The Lord is With Us and He is a Douche

Posted: October 30, 2013 in MiB Hates Us All

I have a confession to make. I actually love Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Forget Stephen Hawking, Noam Chomsky, Russell Brand and myself. Kim Kardashian and her brethren are possibly the smartest people on the face of the Earth right now. The fact that they can make astronomical amounts of money by being so fucking retarded that their universal theme tune is Robert Downey Jr saying “Nigga, you just went full retard” is really a testament to how stupid the rest of us are. We lap that shit right up. We get high off it. Forget heroin and coke and retweets, reality TV is the new addiction in the crack den and we’re live-stream-injecting it straight to the cortex to get our daily release of serotonin and the dopamines. “Look at that dumb bitch Kim and that fat fuck Khloe” we say in schadenfreude as we watch Kim Kardashian take selfies while her sister goes to jail. “She may have booty so fly it make a nigga cry, but at least I’m not a stupid self-absorbed twat.”

Meanwhile, Kim raked in approximately $10 million this year, making about $80000 per episode, several million quatloos from her side-ventures and also charging her very own guests to attend her birthday party. But wait, there’s more! – Kim “I named my offspring after a fucking direction” Kardashian makes $10000 a tweet. That means she makes more money for tweeting “LOLL” (and misspelling it, of course) than the average annual household income for Black South Africans in 2010/2011. Three more tweets and she overtakes the whites. But keep it hush, because Steve Hofmeyr may get wind of this and then launch Light Blue November or something.

 

But, fellow reality TV junkies, I’m not writing this today to make you feel bad just because you sucked off a black man on camera and didn’t get more than a Heimlich manoeuvre. I’m here to edify you. This piece is about a man whom I both love and loathe. A great man. Does he have flaws? Absolutely. Can he be defined as a milquetoast? Most probably. Did he buy an English royalty title online and then fly to London to receive it so that he may be referred to as Lord? You bet your banging little ass he did.

Ladies, gentlemen, fellow debauched moralists – I give you: LORD MOTHERFUCKING SCOTT DISICK!!!

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Scott is by far my favourite member of the Kardashian troupe, mainly because he calls the rest of the brood out on their inanity. That’s not to say he’s not an idiot or shallow. The man has the depth of a nun’s vagina and the cranial ability of a tomato. But I love to hate him tenderly. So let’s delve into why this man is a specimen of simultaneous perfection, pathos and penissitude:

Brevity

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Scott Disick is a man of few words. This is not to say that he doesn’t talk a lot; on the contrary, it rather means that out of the immense amount of bile that volcanically spews forth from his oral cavity like Cytheria on a good day, there are a few words of worth. But you have to rummage for the hidden gems and sift through them like the Johannesburgers of old, because Scott Disick is a man whose ass is jealous of all the shit that comes out of his mouth.

 

Economical Smarts

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Scott Disick has basically identified the greatest yet most elusive problem that has plagued mankind since the dawn of economics. First devised by the prostitutes of old – often hailed as the pioneers of profession – one would understand that these herpes-ridden harpies probably had the best gag – sorry, gig – around. Think about it – they probably had to put in minimal effort into getting off whatever caveman required their services, because let’s be honest, any caveman requiring a prostitute isn’t exactly going to be packing much in the prolonged pleasure department. How the cavemen paid them remains a mystery because if prostitution is the world’s oldest profession, where the fuck were their clients getting the quatloos to pay them for services rendered? Were all cavemen hookers? Was the Stone Age really the Bone Age? Did Fred give head? Yabba-dabba-doo indeed. But I digress. The point I’m trying to make is that Scott Disick has solved the problem to Life, the Universe and Everything, and it probably involves him moonlighting under the stage name Suck Disdick.

Ballsiness (Lack of)

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Apparently there are a lot of questions surrounding Scott’s balls, the foremost  being, obviously, do they exist? If so, what does he use them for? Not being a man, that’s for sure. And why in the fuck would he want to get his testes X-rayed? Clearly brave Scott has no fear of testicular cancer. Most importantly, before he Hiroshima’s his jizzmakers, where the hell are they? Rumour has it that Kourtney keeps them locked up deep within the bowels of her hollow personality and only bestows them upon Scott when she wishes to bring another hellspawn into this plighted world. I’m sorry mate, but I think you may require implants for your clit of a cock and the tiny beanbag underneath it to house what passes for balls.

 

Medical Know-how

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Well this is just genius.

Romance

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Scott Disick is unique in that he can take the one movie that is guaranteed to get a man laid if he watches it with a woman (he’ll probably have to use her tears as lube, but one has to make such sacrifices in the path of poontang) and fuck it up so colossally that God Himself looks down from His heavenly throne, shakes His majestic head sadly and mutters “You dense motherfucker.” I’m sure that Noah pounding Regina George like a school bus has nothing to do with the fact that he looks like fucking Ryan Gosling or that he’s a faithful lover or the fact that this is a stupid fucking movie. No, Scott Disick thinks that the path to poonani is to, well, pave it. Well, Knob the Builder, I’m sorry to shit a brick in your mortar, but the only thing you’re going to be screwing and nailing is that doorframe which is already securely attached to the wall. And ninety-fucking eight text messages saying I love you? You clownfuck. Not even Bob can fix this.

 

Master Debater

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Scott Disick stands up for what he believes in and his compelling arguments strike the enemy where it hurts most. He is a Master Debater, and keeping in line with his penchant for brevity, this title shall be shortened to Masdebater.

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Unfortunately I cannot call him a cunning linguist.

 

He’s a good father

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This is why I love Scott Disick.

Pathos

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He’s answered the greatest question posed to man, fathered two children and not named them after points on a compass, bought the title of Lordship and plays Patrick Bateman with the voice of Mickey Mouse. It takes him fifteen minutes to choose a shoe to wear and half an hour to choose a watch. He’s named the frog living in his Jacuzzi and tweets his baby mama’s sister with the hashtag #richkidproblems from his custom white-on-white Rolls Royce. He is the epitome of modern douchedickery. And then he states to us, his devotees and votaries, that “no matter what, there is always something somebody can find wrong with me.”

How can you not love him?

 

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[I may not be a Lord, but I did inherit the title of His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshal Al Hadji Doctor MiB, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Seas and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular from a certain African tyrant. Follow me on Twitter @MibHatesUsAll and follow my blog to the left, peasant.]

 

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Comments
  1. themikeappel says:

    Holy crap sticks…well that was a rant. I saw the word Kardashian and my IQ dropped to an acceptable retarded level. Those people do NOTHING. Our world is so incredibly sad when we have to watch somebody drive in a car, blow dry their hair, choose a shirt, eat dinner or have a fight with their sibling. What fucktards we all are.

  2. Anish Patel says:

    I thank you for this daily dosage of laughter Mib.

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