#2

When a sports team wins the championship, all they get is some stupid piece of jewelry, but when a race horse or a greyhound win, they get sent to a stud farm where they spend insane amounts of time just fucking and fucking and breeding and fucking and breeding and fucking until every drop of their “legacy” is carried on. If I'll Have Another wasn't a gelding (in other words, if he still had his balls), he'd be at the stud farm right now fucking the most athletic and well-bred mares in the world until he fell into a coma. I think at that point, he'd have to change his name from I'll Have Another to I'll Fuck Another One.

So my idea to make sports more interesting is to give any team that wins a championship a month of free access to the best brothels on the face of the planet where they can fuck and fuck and fuck until their balls collapse. I'm willing to bet that the playoffs would be a hell of a lot more exciting if the teams knew that with the stanley cup, or the super bowl trophy, or the world cup, they'd receive a month of unlimited sex with the hottest sexiest women (or men, if they're into that kinda thing) on the face of the planet. A lot of people agree that we are not much different from animals, so I think it's only fair.

#1

I've written a ton of music in the epic progressive rock / progressive metal genre that I know absolutely no one will like, and that I'll probably never make a single dime off of despite the many years that have gone into writing them. So in order to make money as a songwriter, I have came up with the ultimate get-rich-quick scheme and it lies within the grindcore genre. For those of you who don't know what grindcore is, just imagine taking 5 or 6 mental patients, feeding them an 8-ball of coke each, handing them drums, guitars, and microphones, and recording what happens. That's basically what grindcore is.

So anyway, I'm going to start a band called Fuckbubble. Its basically going to be me screaming incoherent garbage into a mic at a very irritating frequency while three people in anger management therapy play random undefined chords on heavily distorted guitars and beat the shit out of a drum set with their heads. I'll create 15 second songs with titles like “one of these things is not like your mother,” “Shamu the musical,” “if you're emo and you know it, slit your wrists,” “Destructo the Clown,” and “my Rainbow Dash blow-up doll thinks you have issues.” The titles will have absolutely nothing to do with what I'm screaming into the microphone, and I'm quite certain that every teenage idiot with an ear piercing big enough to have sex with will buy this horrible abomination of a metal album, and I'll be sitting there laughing at every last one of them who gave me their allowance money just to here some garbage that only took me a fraction of the time to write compared to my other songs with the real musical talent in them.