Month: January 2026

3 Full Days ’til a Scolding? I Must Be Losing My Edge…

Ya gotta love the boneheaded automation of all the asinine algorithms governing every single fucking move we make interacting with digital 1’s and 0’s.

In the not too distant future, the last of our “live” customer service centres, all located in India of course, will join the ranks of the shunned and forgotten — the good ol’ fax-machine, the public pay-phone, cassette tapes, landlines, pagers, the dodo, shit like that — and slip into obscurity, unceremoniously replaced by textbots, automated prompts, chatGPT bullshit, conversational AI programs, and whatever the fuck other tech exists to facilitate the final excision of the minimum-wage-earning-flunky still fighting for scraps on Planet YerFucked.

The algorithms exist of course to control, manipulate, influence, gate-keep, censor, and all the other fun shit predicted decades ago in the “fictitious” writings of Huxley, Orwell, and the like.

The sad part is, no one really seems to give a shit. Apathy is at an all-time high, and independent thought an all-time low. Critical thinking is deader than fucking dead, and the telescreen, in all its variations, has a death grip on Western society’s last remaining brain cells.

Yet again, creative innovation and advancements in tech — all imagined into being to facilitate a less arduous, less stressful, more carefree human experience — have made people lazier, stupider, and increasingly ignorant. Throw in fatter as well.

But I’m getting waaaay off topic here, sorry. The rant here today has nothing to do with trying to awaken braindead zombies from their chosen paths of following fellow media-inspired lemmings over the cliff. What I actually wanna share is rather amusing, and I still haven’t the slightest fucking clue what to make of this shit, so any ideas would be appreciated…

3 days ago I set up a simple portfolio on FacefuckBook to start strumming up some traffic to my revitalized mural painting biz, when I got this notification:

Huh? What the fuck, censored already?? Lmao. What the fuck did I do this time? Pretty sure I kept this page clean and professional, what gives?

And then I see this…

Uhhhh….. what?

Again…. what???

What the fuck am I missing here?

Apparently, according to the Facebook algorithm, a painting of a bulldog sticking his head out a car window is in violation of the Terms, Policies, and Conditions keeping the Facebook public safe from Hitler, Satan, and all things unholy.

My only appeal is, of course, to the algorithm — asking it kindly to reconsider its decision to censor me from Fagbook users.

Its response? A recommendation to be patient for 4 days, while it ponders my petition for leniency.

With my hands tied, I only have one proactive move left to further my status on Facefuckbook… I will edit my image to seem less aggressive or monstrous or evil, or whatever reason the algorithm thinks bulldogs are terrifying, and unfit for public consumption.

I won’t go so far as to remove the image, but if I alter it to add human interaction, demonstrating the animal is kid-safe and friendly, Facebook will have no choice but to let me out of Algorithm Jail.

This oughta do it…

New Book? About Fucking Time, Asshole!

Calm the fuck down, it ain’t ready yet.

But since a whole lotta nothing happened today (and I fucking loved every minute of it!), I figure I’d at least get some stupid shit posted (on top of a moderately lame Daily Bread — whatever! They can’t all be frickin’ gold!!!) before the sun hits the horizon.

Here ya go! New excerpt from…

THE BONERFRUIT GUIDE TO NAVIGATING THE JUNKIESPHERE
(snazzy title, eh?)

Introduction: Fundamental Maintenance

Let’s start with the obvious…

No one knows why the fuck we’re here.

No one’s been given even the most rudimentary of manuals to help them navigate the realm we call Earth. Our practical understanding of this grandiose mess comes down to blindly trusting loved-ones, authority figures, written history, and/or cocksucking science to provide us with the necessary tools to “thrive” from cradle to grave.

So ponder this…

As a blank-slate youngling, what motivations could you possibly have to question or second-guess the Caregivers?

There are none.

And that’s because the innocence of youth is the closest thing to trust and purity humanity can offer. The unadulterated joy and unconditional love unique to a miniature human should be revered as the most magical state of mind, worthy of emulation by even the most cynical of motherfuckers wandering the streets.

But, sadly, that ain’t the case.

I can’t speak experientially about the habits of indigenous cultures that existed before our so-called “superior” modern age, but I’ll make an educated guess about what life was like before “society” on this planet took a bizarre and horrific turn for the worse…

Ready?

Tribes instinctively focused on survival, which naturally progressed their evolution toward intentional, harmonious partnerships with one another (AND THE FUCKING LAND!) to maximize the possibility of a blissful existence. The Elders — the ones with the most experience and wisdom — were revered and respected for their insight, instead of being shunted into isolated death-camps, called “care-homes,” to die alone, forgotten, irrelevant, and hopped-up on an unholy plethora of toxic pills.

The kiddies born into that natural, holistic environment were treated like wondrous, communal offspring — not the screechy, abhorrent default of two horny fuckers pumping out a unit every nine months.

Emphasizing practical skills and cultural harmony to anyone reaching an age of maturity was paramount to a tribe’s prosperity, longevity, and self-worth. In essence, mammals in balance — creatures working with one another for the greater good of their environment and community — not motherfuckers trying to ass-rape each other for fancier cars, larger houses, or the bitch with the biggest tits.

Let those thoughts percolate in your brain for a bit before we move on. I’m no anthropology expert, but I have a sneaking suspicion you might agree that our modern culture may not be as radically advanced as we love to believe.

I’m not sure what gear the JunkieSphere machine is currently in, but it feels like the wheels are spinning in mud. And the CHECK ENGINE light is definitely on.

Let’s see if we can figure out why…

 

[Editor’s note: New book now available for pre-order! For the low, low, price of, um, I dunno, like $80 bucks or something? Yeah, $80 bucks, that’s totally fair for this calibre of genius. And I’ll throw in a coupon for like a sandwich or somethin’. Maybe I’ll tell you some bullshit like 50% percent of the proceeds go to 3rd world losers, or whoever collects the cash from those fucking Smile cookies, shit like that. Anyways, send your cash to BonerGuy, 123 Fake St, JerkoffVille Canada, and you’ll be eatin’ half a sandwich readin’ life-changing material before you can say “Holy shit, that motherfucker scammed me again!!”]

I’ve Seen Better Branding on a Steer’s Ass…

You know what the sad part is?

I have a degree in Graphic Design and Advertising, yet somehow I’ve chosen to brand myself with the most unmarketable, ludicrous name and logo that even an ignorant 5-year-old would consider highly inappropriate and juvenile.

It started as a running joke way back in the day, and I guess I never thought it would get this far when I decided to start the BonerFruit blog, mostly cuz I never thought anyone would read it. And I sure as hell never considered writing a book, let alone 5. Meh, go figure.

I’m reminded of an old expression that perfectly fits the situation…

“In for a penny, in for a pound.”

Yup, too late to turn back, I’m all in now. And that includes starting up the ol’ art business again. MC Designs was a fun and profitable venture, but its day has come and gone. So what would be the most logical and asinine successor to a business that was the epitome of ultra-professionalism and hard work?

Yup, you got it…

Haha, I fucking love it.

We’ll test the waters for a bit with the played down “BF Designs” as a portfolio showcase on faggoty-ass facebook, and see where it goes from there.

But I guess that opens the door to a lot of fun answers to the soon-to-be-invariably-asked client question:

“Hey Mike, what does the BF stand for?”

I dunno, Bottom Feeder? Bung Face? Bitch Fairy? Bastard Fag? Take your pick.

“Mike, I’m shocked!”

Haha, Just kidding. It means you are my new Bestest Friend! So happy to be working with you! Butt Fucker.

Official launch date of BonerFruit Designs coming soon. Spread the word.

For now, I’m still on vacation.

Daily Bread comin’ up shortly, and maybe an excerpt from the new book. We’ll see…

Later freaks! Go shovel some snow!!

Round and Round She Goes… Planet Stupid Totally Blows!

Wanna know what I love most about unemployment?

Take a wild guess…

EVERYTHING!

Especially the NOT HAVING A FUCKING JOB part, it rocks!!

Not sure where this fucked up road on Planet Stupid leads to next, but whatever insanity sits around the next bend, it’s gonna have to wait, cuz I’m takin’ a looooong, well deserved rest in the “I-don’t-give-a-flying-fuck-to-participate-anymore-in-your-fucking-reindeer-games” campground, where my 4-season tent is fully erect, lol.

But, interestingly enough, I’m quite certain this ain’t the first time I’ve started a blog rant extolling a similar — if not identical — sentiment.

Hmm…yup…

After a quick keyword search on the BonerFruit homepage, it seems I have indeed been down the I’m-So-Fucking-Happy-To-Be-Free-From-My-Shit-Fucking-Job road at least 3 times since moving to this craptastic town.

Hmm…

That ain’t so fuckin’ good, is it?

In fact, that realization’s a bit of a slap upside my stupid-ass head — an unexpected wake up call. It hearkens the quote:

“Insanity is repeating the same thing over and over, expecting different results.”

Apparently I have just enough common sense to get the fuck out of a situation before it breaks my mind, body, and soul, but not enough basic intelligence to refrain from entering the same bullshit foray again and again and again.

So now it’s time once more to play everyone’s favourite game…”What if?”

I clearly don’t do this often enough, else I wouldn’t be telling you ’bout how much I love not having a job… and then getting another job… and then telling you ’bout how much I love not having a job… and then getting another job… and then telling you ’bout how much I love not having a job… and then… yeah, you get the idea.

I have a cool post about the “What if?” game that I wrote many moons ago, and I’ll leave you a link to it at the end of this page if you’d like to engage in some supplementary insanity. Oops, I meant supplementary reading.

For now, let’s play the simplest version of this thought experiment, and see where it goes…

Ready?

If you knew for certain you had exactly one year left to live on Planet Stupid, what would you do with your time? What would you do today? What would you do right now???

Think about your answers. Take your time. But not too much time, cuz you’re gonna be dead soon…

I love (hate?) this game because I (more often than not) answer myself with:

“What the fuck am I doing? Seriously!! Why am I wasting my time on this shit? How come I’m not [fill in blank here] every fucking day????”

And therein lies the importance of the game… putting shit into perspective… recognizing priorities… distinguishing the trivial from the meaningful… and then making new choices — choices that are bold enough to finally extricate oneself from the putrid quagmire of braindead routine and conformity… choices that nourish and incubate the greatest joys buried deep in our hearts, allowing them to finally break free of the fear-based social conditioning we’ve been inundated with since birth.

We’re all gonna be dead soon. Dead and forgotten. In a hundred years, no one’s gonna give a flying fuck whether you lived or died. Your contribution to Planet Stupid won’t have meant shit, so why are you wasting your time playing a game that doesn’t give a shit about you?

Let’s end this on one more quote that just came to mind:

“When one door closes, another opens.”

That’s all fine and dandy, but a tad short-sighted — basically pompous rhetoric of some phony positivist trying to sound all smarty-pantsy. I can paraphrase the sentiment much more functionally:

“There IS only one door — only one that truly matters. And you’re gonna have to decide whether to walk through it or not. And if you do, it’s not going to close behind you, you’re gonna slam the motherfucker shut yourself, cuz goin’ back ain’t gonna be an acceptable option.”

Lol, I guess that was a tad bombastic. Prolly won’t fit on a mug either, haha.

Anyways, enough for now. Go do the shit that makes you happy. To hell with the rest of it.

Later

P.S. Homework

Guest Post of the Week: “Ain’t No Cure for the Summertime Blues”

DUTCH FISHING BOY TALES, Journal Entry #627:
by Bobby K

Dear Diary,

My buddy Mike is coming over in half an hour, but I still gotta get the grass cut so my mom doesn’t get pissed at me, especially after that last fiasco when I said I’d take out the garbage, but I forgot to do it for like 16 days or something, I can’t remember…

I’m gonna get high as fuck first, and crank out some unintelligible screamy tunes. Gonna play my shit loud enough to wake the deaf comatose old fucks at the hospital. Gonna be awesome!

Oh fuck.

Umm, as I was finishing the lawn, I crossed the walkway to the neighbour’s apartment. I totally smoked their welcome mat! It blew out the side of the mower like a flock of angry birds trying to escape the pits of hell.

FLOOOMP!!

Shit, I gotta remember that word when I tell Mike this story. It was more like…

FLOOOMPHH!!
Yeah! That was the sound!!

He came over and said we should just find the pieces and put it back together, and no one would notice.

We did our best.

But now it just says CUM.

A Little Social Commentary Never Hurt Anyone… Except the Whiny Fucking Bitches

Just a quick shout out to my beloved subscribers…

The “contact” form and “leave a comment” links are functional once more, no thanks to my worthless, piece of shit tech flunkie.

[Editor’s Note: You ARE the piece of shit tech flunkie, psycho]

Continue reading A Little Social Commentary Never Hurt Anyone… Except the Whiny Fucking Bitches

Good Enough for Me and Bobby Mcgee

Ah, freedom.

Ain’t nothin’ quite like it.

The sun shines brighter, the birds sing sweeter, and the cat litter smells less putrid.

The physical realm our meat-suits currently inhabit is considered by some to be a school of some sort, or perhaps a playground — a temporary construct for a greater consciousness to learn more about itself, to acquire novel experiences from a limitless variety of unique perspectives, and to foster growth and evolution… Continue reading Good Enough for Me and Bobby Mcgee