The Cheeseburger Man interviews himself

Q: The Cheeseburger Man (CM): Why are you doing this, this blog? No one's reading it. And besides, you're gonna die.
A: The Cheeseburger Man (CM): Guffaw! I accept none of this as fact. Your sources are unreliable and brain clogged with garbage. I have over a couple of regular readers and even more upon personal request. My blog is documented of atrocities and hilarity that ensues no where else, even in the deepest, darkest corners of the internet. No one can describe the soft, tenderness of a cheeseburger like I can. No one can describe the true desire inside a swollen, American heart that wants to burst forth with glory and sentiment.
Q: CM: That last statement made no sense whatsoever. Your moronic statements and attitude are alarming and a true failure in comparison to the rest of the world. Anyways, your favorite foods are what again?
A: CM: Cheeseburgers of course. With bacon. And plenty of cheese. I also enjoy steaks, cheesesteaks, and pork of any various variety.
Q: CM: Why do you say shit that doesn't make sense, like "various variety?"
A: CM: I do not expect a fat cheeseburger eating American such as yourself to be able to wrap your primitive mind around my breathtaking rhetoric and prose.
Q: CM: DOGSHIT! You're such a fat asshole! America sucks man! Cheeseburgers are not the best food in the world!
A: CM: What travesty it is that I must endure this molestation! I must warn you, Sir; if you but accost my good character once more, I will be forced to take civil or perhaps even physical action against you. In fact, I find your presence no more worthy of mine than some indiscriminate scum such as Bon Jovi or Barack Obama!
Q: CM: There you go again! Tossing around 5-syllable words like they mean something! And in the complete wrong context! You, Sir, are a fallacy and a phony human!
A: CM: Nonsense! Indiscriminate takes on the same meaning as a word like miscellaneous would!
Q: CM: But you are such a fat pretentious piece of shit. Ugh. [To someone off camera] I can't even talk to this guy anymore. [Tears off microphone]. I'll be in my plush and comfortable trailer, filed with various hams and pre-sliced fruits [Barely audible to audience].
A: CM: Well if you don't mind, since my host has left, I do believe I have a few hot pockets to cook and I still need to beat the Japanese Grand Prix on Gran Turismo 4 before I can unlock the endurance races, so if you'll excuse me...

Dear God, all I want for Christmas is a tight bodied black woman. Amen.

Hello to all. I have a very important announcement to make. The Cheeseburger Man himself has found a soulmate. Now please contain your reservations, I know what you are thinking; soulmate is not a real word. Normally I would realize my grammatical error, scoff and perhaps chunder at such a blunder, but not tonight because I am truly in love with the godess of heaven above.

However, I feel it necessary to talk about my wonderful Christmas holiday first. My family is an invaluable and meritorious extension of my being and part of my life. I truly love them with all of my unhealthy heart, complete with thickened arteries and clogged ventricles. I could not afford to purchase them any presents this year at the risk of ruining my own distinctive plans for my cat. The plans for the perfect cat present would surely be ruined at the expensive of wasteful rubbish gifts for others.
I swiftly contacted Home Depot for them to install 60 square feet of carpeting in my living room and kitchen. I chose the Beaulieu of America brand for it's superior looping and sagebrush pattern. Every square foot of space in my living room and kitchen is covered with carpet, along with pillars of various heights and sizes. This is truly the most epic feature of my house and I am now truly free from the constraints that society has placed upon me for feline care. My cat is now available to crawl amoung the various pillars and engage in complete rampant behaviour without restraint. I have created a soft, carpeted cat city for her. I plan to put on my silverback gorilla costume once weekly, stuffed with catnip and the scent of fresh swordfish, and invade the cat city. I will wreak havok and hopefully be attacked with much passion, perhaps to the point of indignation. Nothing I can possibly fathom could bring me greater emotion and joy. I will be the invicible Godzilla of cat city, arms waiving about and legs stomping on the soft, lush, newly installed carpet.

Now, Gentleman. Please contain yourselves as the name I am about to mention may send you into a complete frenzy or perhaps make your swoon, causing you to hit your head on your marble countertops, sending you into a 3 week coma perhaps in the worst case scenario. The Cheeseburger Man has fell in love with Beyonce and plans on proposing to her upon the next proper sunet in which I feel fit. I must find out where she lives of course, but this should be not an obstacle of any difficulty or significance to a man of my intelligence.
See, I was reading through the new Essence magazine when I realized that she is the perfect angel of all. A truly classy, legendary broad, as stated by her own words even! What ecstasy!

My only disparangement of her character comes in this quote which is found on page 129 of Essence, November 2008; "What Jay and I have is real. It's not about interviews or getting the right photo op. It's real." I am completely appaled that one would assume such a true hearted women with such fantastic intentions would ever be questioned or asked to validate her feelings for Jay-Z. However, I can only feel pity and sadness for Jay himself, because his fame and pride in dating Beyonce is about to be outdone and overshadowed by yours truly. I can only assume that Beyonce is lovely enough to appreciate cats and the various structures that can be built to accomodate their needs and primitive desires to tear apart carpeted pillars and catnip. In this sense, I have Mr. Jay Z beat. Therefore, it is only a matter of time before Beyonce succumbs to my sexual advances and letters signed in melted irresistable cheeseburger grease.

I fear my only obstacle may be my slightly overweight proportions. This is where I must ask my readership and fellow Americans to recommend me a diet in which I may lose 80lbs in 2 months or less. Keep in mind that I am an American and this diet must require that I not change my regular exercise habits, which there are none to begin with, nor must it change my eating habits. There is nothing I enjoy more than the consumption of cheesesteaks and raw cheeseburgers, so I will be damned if I sacrifice anything for anything less than the brozen beauty known to the cheeseburger american public as Beyonce, my true love and desire.

Hello all. Worst Person Alive signing in.
I spent the first have of my day with my friend Vlad. Vlad originates from Russia and I was his roommate for the first semester of my college attendance. He enjoys engaging with women and dangerous levels of consumption of vodka, the official water of Russia. His true passion though, is driving, and "living like life of true bandit." His car is a 1987 Sinii Moskvich and he always insists on driving it aggressively and out of its limits. He will pull the handbrake through turns and scream insults at pedestrians; those whom he considers "unfortunate cheeseburger people." He "lives like bad lifestyle of black man" and considers himself a "true komrad".
I am doomed to remain a "cheeseburger american" in his perception of the world. Vlad often talks of the days of wrestling bears in Russia and making "finest stiff explosion relationships" with some of the top Russian cheerleaders in the country aged 22-32.
Vlad's exciting lifestyle of a bandit makes mine seem dull in comparison. He has therefore agreed after a written plea that I may be his apprentice for 3 days per week, but never Saturday. Sundays and Friday's are fine, as well as Monday, Wednesday, Tuesday, and the Grandest of All days, Thursday, but Saturdays are right out. Vlad has repeated this to me several times since we finalized the agreement. I can only presume that Saturdays are for Vlad and himself only, along with a tall, blonde haired Russian broad in his most direct and sensual company. He is surely racing through the countryside, where horsepower becomes inconsequential to driving abilities. Rather the mind power it takes to maneuver through hairpins of a 30% grade and hilly crests with blind apexes, scattered about the afternoon fields.
I have agreed to purchase a Russian car very soon so that training may commence. I have to learn the skills to drive well soon, because Vlad could possibly lose his license for "driving through village of cows" after drinking "many abundant Stoli." I may have to step up into a man's shoes and be the driver if Vlad loses his license.

Christmas Parties and the Glory of Driving

Hello and greetings to my loyal fanbase.
Today has been a glorious day filled with excitement and achievement.
After an arduous journey back to the home that belongs to my benevolent father, I have settled into a cozy and blissful state of being much like the bright, glowing Christmas tree that does not exist in my living room.
The adventure home last night made me feel youthful again, like a wayfaring pilgrim. I left the great state of Philadelphia around midnight after attending a Christmas party that was bountiful with various meats, pot roasts, christmas cookies and vodkas. The cheeses were of somewhat low quality I could infer almost immediately. They were aged for some godforsaken reasons, filled with holes and quite sour. They were often not presliced either, making the use of sharp, dangerous knives a necessity which seemed to me inherently dangerous while hosting such a large crowd that was of course consuming ethanol based liquids, scrambling their good sense and turning them into bloodthristy, unpatriotic madmen . Personally, I prefer the yellow American cheese with plastic wrapping for affirmed maximum freshness.
The meats however were tender, juicy, and fantastic conceptually, but I felt they were somewhat poorly executed. The beef stew was lacking in beefs and contained too many carrots for my liking. It was also under seasoned. The pot roast was dry and quite as frustrating as the cheese, as all pot roasts should be tender so I may fill my stomach to capacity in a short time period. Similarly the meat loaf was too sweet and the turkey was almost all consumed before I had even arrived. Savages, I tell you, eating all the party food before the interesting people at the party were to arrive. I suspect it is reasons like this that the moral fiber of our society is being worn thin. Cornbread was not even being offered. There was a lack of fried foods which I found particularly appalling.
Upon my arrival home, I took my fathers Mazda MX-5 out for a glorious drive through the Rockville countryside, the time-honored Beltway (I-495) up through the breathtaking I-270 spur. My colossal frame and classic American width made it quite a feat trying to enjoy the cabin but I enjoyed the car thoroughly regardless. The steering wheel is sporty, adorned with the everlasting Mazda logo, and the steering is sharp and tight. Of course, the car is somewhat lacking in power, but there is little more than a good cheeseburger that will get my heart pumping as I wind through 2nd gear, speeding through the bends of Avery road, engine revving passionately all the way up to it's 7000 rpm redline. It gets my blood flowing as the 2 liter engine note screams in the cold wind, captivating the heart of it's driver for 1000 years. As I approach the hard 90 degree turns, I brake late and apply heel-toe downshifting techniques for rev-matching purposes, drop 2 gears and let the tail slide out in a blend of elegance reminiscent of a Russain ballet daner, before I counter lock the steering wheel and ease off the throttle just a bit before regaining control and reopening the throttle fully with a blast of fury and leaving the cars behind me in a cloud of dust and petrol fumes. The grip of the car is fantastic and squats and leans into corners with beauty and aggression. The suspension takes loads fantastically and the tightness of it gives me great response that I can feel right through the steering whee, but never threatening to pitch the other way if I engage in over-spirited driving.
My only complaint is that I believe this cars front end camber needs to come in a few fractions of a degree and the gear throws need to be a big longer, so that I may feel a bit more ecstatic joy and passion every time I upshift or downshift, the true times in which a man and car become one inseperable entity, feeding and living together in perfect harmony like a bull lives in a field on the loneliest yet most emotional planet in the solar system.

Obama Tax Refund Vouchers for RIMZ

The Worst Person in the World signing in. Hello all.
My day has been quite pleasurable in various ways so far. I thought that Fortuna might be cursing me from the moment I awoke, because my room was cold and my cat was nowhere to be found. I was in the midst of a dream in which I was 150 pounds thinner, had abs, and I was spanning time with a red-haired goddess, reciting poetry and taking body shots when I was rudely awoke by Anemoi's (the God of wind) treacherous tactics. The wind was whipping accross the window of my 8X10 room and it was truly frigid due to a lack of proper window seals (a matter which I do intend to take up with my landlord. She will perhaps be brought to court over this inconvenience). I phoned my neighbor to come over and turn up the heat so I would not have to leave my bed and perhaps provide me with some homeade lasagna, just enough food to give me the strength in my legs to take the wheezing 4 block transmigration to the Donut King.
Alas, my neighbor could not get inside my house. One of my shortsighted roommates had locked the door, thus rendering my efforts useless. I was nearly foaming at the mouth due to the catastrophe I had suffered so early in my day. However, due to the everlasting flame of the American Spirit that burns so deep inside me, I was able to overcome the tribulations I had suffered and rise above it.

The journey to Donut King was one of reflection on the state in which I live in before it was graciously interrupted by what I believed to be Aphrodite herself. I had stopped for a Ten Minute Break when at the 8 minute mark a little Goddess of Jewish or Italian decent walked by captivating my consideration of attention. I walked behind her completely engrossed and fascinated with her figure. How long has it been since I have felt the soft touch of a woman. 3 months? 6? It might as well be five years for all it's worth.
As fate would certainly have it, she too was going to the Donut King. She was right in front of me still while in line but I almost began to forget that Venus, the Goddess of Love, was in my presence when I saw the glistening light and pulchiritude emanating from the Boston Cream doughtnuts. I ordered my 6 doughnuts and took residence at the booth adjacent to this lady of interest. The doughnuts were soft and fresh, warm and creamy. They tickled my senses and satisfied my growling stomach with all of its primitive and primordial needs. I began to imagine that it was only in America that you could get such delicious food on such a regular basis.
But again I was distracted by my neighbors beauty and soon felt deep rooted resentment come alive inside me burning nearly as much as my American passion. I decided to approach her.
She was reading "A Concise History of Italy" by Christopher Duggan and had an Obama For President pin on her cloth bookbag.
"Salutations young lady. I was admiring your presence from afar when I felt the necessity come alive inside my being to present myself for closer inspection and common conversation. In my opinion, it is very necessary to stay involved in the current state of politics you know. I feel as if the government is growing like a giant snake and I admire your support for B. Hussein Obama. He may be exactly what our nation needs at such a trying time."
She stared at me with a look caught halfway between confusion and about to burst with laughter, but I am sure that she was simply massively impressed with my rhetoric, intelligence and conversation tactics. I had already nearly made her blush with my flowery compliments.
"Um, I'm don't really know too much about politics. I'm just reading this book for class and some kid gave me this Obama pin" she said.
"Well, no need to get down on yourself" I said, sticking my chest out, making my entire torso seem like a giant barrel. "Although I have almost 5000 posts on an internet forum for local politics, I too consider myself somewhat of an amateur. I do know, however, that our government is getting very large and out of control with it's spending habits, taxation and limits on our Constitution. What do you think our President Obama plans to do about this?"
"What? I don't know" she said somewhat feebly. I had broken her down and I was now in control. "Obama's going to lower taxes for the middle class which is going to help me and my parents help pay for my college. Plus I think he's really going to create a lot of jobs. I'm sorry, I really have to keep reading. Do you, like, need something from me?"
"Guffaw! Job creation? Don't insult me with such nonsense! Because of the negative Wall Street response to Obama's election, I will probably never see my dream of becoming a Hedge Fund investment manager coming true! And as for his tax breaks, it will be nothing more than Tax Refund Vouchers redeemable for twenty inch rims in inner city neighborhoods!"
"Ugh, whatever, I have to go." She closed her book quickly, lifted her coffee and left.

Another mind blown away.
I treated myself to a bagel sandwich with egg, bacon, ham and cheese to eat on my taxi ride home.
I can't help but predict that the downfall of our society will be Barack Obama raising taxes for the rich while giving the poor more money with which to spend on shiny wheels for their Lincoln towncars, dew rags, puffy jackets to conceal their weapons in, flat brimmed hats, and Nike Bape shoes.

Hello again friends and great world (USA #1). I have sufficiently and certainly stuffed myself full to capacity with a full metric kilo and another half of Totino's Pizza rolls, so I fear I may nod off during the typing of this post, but I will attempt the task irregardless with great gusto.
America is obviously the greatest country in the world. There is no doubting that. With all the various foods, video games and computers available to the free people of this country, it comes as no surprise that we are constantly ranked #1 happiest country in all of the polls. Do not summon me with requests for sources on aforementioned polls, I have none. All you need to do is take a good look at the great state of Philadelphia. So many glowing, happy souls can be found from Market street, to South Street proceeding upwards towards North Philly.
Anyways, I found myself in a state of great alarm when I spoke to my wonderful brother Tony earlier today. Tony lives in southern Virginia, in true redneck country. He had just finished getting his American flag tattoo filled in when he got in his 2000 Dodge Viper GTS Coupe (which gets 8 miles per gallon by the way, America #1) and headed to the local WalMart. He saw an Obama supporter so he leaned out of the car to scream obscenities (as he should have) when he lost control of the car, flew through a McDonald's drive thru and crashed into a gun store.

When I was first exposed to the Dodge Viper, I was amused. Such a brash, thoughtless car for meathead Americans. Truly a car for men with small penises and less brains than taste. Before I knew much about the car, I once approached a Dodge Viper owner. He had sunglasses and a velvet shortsleeved button down shirt. I asked if he would rev the engine or perhaps take me for a short test drive. I asked him why his $80,000 supercar had a pig-disgusting, 8 liter truck engine in it; was it some sort of foul-up at the factory, or did all Dodge Vipers come equipped standard like this?
I soon came to realize, who needs passion and refinement in their cars? Just throw a huge truck engine, not even tweaked for performance enhancements, into a big cockpit with wheels and voila. That's an American car. Big, heavy, pointless, slower and less powerful than its European counterparts that are doing a lot more with a lot less displacement. The cockpit is shity quality, ugly, uncomfortable. The sidepipes get hot enough to burn your calf right through your pants if you're not careful. The hood gets hot enough to cook an egg after an hour of driving, assuming you're able to drive the thing for a full hour without running out of gas. The Viper handles like a hammer, making it impossible to have the throttle opened more than 1/16 while cornering. Take all that with enough torque to pin your co-pilots throat to the back of the seat, hopefully it's a lady, so hard that she will shit her pans and period all over the place if you're brave enough to open the throttle halfway on a completely, straight, dry road, void of any pedestrians, other cars, trees, telephone polls, anything. Even this is dangerous, considering the Viper has a V10 and 450 hp, but no traction control or anti-lock brakes. Overweight, underperformed, outrageous, ludicrous.
Now THAT'S an American car.

The Worst Person of All Time

Hello fellow Americans. I woke up today around 2:30pm and enjoyed a good wank which was supplemented by a a somewhat soaked Victoria's Secret magazine which highlighted the Fall 2006 collection. The sheer tiny size of the panties and thongs was nearly enough to set my rocket off the exact moment I was able to conjure up an image in my fat brain of a girl I saw yesterday (who was a white young 16 year old child) wearing a pink thong in Pizza Land.
Pizza Land is hypothetically my favorite place in the entire world. It only exists in my imagination but it is a place where American dreams come true. Every road is paved with fresh pizza and there are sexy, hard bodied women serving you sprite and sour patch kids to wash the pizza down. Anyways, I digress. After having a wank, I put on my favorite flannel underwear and headed outside down the block to buy a cheesesteak. I had to stop twice to catch my breath, for an entire 3 block journey consists of wheezing, and coughing for a fat cheeseburger eater like myself. I consumed two feet of cheesesteak before passing out inside of the food establishment.
I woke up to a less than appealing looking employee poking and prodding me.
"Chunder!! Such rudeness! I am nearly appalled that you have awoken me from my slumber young Sir! I demand to speak to the management of this Cheesesteak establishment" I said to him.
"I am the manager sir. You can't sleep in here, there's other customers that are a little aggravated with your loud snoring and the cheese all over your face."
What heresy! I was a paying customer and not allowed to rest my heavy eyelids. This is the problem with America! I can slowly, everyday, feel my freedoms being revoked.
Anyhow, after several hours of playing World of Warcraft, I had another wank, then headed up to my room before my house mate asked me to go with him to Glendale, Pennsylvania, an almost 25 minute journey outside of my cave. I thanked him kindly, but I for one would not be endangering myself with cars, traffic, and visiting "shithole Pittsburgh-caliber towns" as I so eliquently put it.
I will now read my Kurt Vonnegut book and eat some more. Perhaps a bacon-weave cheese-log. Today has truly been a glorious one.