CoronaRage 1-0-Fucking-1

If you thought you’ve heard angry rants in the past here on BonerFruit, well prepare yourself for something fucking extraordinary, as I’m about to set the fucking record for the fucking number of F-bombs ever recorded in a fucking 1000-word fucking essay.

Fucking why?

Because cocksucking society has lost its collective fucking mind. And even though there’s absolutely no worthwhile reason to write this post today (since realizing humanity has the aggregate IQ of a chromosome-deficient chimp huffing gas fumes while being steadily pumped with carbon monoxide via a short hose jammed straight into its hairy ass), I need to document a few things which are solely for my benefit — a dear-fucking-diary piece that I don’t give a flying fuck if anyone reads or resonates with. I don’t even fucking know what the fuck aggregate means, and guess what? I don’t give a flying fuck.

Though I’ve been working on a new book during this bullshit fucking lockdown, as well as two new blog posts that were ready to publish today (which would have come across as humorous, positive, and maybe even fucking inspiring), all that shit is dead in the water.

Fucking why?

Because the scrote-sucking marina in this ass-licking shithole town has refused me access to my boat. Was I missing a few commas between adjectives in that sentence? Fucking probably. Do I give a flying fuck anymore? Yeah, you prolly know the fucking answer.

When it came to being laid off work, I let it go — a small vacation might be just what the doctor ordered.

When it came to my gym closing down, I let it go — I can find new ways to work out without relying on benches, machines, or monthly dues.

When it came to realizing this bullshit panic could go on for months, I let it go — cuz now I had an unexpected opportunity to advance my agenda preparing my sailboat for ocean travel.

Although people are allowed to freely walk the streets with their faggoty dogs and scooter-riding bastard children, allowed to group en-masse as mask-wearing cumstains at the local fucking food mart, apparently spending time isolated in the cabin of your sailboat violates the WHO protocols for preventing disease.

Sure, you can still use communal fucking shopping carts in buildings that no longer stock toilet paper or allow the purchase of bulk foods, baked goods or anything requiring fucking tongs, but if you bring a reusable bag to carry groceries home, or have the audacity to hand them physical dollar bills while they hide behind a cloud of aerosolized alcohol and recently installed plastic shields suggestive of you being the type of degenerate to fire a bullet toward the pope-mobile, you’re just a fucking disease-riddled, dickwad monster, unworthy of socializing with “responsible” citizens with enough common sense to stay 6 fucking feet away at all times from plague-carrying family and friends.

Even though my key-card worked at the marina gate today, and I was miraculously allowed to drive into the grounds, I quickly noted the access road to the trailer homes was cordoned off like a Son-of-Sam, blood-bath crime-scene of epic proportions had ensued the day before without the town’s knowledge.

When I drove by an unexpected stunned cunt and her mucous-producing, shoulda-been aborted, 5-year-old shit-dribbler, the mommy scattered quickly in an instinctive act to guard her fuck-face, diaper-filling, retard offspring from being hit by a car. I attributed that to parental reflex, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Putting my car in park, she informed me, from 10-feet away (apparently the new safe distance to curtail the spread of viral disease), that the marina was shut down. Exiting my vehicle, I took a couple steps forward to converse with her, when she grabbed her child (as if my intentions were to ass-fuck it for several hours as a prelude to braising its virgin flesh while downing a bottle of whisky), and then mirrored my forward advancement with exactly matched steps backward, acting as if I was covered in blood from head to toe while brandishing a rusty sickle.

Though I knew my words were in vain, I still decried nonsense. Why? Fucking Why? I’m outside? I’ll be working in my boat! Not on it, with a group of 49 or less people, not licking door handles or jizzing on dollar bills before sharing them with the public, not sneezing on debit-machines, nor wiping my shit-laden fingers on avocadoes or oranges at the supermarket — WORKING INSIDE THE CABIN OF MY FUCKING BOAT! YA KNOW, LIKE A SELF-IMPOSED QUARANTINED ASSHOLE, THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT YOU’RE CURRENTLY DOING, NOT TO MENTION YOUR PIECE OF SHIT CHILD WHO PROBABLY CARRIES MORE DISEASE THAN A SYPHILIS INSPIRED RAT PARTY.

Fucking whore.

No, that’s not fair at all. She was just doing her job. Let me restate that:


Yep, I’ve had some beers. And I regret nothing I’ve written. If everyone is too stupid to look beyond the lies, propaganda, and fear campaigns that our media and government unleashes minute to minute to test our complicity to roll over and die with nary an independent thought, then who am I to rebel against making use of an “essential service,” aka the liquor store.

Yup, I’m an idiot, moron, fucking hypocrite douche as well, just like the rest of you, but at least I have the balls to admit it before going to my fucking grave.

The Flood is due again, and I’ve already picked my spot on the bow of the Titanic, declaring myself to be king of the world, secretly grateful knowing a horrible death looms in the waters ahead — an overdue and necessary purging of this brain-dead culture who hasn’t the faintest clue in how to enjoy the miraculous gift called “life” on planet Earth.

You wanna do yourself a favour before the end? Turn off your fucking TV. In fact, smash the motherfucker to pieces. Tell Netflix to go fuck itself, and avoid every human who parrots verbatim the lastest propaganda of the day. Maybe you’ll find a few fucking moments of peace before the black plague destroys what’s left of your fucking mind.

BonerFruit fucking out.

BonerFruit: A Special Message to Readers Regarding Covid-19

To Our Valued Subscribers and World-community,

Amidst the chaos and worry of the coronavirus (Covid-19), we here at BonerFruit want to assure you that your health is, and will always be, of utmost importance to us. We share in the concerns and uncertainty of humanity’s latest pandemic and pending economic doom, and will continue to serve Canadians and the world in steps to support family, friends, and community during these highly difficult times.

To minimize the wildfire spread of this deadly and heartless micro-assassin, all keyboards inputting even the smallest contribution toward the BonerFruit brand will be thoroughly sanitized every hour, on the hour, without exception, using government-approved disinfectant chemicals, regardless of their toxicity or damaging long-term health effects.

All BonerFruit contributors will wear no less than 6-pairs of gloves while using a keyboard. The surface of each set of gloves donned will be thoroughly treated, using approved sanitization techniques, before the next pair is put on. The touching of anything other than a sterile keyboard (e.g. face, hair, doorhandle, toothbrush, toilet, crotch, etc.) will immediately negate safe operating procedure, and warrant implementation of 6-glove replacement protocol,* which will remain in effect for every 15-minutes of keyboard time, regardless of sterility violations.

Though mandatory removal of all body hair and hourly exfoliation is not yet being enforced, we urge our contributors to voluntarily consider this common-sense initiative to reduce the risk and spread of Covid-19. Surgical masks, hair-nets, and beard-nets are mandatory within 6 feet of BonerFruit related keyboards.

Any BonerFruit contributor showing signs or symptoms of illness will self-quarantine, without exception, until one of the following scenarios unfolds:

A. The end of the worldwide pandemic
B. Death.

During downtime between writing sessions, all contributors to BonerFruit will maintain strict adherence to the following safety measures:

  1. Hand sanitization, using government-approved cleansing agents, every 8 minutes.
  2. Minimum 6-foot distancing (20-feet preferred) from all potential human/animal pathogen carriers
  3. 48 showers/day, using government-approved cleansing agents
  4. Celibacy and/or abstenstion from masturbation, including all forms of genital fondling/handling without proper safety gear (e.g. gloves, tongs, etc.)

While many key services (critical in supporting the health and mental well-being of society) have been suspended indefinitely, the essential service of alcohol vending/distribution has not, and will never be, affected by this world-wide plague, so we urge all our Bonerfruit contributors to continue remaining blitzed during their writing sessions, in order to stay numb to the fact society has lost its collective fucking mind.

To Your Safety and Health,

Michael Ciupka,
President and CGFYOO,

Fun in the Madhouse

Okay, so the motherfuckers finally closed my little gym. Considering I’ve never been in the room with more than 3 people working out at a time, I can’t for the life of me figure out how this helps curtail the spread of a disease that absolutely no one seems to have in this stupid, paranoid, shithole town.

With that meaningless closure, I’m now left with nary an outlet from the confines of my shabby hovel, the place where my roommate is imprisoned as well, already stir-crazy from boredom.

Although I’ve asked him roughly 43,000 times to never mention the news or media again, he just can’t help himself when another absurd headline pings his phone.

Continue reading Fun in the Madhouse

Fuck You Society

I find venting to be a healthy thing. Instead of letting emotional toxins fester in the mind, heart and soul, you let ’em loose, be done with them, then move on to find solutions. Right now I have so much scathing shit I want to pump out, I don’t know where to fucking start.

But mulling it over in my head, I realize maybe it’s pointless.

Continue reading Fuck You Society