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I've been hearing about all this Christian Bale bullshit, how he bawled out some camera guy for interrupting a shot, and how Christian went off on some f-word tirade for twenty minutes and shit. And everyone tells me, “Man, that Christian can cuss. Dude’s an artist with curse words.”

Oh, la-tee-got-damn-dah! Fuck that. Christian Bale can suck my third nut. What Christian Bale knows about cussing, I can fit in the reservoir tip of my used Magnum condom.

Christian, you want to master the fine art of profanity, you need to know a few things:

1. Don’t overdo the word “fuck.” The f-word is like warm apple pie, you know what I’m saying? Taste on that shit, but don’t wear the word out, otherwise it gets all sloppy. Use some other cuss words now and then to keep that “fuck” nice and tight.

2. If you gonna threaten to kick somebody’s ass, there better be an ass-kicking in your near future. Empty threats make you sound like a redneck. Say you’re gonna kick his ass, then do it. Don't say you're gonna kick some ass, then demand that same ass to be fired. Either kick or fire the ass. You can't have that ass both ways.

I was listening to NPR this afternoon--yeah, motherfucker, I like to hear what Susan Stamberg's got to say--and there was some kid blah-blahing his ass through an interview.

Fifteen year old McKay Hatch has taken it upon himself to brow-beat his peers into feeling like assholes whenever they cuss. He’s written a book (with his parents!) called Raising a G-Rated Family in an X-Rated World.

First off, McKay Hatch, cussing ain’t got one got-damn thing to do with being X-rated. Expletives are mostly R-rated. Sex--which I suspect you ain’t gonna have til you’re thirty-five because of this lame-ass book--is X-rated. And it ain’t even X-rated no more anyhow. It’s NC-17.

You know we’re fucked when even the porn industry’s sticking out their soiled and sticky hand for some government money.

I can remember when the porn industry was recession-proof. Now I guess you motherfuckers are so damn cheap you won’t even pay to have a good wank no more.

You already out a motherfucking job, and I know you ain't spending all day looking at the want ads. So what the fuck?

So I’m reading through former-fatty Roger Ebert’s blog about movies and I come across a comment left by some dude named Bill Hays. Bill invites us all to “find a way to insert an unnecessary role for Samuel L. Jackson into future movies.” Because Bill thinks I’ve made a got-damn career out of shoe-horning my black ass into movies without really needing to be there.

Bill offers up some examples: “Think of Frozone in ‘The Incredibles.’ Mace Windu in ‘Star Wars.’ Colonel Nick Fury in ‘Iron Man’. Roland in ‘Jumper’. Dr. Harry Adams in Michael Crichton's ‘The Sphere.’ Ray Arnold in ‘Jurassic Park.’ Zeus Carver in ‘Die Hard With A Vengeance.’”

I said a few posts back that I was done talking about the Irrelevancy-in-Chief, but the motherfucker keeps talking about himself. Every time he opens his got-damn mouth, Tim Robbins aborts a fetus, an angel drops dead from surprise syphilis, and I have about ten strokes then immediately reach for a got-damn laptop to blog about it because if I don't vent this shit, I'll China Syndrome my ass through the got-damn floor.

So Bush gives an interview about Iraq. Again. It’s like the motherfucker forgets that we elected him to be president of this country, not Iraq. Cause Iraq is all the motherfucker wants to talk about. He didn’t want to open his smirking-ass lips to say nothing about Katrina since it didn't happen in Iraq. He didn’t want to say one got-damn thing about 9/11 unless he could tie that shit to Iraq. He looks like an uncomfortable imbecile whenever he starts talking about our tanking economy because it ain't Iraq's economy. Ask him about America, and he freezes up. But if he's asked to talk about Iraq, he becomes a regular got-damn Cicero or some shit, getting all poetic and philosophical like Aaron Sorkin’s feeding him lines.

When you're a pissed off journalist determined to throw shit at the President of the United States, you should throw something other than your got-damn shoes.

Oh, I get the irony. That irony shit is totally fucking gotten. The first got-damn thing Iraqis did when they pulled down Saddam’s statue was to slap their shoes on it. But you're a motherfucking journalist. Instead of shoes, you could throw some hard questions at the guy.

I got a list a mile long of things better than footwear to toss at him.

1. Throw a pretzel. The only thing that’s ever taken down this sack of shit is a single got-damn pretzel. If you want to do some real damage to the guy who killed  your civilians and destroyed your country, start throwing some Rolled Gold at his ass. Pretzels to Bush is like mistletoe to Baldur.

2. Throw another journalist at him. I’d suggest Helen Thomas. She’d be hard to duck, and would keep chasing him around the room til she landed on his bony ass.

Some well-meaning motherfucker sent me a link to the latest digital short bullshit from Saturday Night Live, a show so past its prime it makes Travolta look like fresh hunk-meat.

Sure, the show still has funny moments, but so do those 200-hour nature documentaries hosted by Sir David got-damn Attenborough. Mostly, SNL is an exercise in time-wasting. The audience of your average, non-Tina Fey episode would be just as amused by playing with some got-damn string or making prank calls to local politicians.

Anyway, the link I got sent is a music video about guys who prematurely ejaculate into their trousers. It stars Justin Timberlake, Adam Something-or-Other, the illegitimate son of Squiggy, and the chick who played Meadow Soprano (herself obviously the queen of premature endings).

Check this shit out:

So George W. Bush finally opens his mouth to state the got-damn obvious: “I was unprepared for war,” the Dumbfuck-in-Chief tells us, like we didn’t have a got-damn clue.

Thanks, George. Thanks for letting us know eight years later that your soused ass wasn’t prepared to accomplish the most important thing we elected you for. What else were you unprepared to do? Run a got-damn country? Speak in a coherent got-damn sentence? Balance a got-damn budget?

About the economic crisis--surely you’re familiar with it?--GWB said this:

"I'm sorry it's happening, of course," Bush said in a wide-ranging interview with ABC's "World News".... "Obviously I don't like the idea of people losing jobs, or being worried about their 401(k)s. ... I mean, we're in."

While y’all crowd around your Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow pretending to be all grateful about the bullshit things you usually pretend to be thankful for--a home, a loving family, a got-damn free country--I’m gonna be honest with my loved ones. I’m gonna tell them straight up what my ass is thankful for, and it ain’t gonna be the got-damn house cause I ain't sure I even own it no more.

Here’s the list of the shit I’m really thankful for, in no got-damn order because it’s time we all get over the idea of numbers now that Nate Silver owns them all. I mean, got-damn, that Nate motherfucker can tell numbers to jump, and they ask, "Into pie chart or bar graph formation?"