Don't Disagree With Me On The Internet

Pictured: Pete Dunson

You know, I realize that there are people out there who might not always want to agree with me. Why the hell would they, old Peteroo just BUSTS HIS SPINAL FUCKING FLUID 18 HOURS A DAY? Can't listen to what a man who WORKS FOR A LIVING UNLIKE THE REST OF YOU SHITS has to say, now can we? Why don't we just listen to FUCKING DEAD AUTHORS AND GREEK PHILOSOPHERS AND RAP STARS INSTEAD?

People disagree with me, and it doesn't bother me, see? But holy fuck-duck-cluck shit, here's a good bet: do not argue with me on the Internet.

Now, don't try and say that I'm some kind of nerd, because that isn't true. But I know that the Internet is an important place. It's fucking SERIOUS SHIT. When I come home from a 20 hour day at the plant, working to keep AMERICA RUNNING SO IT CAN KEEP SCREWING ME OVER, I'm not in the mood to FUCKING JOKE AROUND LIKE PETE JOKESTON, MY ALTER EGO IN THE FUCKING SIXTH DIMENSION. I have spinal fluid leaking out of my ass from BUSTING MY HUMP SO HARD THAT IT FUCKING BROKE OPEN, and the last thing I want to do is get into some argument about MR. SULU.

Maybe I should have written this column sooner, though -- SURE, JUST SQUEEZE IT IN BETWEEN MY 22 HOURS OF SPINE DRYING -- because people don't seem to be able to realize that the Internet is NO FUCKING JOKE. Like last week, when I was already in a FUCKING SAD SOCRETES MOOD because it took me nine hours to figure out how to GET THE FUCK ONLINE.

"I am sick and tired of shits fucking things up for me," I stated on a messageboard that I found, "Knitting tips and tricks". "All I try and do is TAKE MY SPINE TO WORK ALL DAY, but my WIFE stays home and THINKS ABOUT HATING ME PROBABLY."

"Please don't swear in our community," said one of the WOMEN'S LIBBER FEMINIST SLUTS. "And if you're having marital problems, there's plenty of forums out there for you. I'm sure your wife loves you very much."

Did you see what happened just then? DID YOU FUCKING SEE WITH YOUR MOTHERKNITTING EYES OR DO I HAVE TO CROCHET YOU A NEW PAIR? All I was trying to do was type up some facts on the Internet, and along comes a BIG OLD LIBSLUT with TWO GOPHERS UNDER HER ARMS trying to tell me what to do.

"Please don't FUCK in my FUCKMUNITY," I carefully typed, using Internet etiquette by only using capital letters to represent where I was screaming in real life as I rubbed my head through the SHITTING WINDOW. "And please kindly take your ROSIE THE RIVETER FUCKERY elsewhere, before the old BALL AND WIFE reads over my shoulder and decides to GO VOTE WITH SOME FUCKING MARMOT."

Well, what did those old coots do? Instead of letting the conversation continue and having a debate like RATIONAL SHITTING FUCKERS, they banned me from using their messageboard ever again. Thanks, FEMBOTS, I THOUGHT THE INTERNET WAS A FUCKING PUBLIC SERVER THING.

"Honey, I heard some of your yelling. Is everything --" my FURRY LITTLE FRIEND started to ask, coming up the stairs, and in that instant I knew that all of this was her fault. That's right, it's not enough that she MAKES DINNER THAT MAKES FUN OF ME USING SECRET THINGS SPELLED OUT IN THE SPICES, now she has to go and ruin the ENTIRE GOD FUCKING INTERNET TOO.

"NO EVERYTHING IS NOT SPICED, YOU FUCKING MARMOT," I explained, ripping phone cord out of the wall to try and pull the KNITTING LESBOS through the line into my house so they could hear what they made me say to my soulmate. "WHY DID YOU DESTROY THE INTERNET AND EVERYTHING I HOLD DEAR WHEN ALL I DO IS PRODUCE SPINAL FLUID?"

"Pete, I'm trying to help," she said, chattering like an old CHATTERSHIT. "I love your spinal fluid."

"YOU DON'T LOVE ANY FUCKING FLUIDS!" I said sternly, but I already had a plan in my mind. I knew there was one place on the Internet where my views would be respected, and where people would listen to what I had to say, because they would know how SHITTING SERIOUS the Internet is. I knew that I needed a MySpace page.

But after over nine hours (YEP, NINE HOURS, I HAD TO BURN A SICK DAY SETTING UP SHIT ON THE INTERNET, THANKS A LOT FUCKING FACTORY JOB) of needless ZIP CODE SHIT, I could barely even fucking figure anything out, and there is a COMMIE JEW BAG LESBIAN in my friends list named "TOM FUCKER" that I can't get off. I'm warning you, Tom: you better agree with what I say on the Internet, because I am VERY FUCKING SERIOUS.

Pete Dunson lives in rural Pennsylvania, and is an active member of his community. He once tried to kick the internet's ass.

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