in my eye! It burns!" What a douche.

So anyway, my buddy Marcos is getting married soon and I decided to throw a bachelor party. I know what you're thinking: "my buddy Marcos" sounds like an oxymoron for ol' Chad "Let's Keep Our Borders Strong" Robuckle and you're right. I can't stand those types, but what I can stand is strippers.

So I volunteered my services and naturally, there was some resistance at first. This nutbag named Jeremy who works over in accounting was like "Hey man, me and Marcos have been best friends since high school, I'm his best man and I'm throwing his bachelor party."

I was stoked cuz I love getting in fights at work, but all I had to say was, "Well Chad Robuckle doesn't care who you were best friends with..." and this pussy totally backed down. He was like "Oh shit, I'm sorry, I didn't realize who you were, Mr. Robuckle, I'm really sorry. Of course you can plan the bachelor party, Mr. Robuckle!"

I guess word spreads fast once you've slammed some dude's head in a closing elevator door. Especially if that dude is already in a wheelchair. It's funny that they're all scared of me, because we all know I'm really just a big teddy bear. I think if you look at the facts of that situation, you would see that crip totally had it coming.

So I planned the festivities, got someone to "volunteer" their house for the occasion and even sent out an Evite to all my friends and some of his too. At first, some of his pals seemed reluctant to partake and things got pretty heated, but they saw the error of their ways eventually. I don't even remember what I said to most of them that made them change their mind, I was tweaking pretty hard.

So the big day comes and I'm way under budget, by 3 or 400 bucks. How did you achieve this miracle of financial wizardry, Chad Robuckle, you ask?

Simple, I took the stripper money and spent it on something else.

But that doesn't make any sense, Chad Robuckle, you just told us you love strippers.

That is true and if you question my authority one more goddam time I am going to throw you through a plate glass fucking window on the second floor of this building because I don't want you to die on impact, I want you to be a fucking vegetable who is a burden on his family, causes them to go broke and lives on for another 40 or 50 years. I want your wife to resent the fact that she can't divorce you cuz she'd look like a heartless bitch. I want your kids to hate you for the lives you were never able to give them.

Are we clear?

So anyway, I love strippers. What I don't love is Mexicans. And paying for strippers. So I don't.

Everyone gets to the party and they're pretty impressed. They're all asking who's house it is and beats the fuck out of me if I know, so I make up some story about my uncle and tell nobody to go in the master bedroom, that yellow police tape is there for a reason.

Things get pretty uncomfortable as everyone realizes they're in the infamous "McKenzie Murder House" they have heard about on the news. See, that's the difference between me and everyone else. I see opportunity, I see a free fucking house to have a party in, where they see "the mansion that was the scene of a brutal quadruple murder/suicide".

They start talking about "bad vibes" and getting freaked out but just as I'm about to tell them they're going to get some bad vibes real soon if they keep that shit up, the doorbell rings.

The stripper comes in, alone, which is one of the perks of having a real nice house. The escort service figures they've got one over on you, coming to your nice house in the richest part of town. They know you're not going to screw them over because then you've gotta explain to the cops why you're having strippers over to your house on a Saturday night while your wife is out of town visiting her sick mother while you're forced to work the whole weekend.

So she comes in and she's pretty hot. Everyone is really excited and Marcos, who is pretty drunk, comes up to me and tells me that he was honestly pretty worried when he heard I would be throwing his party, but that he is now really impressed that I pulled it off.

Normally I would "pull off" his fucking tongue for speaking to me like that, but I figured, hey, he's drunk and it's his bachelor party. He's getting married, he's gonna need that tongue, so I let it slide. Like I said, I'm a softie.

This girl is a pro so she immediately starts asking for her money, but that was part of my plan from the beginning. I low-ball her by 200 bucks and she makes for the door to go get "Bunny", claiming this is a non-negotiable deal.

I put my arm around her and assure her that everything is negotiable. I can tell she's about to freak out so I offer up some of my coke stash and that seems to calm her down. It was very important to my plan that she got that "coke" in her body and washed it down with plenty of "vodka tonics".

Well that definitely got her in a better mood and she decides she's going to dance for the agreed-upon rate, but I really wasn't interested in that. Luckily, the Dilithium Pentasocal I gave her kicks in pretty quickly.

She excuses herself and runs off to the bathroom. The guys are all riled up at this point and kinda bummed they're gonna have to wait another five minutes but I tell them not to worry, the party is really gonna get started right now.

I flip on the big screen and at first everyone is kinda puzzled as to what they're looking at. But once she walks into frame and drops her knickers around her ankles and sits down on the pot, they see what's going on.

Immediately, five or six of Mark's buddies head for the door, exclaiming that they're going to be sick. "Have fun sucking each other off in the driveway, you fags!" I tell them as I settle in on the couch with Mark to watch the festivities.

Well at this point, he leans over and pukes all over the floor. Lucky for him, he didn't get any on my shoes. Things kinda go downhill from there.

I guess I gave her too much Dilithium Pentasocal cuz she sorta falls off the toilet and proceeds to make a pretty big mess. The worst part is, the way she was lying on the ground, you couldn't even see any good stuff.

Pretty much everyone else makes a beeline for the door at that point. A few suckers stay to make sure she wasn't dead, I tell them I'll be there in a minute.

Naturally, the sight of 20 guys fleeing a mansion 15 minutes after a hot stripper enters it is going to be cause for some alarm in the mind of any chaperone for such an event and Bunny was no exception.

He grabs me, as I'm the ringleader and demands to know what's going on. I decide to be honest and tell him that two jokers showed up and thought it would be funny to slip this bitch some Dilithium Pentasocal, only they didn't trust the guy in the van down by the park when he told them to use just a little so they gave her the whole thing and now she's passed out in the bathroom and they're trying to have sex with her.

He hears this and off he goes. I figured everything would just sort itself out and as I was getting into my car, the gunshots I heard confirmed my assumption.

Work has been pretty great since that day, which was an added bonus. No one dares finger me for the whole thing, because they know they'd go down with me for sixteen to seventeen months minimum and these guys all have families and shit.

A dead stripper and two paralyzed friends is a small price to pay for Mark's happiness. And by happiness, I mean me telling his fiancee about the whole thing and she deciding to call off the wedding.

You're free, pal. And you're welcome.

Now shut the hell up

I told you so.

Christie Alley

Has anyone seen her new Wizard of Oz-themed Jenny Craig commercial? She looks kinda cracked out. Not to say that she's on drugs, she just seems crazy. Which is not to say she has mental illness.

I don't know why I can't stop back-tracking and just say what's on my mind. Who am I afraid is gonna sue me? Nobody reads this blog but a bunch of stupid fucking losers with no brains. Just kidding.

See? I did it again!

All of which leads me to believe I could probably beat up any kid under the age of six.

Think about it. I'm 6'5", a tad under 200 pounds. Your average six year old is, what? 150? 175? That's like a 70 pound advantage I've got. Plus, most six year olds don't have the martial arts training that I also don't have.

On the plus side of the equation (for the kids, anyway), they are small and hard to hit. Also, they have hearts of evil and no soul. Add to that all their martial arts training and I'm clearly a goner.

So, in summation, I can beat up little kids and that's gotta be worth something in this crazy world.

Speaking of crazy, how about that new Jenny Craig commercial? And what's with her voice? Did someone punch her in the throat? Is that what she always sounds like? Hey, did you know Blossom is on that show of hers?

And what ever happened to Ted Danson? He just totally disappeared off the face of the earth, after Cheers. Same with Frasier, he should have done a show. I guess the cream always rises to the top.

Bah, this is all wasted on a bunch of idiots like you!