Spank Material for the Clinically Insane

by Jason Alan

This is the foreword to yet another ebook I’m working on. Let me know what you think. But you probably won’t, so fuck you.

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Foreword: I Am Spartacus. No, I Am Spartacus. No, I Am! I’m Telling Mom!

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I abuse the fuck out of my freedom of speech on a daily basis.

Some people are destined for greatness. I’m not one of them. I have the sneaking suspicion that the very moment I’m in the ground, or preferably burned and stuck in an urn, some super-mega-famous blogger or celebrity will find my blog or one of my books. Then they’ll write about how awesome I am and I’ll have an audience bigger than Ron Jeremy’s cock. Then many of them will proceed to amazon.com and buy my books and I’ll be fucking rich. And fucking dead. Why do I think this? Because life is a fucking cunt, that’s why.

Is there a cunt font?

So, you may be asking yourself, why the defeatist attitude? I guess that’s just who I am. Or possibly it’s because I feel I’ve had a lot of shitty twists and turns in my adult life. Sure, there’s always that bullshit line that people feed others about how there are starving people in Africa or really anywhere for that matter. That many people have it worse but that’s never made me feel better. What? You mean to tell me that there’s a kid in 110 degree heat that is hoping one of the flies on his face will die and fall into his mouth so he can eat that day? Oh yes. Thank you. I feel like a million bucks knowing that. I think I’ll now crack a cold one, slap a big fat steak on the grill and fucking celebrate.

My name is douchefuck. What did you expect? Sunshine and lolly-fucking-pops?

Another thing that people have said is do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life. Another, better way of saying that is to find what you’re good at as well as what you enjoy doing, then do that until you make money from it and you’ll be a much happier person. I happen to think this is true, but it’s taken me way too long to figure this out. Anyway, now I write stories and tell jokes. But not just regular jokes. Cunty ones. It’s fun to me. Getting reactions from people who take me seriously, or from those that understand that it’s all a joke and I’m not going to rape or kill anyone. Well, I haven’t yet, but I got a few good years left in me. Maybe I should be positive and do what my teachers always told me. You can do anything you set your mind to. Damn right. But there’s only one thing I can’t decide. Should I do some rapin’ or some killin’ first? Decisions, decisions…

When I was a kid I wanted to grow up to be a douchefuck, but I’m guessing you’re not an astronaut or a race car driver, huh?

So, the book will work like this. It’s basically just my tweets with commentary thrown in between. Some chapters will mostly be a list of the aforementioned tweets with little or no commentary at all, but others, like this one, will be mainly commentary with a few tweets thrown in the mix. I must warn you, though, that if you are offended by the written word IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM then you should just stop reading this right now. In fact, you might want to light your Kindle or whatever device you’re using on fire and throw it out an eleven story window. Preferably throw it into a large crowd and try to hit a baby with it. And when the reporters inevitably ask you why you did it, mention my book and tell them it’s my fault. I need all the publicity I can get.

You only have to be smart enough to get the 5th grader into the van

What? I told you to stop reading this, didn’t I? Yes, I believe I did. So don’t blame me because you never listen. Oh, you were molested so I can’t make a pedophile joke? Some people have choked and died on a hot dog. So does that rule out Oscar Mayer jokes? Fuck you and fucking fuck the fuck off if you don’t fucking like it. Fucking asshole.

I absorbed my unborn twin in the womb. Actually I strangled it with the umbilical cord but I did the world a favor. One of me is enough

That’s right. One of me is plenty. But enough about me. Let’s talk about me some more.

I couldn’t get into sports or acting so I’m trying my hand at douchebaggery

What else is there to say about me? The online me, that is. I’m a dick, I tell jokes. I get pissed off. I make fun of people. I make fun of myself. But I’m not, as some would suggest and have suggested, one-sided. I go all over the map.

I could be a douchebag 40 hours a week. Anybody hiring?

However, the “real” me is actually a pretty nice guy. I just have a weird brain and I use twitter to blow off steam and vent so I don’t climb on top of a clock tower and pic off passersby with a high powered rifle or randomly punch people in the face.

Anybody got a donkey I can punch?

But this book isn’t about me, really. It’s intended to make those who have the same twisted sense of humor as I do have a few laughs. And maybe make you think a little (but I promise there won’t be too much of that).

Perhaps I should think before I tweet. Nah, fuckit.

So without further a-doo-doo, we’ll move on to the next chapter. Dick jokes. That’s right. Sure, you’re obviously on the internet if you’re reading this. You can go read about quantum physics, teach yourself another language or learn how to do needlepoint, but you can’t spend all your time being productive. You could use a break. You work hard. And everybody loves a good dick joke, right?

Chapter 1: The Day I Stored My Penis in the Cloud