Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Question: Does your mother read this blog?

Why wouldn't she?


This better not be you trying to find my mother so you can revenge-fuck her. That's not cool, man. Besides, you can't revenge fuck an old prostitute. They can't connect any emotions to the act of penetration anymore.


Unlike your mother who only feels alive when I'm briskly irrigating her shoebox.


Short Answer: That was my toned-down version of explaining what I do to your mother, in case my mother is reading this...in between mouthfuls of john cock. Wouldn't want her to be offended.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Question: Could you answer one of life's most important questions?

I could. Which one?


Is there a god?
What would you consider to be your greatest weakness?
What should we have for dinner?
What's the meaning of life?
Where's the beef?
Who let the dogs out?


Any of this what you had in mind?


Technically, all these questions have been answered by others. If you Google most important questions, a lot of job interview stuff comes up, which is depressing. There's also some self-help junk and a little science, but mostly it doesn't guide one in any interesting/hilarious direction.


I think I will answer the above questions.


Is there a god? Chances are slim. We've never seen him. And we haven't seen faith or belief, either. Those are concepts to some and simply empty words to others. Plus science is trending upward in terms of explaining the shit out of everything. And don't forget, God won't be mad if you don't believe in him.


What would you consider to be your greatest weakness? Other people's weaknesses. This is true for a lot of us. We do fine when we don't have to deal with some jackass's bullcrap. Mostly you'd be content in your job if Steve from HR didn't keep implying that you weren't social enough. Who does he think he is, with his mole and his fuckin' coffee cup?


What should we have for dinner? It's pizza unless you had pizza last night. Mostly, that works out as a solid answer. If you did have pizza last night, it's some kind of Asian food, probably Thai.


What's the meaning of life? You're an animal fighting instincts that want you to stress over fight or flight decisions, but you've evolved to be capable of peace, clarity of thought and happiness. Therefore the meaning of life is to find contentment at the center of your existence so you can live life as fully as your generational DNA allows in a modern and evolved setting.


Where's the beef? Either in my pants or between your mom's salty buns.


Who let the dogs out? The Baha Men. The whole thing was a cover up.


Short Answer: There. I answered six. Are you happy? The answer is yes.

Monday, September 28, 2015

Question: When did American football start sucking? Maybe when rules like "illegal receiver downfield" were invented?

I don't agree that American football is shitty. Undoubtedly they've messed with their rules a little too much over the years, and one could argue that they've refined many rules - especially how to catch a friggin' football legally - into a mega shitstorm of complexity, but the game remains mostly the same game that we know and love. Dudes bashing into each other and winning at post-concussive disorders while never being gay.


Though some rules are stupid, it usually comes from a place of trying to make the game better. A lot of decisions in the NFL, as evidenced by the past year of woman and child punching, are made to protect its integrity and cover up potential issues that could lead to loss of revenue. I feel that the rules committees and the alteration of specific rules are often the only positive thing the NFL has going for it. It's people trying to make the product itself better. If they shag it up, at least it came from good intentions.


To agree with you a little, the whole 'football move' after a catch thing has always bothered me. A motherfucker knows when he caught a ball, and when you tell him, no, not enough time passed after you caught it and got smoked, they flip the fuck out because that's the definition of frustrating, telling someone they didn't do what they know they did. You know you caught a football, because you stop thinking about catching the football, and start thinking, 'Now how'my gonna smoke these fools and get some motherfuckin' touchdown!' Then someone tells you that you didn't actually catch it, and your brain runs through every damn time in your entire life that someone's thrown something at you and it hasn't hit you in the face because hands and you want to destroy.


Skip that paragraph if you don't know about football.


Short Answer: They've got enough problems without worrying about the rules. Like how every year it feels like one of the teams in the playoffs is the wrong team because someone else got jacked-up by a terrible call. Then again, maybe that is a rule issue. Maybe the officials on the field have too much responsibility to keep it all straight, all while trying to decide when to call a hold on the line of scrimmage, even when it happens on almost every single play.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Question: Why did you take a break, dummy?

Yea. Apparently people are fickle. After four years of posting every single day, I took a week off and my traffic has plummeted. I didn't know that people needed to be reminded that often to do something they seemed to like.


I'm assuming the traffic will recover, once those fans that fucked off remember that I'm still here and are reassured by another long stretch of posting every single day. Also, it might be because school is back in and my target audience is 5 to 22 year olds. (That part was a joke. Unless you actually are a six year old kid who reads my blog. If you are, go take money from your mother's purse and send it to me please.)


I regret nothing about my break. I needed it and it worked great. I felt fantastic after my week off and didn't miss any of you one bit.


Short Answer: I went on vacation. I didn't just give the computer the finger every day for a week. I was in the woods wrasslin' bears.

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Question: Eliot Ness or Elliot from E.T.?

Fight: Eliot Ness wins in a fight. Doesn't matter if it's street rules or not. He's way bigger and can punch down.


Hair: Eliot Ness kept it pretty tight.


Social Impact: Eliot Ness was probably more influential, especially when it comes to tight hairstyles and how we all know how to punch down.


Debate on Gay Marriage: Yea, it's still Ness. He might be on the wrong side of history but he can shout a little boy down as well as the next prohibition agent.


Realness: Eliot Ness was real. Elliot from E.T. was played by Henry Thomas who went on to star in such films as I don't fucking know. Eliot Ness became a poor drunk and co-wrote a fictional account of his life and was still real.


Suicide Kings: Henry Thomas was in Suicide Kings and that movie was awesome. Eliot Ness wasn't. But neither was Elliot from E.T., technically. Draw.


Hank Tom: It just occurred to me that Henry Thomas's nickname could be Hank Tom.


Short Answer: Final Score: Eliot Ness 5.5, Elliot from E.T. 0.5, Henry Thomas 1.





Friday, September 25, 2015

Question: Bitch better have my money!

Here's the deal.


Keith loves the ponies. It's not that he doesn't want to pay you, it's that there's a mudder in the next race. And his mother was a mudder. Don't you get it? My ship is about to come in! I'll be able to pay you back, with interest if you want! Double! I'll pay you double!


Oh, right. This is a Rihanna song.


I don't like it. Though I was surprised that her naked breasts are in the video. I watched it because I heard (spoiler?) that Mads Mikkelsen was in it, and I want to eat his poops for breakfast with little marshmallow pieces, and then at the end (spoiler?) bam: Rihanna's boobs. There's other boobs in the video, too. I guess that's a thing, now, just straight up showing your junk. We don't find it all that shocking because we've all seen Rihanna's stuff before, but it is a rare thing that a woman of that stature just lets her stuff out everywhere in a music video. (Madonna, not looking at you.) Remember when Christina did that David LaChapelle monstrosity? She showed a little bum, all she had to show to be fair, and everyone lost their mind. Here we are thirteen-ish years later and it's not a big deal to see a huge pop-star's nakedness.


I guess we've basically (or totally) seen Gaga naked by now, to check in with Rihanna's contemporaries. Though Gaga follows the traditional model of being slutty in videos and showing her nudity only outside the mainstream eye. And Nicki Minaj only shows her nipples by wardrobe malfunction, not by official music video. I think Rihanna has done something different here and no one's noticing.


Strange, because censorship is back in a big way, along with all that politically correct bullshit and people having their oh so soft feelings hurt by every little thing that passes in the night. You'd think there'd be a Rally against Rihanna happening.


Score one for the good guys, I guess. Now if we can just get Katy Perry on board.


Short Answer: Seriously. Katy Perry. Seriously.



Thursday, September 24, 2015

Question: Make me laugh, Keith!

My idea for six second snuff films - Red Vines - has been shut down due to copyright infringement. Also because apparently you're not supposed to record murders. Or maybe even do murders at all. It's a grey area.


Did that work?


How about this:


What's black and white and red all over? The cease and desist order that was sent to me by the company that makes Red Vines, because your blood is going to be all over that thing you corporate bastards!


Maybe this isn't funny. This is what happens when you ask a vague question and I get to just spout off. Usually my blog is tightly controlled. That was a joke, too.


Why did the chicken cross the road? To eat the hearts of those bastards at Red Vines that I've only recently removed from their filthy capitalist chest holes!


(A considerably shorter time than you'd expect later:)


I've been told to cease and desist all threatening comments in regards to the Red Vines people. It has also been suggested to me that 'pretending' I do snuff films could be considered offensive.


Short Answer: Not as offensive as getting your dick blood under my fingernails...all right, all right I'll stop.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Question: I hear you drink decaf, you pussy.

What's going on? Are the people who know me slowly betraying my confidences?


Here's the picture I'm beginning to put together.


"You heard of that askkeithanything blog?"
"Yea, man! I know that guy! He's my friend."
"Oh, yeah? Is he a big fucking pussy?"
"Totally."


Then my friend spends twenty minutes handing over ammunition.


I do drink decaf, though rarely, because caffeine is bad for me. There? Do you feel bad? It's a medical condition! Like that penis of yours that closely resembles a belly button.


Short Answer: Bring all the noise you can, fuckers. You can't hurt me. I got a thick hog.



Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Question: Follow up question?

If you'd like.


(Waits.)


(Realizes the medium in no way supplies an opportunity for follow up questions. Refuses to wait an entire day. Leaves.)


Short Answer: (Doesn't write one.)

Monday, September 21, 2015

Question: What is the point of underwear?

Yes, a-ha, I see.


As a youth, I stopped wearing underwear in my teens, seeing absolutely no purpose. Also, it allowed me to be one layer closer to showing people my D and Bs at the drop of a pair of Umbro soccer shorts. Now go back and picture me underwear-less in a pair of those, tight, silk-like shorts and...yes!


When I got older, I started wearing underwear again to catch pee dribbles. This is reality, my friends. Sometimes when I'm done peeing, turns out I'm not quite done peeing. So underwear to me is basically a urine sponge to counter the symptoms of O.L.D. (Also my thighs rub together when I walk, so I need underwear between them so I don't chafe. You happy yet?)


I would be sadly shirking my responsibility as an entertainer if I didn't take the opportunity to point that my wife, to this day, rarely if ever wears underwear. This is as exceptional a situation as one might imagine, except when she poops herself, it's straight into her skinny jeans.


Short Answer: I suppose the only other thing is if you're at someone's house and they have a pool, and you don't have a bathing suit, you can just underwear up. But that's nearly as - if not more - revealing than just going ball's out.

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Question: How important is penis size?

A few years back, someone asked: "Does penis size matter?"


http://askkeithanything.blogspot.ca/2012/10/question-does-penis-size-matter.html


That about covers it.


Is there a difference between these questions? Hard to say. It does matter, and yet that doesn't mean it's important. A lot of people love tiny-dicked men for other reasons. Like...or maybe because...okay well I can't think of anything as important as having a huge dong right now, but I'm sure it exists.


If your girl's vagina is real tiny, you're in the clear anyway. So don't marry a chick who's been with the Miami Dolphins before she met you. Simple enough.


Short Answer: More like thick answer, am I right?


Note: Boo-yag!

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Question: I don't much like your attitude, Sir.

You're gonna love this.


One day me and your mother and all of your female friends and siblings were walking in the park. It was a beautiful day, and yet there seemed to be no one else around. Then a magical leprechaun drove up in an ice cream truck. All of the women started cheering, for they wanted ice cream, and they knew that poppy had the dough to spread some of that sweet, thick cream around. After buying each one of these important women in your life a treat, I noticed that besides the standard four ice cream selections on the side of the truck, there was a fifth. It was called the 'boner' and looked a lot like a rocket, except the color of my penis. The leprechaun bent down and said, for my ears only, 'there's a shit-ton of Viagra inside that motherfucker.' Having had a Cialis blow pop on my way to pick up all of the most important women in your life, I figured, let's top that shit off.


The women, now more than a little turned on by being satiated with ice cream and watching me throat-squeeze the life out of that boner, decided it would be a good idea to get slowly naked and dance around, talking softly of how they had no real men in their life, including and specifically referring to you, the person who asked this question.


In a matter of heartbeats I achieved full erection, and set about defiling each and every one of their orifices until the sun went down. Some died from it. I didn't mean to kill them, but that's the risk you take when you get the boner. If it makes you feel any better, your mother clung to life as long as she could, whispering in alternate breaths, "That's the first time I've ever felt like a woman" and "My son is such a disappointment."


Short Answer: If a heterosexual woman asked me this question, just replace the important women in your life with men. I fucked them instead.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Question: My father is going senile and I don't know what to do with him. I can't afford to put him in a fancy home and I'm afraid he's going to hurt himself. Do you have any suggestions?

Ask a real human?


No but seriously, it's best if you start feeding him glass.


Short Answer: You'd be surprised how many 'problems' (you whiner) can be solved by slow, drawn out execution. That's a bit harsh. I mean slow, drawn-out murder. There we go.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Question: You still working?

This one's up for interpretation.


If you mean as a novelist, and you mean working in the sense that no one pays me for my work, then yes, I work a great deal.


If you mean today, then obviously I'm still working or you wouldn't be reading this fine blog response.


If you mean still working a 'real' job like 'assholes' do, then the answer is certainly not. I don't know that I ever really worked at a real job to the point that it could be qualified as working, and therefore be able to say that I'm still working. I'm still not doing a good job working for other people. I'm still napping when I want and drinking on the job and giving people dirty looks when they interrupt my me time. I'm still annoyed when people think that when I rub raw, cold chicken on my genitals I'm risking salmonella poisoning. My dick ain't got salmonella yet, ya fuckin' haters!


I don't lug cinder blocks, but I do work pretty fucking hard, if making shit up all the time is work. I think it is, because it's a particular skill. I don't know a lot of people who are as full of shit as I am, and as willing to open mouth and drop, dribbly drool turds on the masses. I also work fairly hard bagging your grandmas in the can, converting your fathers to gay cock, and making your mothers feel the sort of love that only three fingers and a ding-dong can provide.


I'm still working on becoming a better person. I'm trying not to insult people's parents and grandparents as much, but it's really hard. (Which is what your parents and grandparents inevitably say when I'm fucking them.)


I'm trying to be a better husband, and not be so selfish, and not judge people so harshly and quickly, and not look to blame others for my misfortunes (Seuss!) and find a place of contentment at the center of myself and my life so I can be a person capable of filling those around me with joy. So I guess the work is never over. We can always do better.


Short Answer: Remain the student!

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Question: Why do you do this?

Lot of these lately. Whens and whys.


If you mean the blog, it's a daily exercise to wake up my writing brain. Hopefully it entertains, but the reason I do it is because it makes me write better stuff better.


If you mean masturbate to the soothing tones of Mel Torme while watching a camel eat an ice cream cone, then that's a stupid question and the answer is so obvious I don't need to explain myself.


If you mean why am I a writer for a living, it's because I like telling stories, and I feel happy and free when I'm working on poetry and prose.


If you mean why am I really a writer it's because I thought, "What's the hardest fucking thing I could choose to do for a living? What will make me feel shitty every day despite how good I get and how much I improve? What will make me doubt my talent and very existence every night while I stare wide-eyed at the ceiling? What can I work hard at and receive barely any monetary recompense for? The answer was clear.


If you mean make fun of stuff, it's because as a child my mother dressed my as a girl. I tried serial killing but I have a bad knee. So this is the alternative. (It still hurts my knee sometimes.)


If you mean take the time to make-up jokes for an unappreciative audience, it's because somewhere in all your pea-sized brains there's a modicum of appreciation for someone who tries to create fresh material every single day. I believe in you morons.


If you mean why do I insult my fans, it's because everyone likes a taste.


Short Answer: Dontcha?

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Question: Dreeeeeeeeaam. Dream, dream, dreeeeam.

A timely question, question-marked or no.


I dreamt last night of camping and of a party. I cooked the food for the party, though when I was served a plate of my own concoction, I was surprised to discover that I had cooked for everyone a plate of penis and balls. The penis, singular, was deep-fried and thin. The balls were tiny and multitudinous.


The balls tasted chalky, of something cooked for too long so that all flavor has been leached away. The penis was better, but still held something of the pasty grittiness that I now associated with male genitals on the tongue.


In the morning we all boarded a bus to return home.


I can't recall if ever I have mentioned this on-blog, but I have a particular recurring theme in my dreams. This theme arose after our feast of balls and dick.


The bus hit a rather large hill that propelled it into the air as though we had jumped from a ramp, expecting to sky beyond many other buses. Instead, we crashed down into a frozen pond and broke through the ice, sinking into the waters of some deep lake.


This is the recurring dream. More than a dozen, perhaps two-dozen times in my life, I've had a dream that my wife and I are in a car and we drive over the edge of a bridge. Often, on the way down, I'm trying to keep her calm by explaining to her what we will do once we hit.


Last night, something similar occurred. We hit the water and I realized what was about to happen. I turned to her, for she was sitting behind me. She had a funny look on her face, the same one she wears when watching an horrific scene in a horror movie, a mix of pure pleasure and delight. "Good," I said to her. "Stay relaxed."


Luckily, and as per usual, I awoke before the task of kicking our way to the surface could be faced. This is a good thing, for my wife doesn't know how to swim, and I'm always terrified in the dream that she won't make it and I will. The dream often leaves me with an emotional hangover.


What does it all mean? I have no idea. I've always feared it's a premonition, that at some point in our lives, we will face this challenge in the real world. More likely it represents a fear of some metaphorical significance, that being together, kicking hard, and surfacing is the way we're going to handle some future trauma.


Sad, then, that I never see if we make it out alive.


Short Answer: Perhaps the bus in the lake metaphor is about a sweet threesome, and us 'breaking the surface together' is timing a nice poop on the third player's sleeping face.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Question: Would you ever include doody in sex?

That is the sweetest way possible to ask this horrible question.


Call me old-fashioned, but I'm of the belief that expelling waste from my body has nothing at all to do with sexual congress. I don't even like including eating in sex, because that's another process that has more to do with maintenance and sustaining a healthy machine than it does whether or not I make a face like Goofy getting his foot run over while I yell, "The white whale! The white whale!"


I don't even like including myself in sex. I often do fucky while my mind is elsewhere, contemplating other things. It's not that intercourse is a chore, or that I don't enjoy it, I'm just a balls-out multitasker. Just like that last line was a multitasking joke because balls-out had at least two meanings.


I do understand that there is often a relief that comes along with rasping out a dook, and that can be paralleled by the relief felt when one squeezes out the yop. But not for me, because neither one of these things is particularly relieving. My poops feel like a hotdog covered in broken glass being magnetically urged through a tunnel of scabs. As for ejaculating, I do it so often that I rarely even notice, let alone feel any relief. The thing coughs white powder half the time and then begs to be left alone with its dry little lips.


Your penis has lips, right?


In conclusion and apology, I don't poop on boobs, or whatever the hell else people do with shits. I like boobs too much to put a turd down the center.


Short Answer: It would aggravate me if I was watching poo-porn and the turd wasn't symmetrically laid. Maybe that's the real issue, here. Aim.



Sunday, September 13, 2015

Question: What are your top ten numbers?

10) 10
9) 9
8) 8
7) 7
6) 6
5) 5
4) 4
3) 3
2) 2
1) 1


Short Answer: Who's the real culprit here?

Friday, September 11, 2015

Question: So can Donald Trump insult himself into the presidency?

Yea, I just read that. Jeb Bush said this, that Trump couldn't insult himself into the presidency.


I agree. If being a braying moron is what gets you elected, America is friggin' doomed. In my heart of hearts, beneath the black bile and pointy fangs, I like to think that people are all the same. That we try our best in a difficult system to choose proper leadership that will protect our world, our families and our way of life. People can be fooled or misinformed, but I think that when someone is this transparent with their flaws, denial will eventually be defeated in the minds of the weak and callous, and this monstrosity will be cast aside for a better liar.


Short Answer: Or we'll have the most luxurious presidency of all-time. A huge one. And we'll all be fired. That about cover it?

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Question: My friend told me you have a whole five minute set of just one-liners. Can you share some?

I don't want to use that material here. Besides all you fuckers stealing my shit, I try to keep this blog as a place that I make up new shit on the spot.


I did, however, coincidentally wake up this morning with one of those one-liners in my head. (Maybe you're in my head, too!) I was extrapolating on it, and trying to figure out how to make it work as a three-liner.


The original one-liner is:


A unicorn invented the donut.


Then I woke up this morning thinking:


A jewnicorn invented the bagel.


And then I thought:


A boonicorn invented this joke.


Though it could go a lot of places. Like:


A screwnicorn invented the buttsex.


You get the idea.


Short Answer: I didn't tell anyone that I was thinking about that this morning. Is it possible, that through doing this blog every day for so long, that I've torn some sort of wormhole in time and space and people are getting inspired to ask me questions based on my own thoughts? Or am I just that predictable. Oh it's the second one? I see.


Note: Boobs, bums, pizza.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Question: Fat wang?

Portly dick.
Rotund schlong.
Obese piece.
Chubby wiener.
Wide pud.
Thick prick.
Big-boned boner.
Plump rod.
Stout tally whacker.
Overweight dong.
Flabby pickle.
Paunchy bishop.
Ample cock.
Heavyset flesh rocket.
Potbellied bird.
Corpulent phallus.
Tubby member.
Roly-poly pecker.
Blubbery johnson.
Porky shaft.
Chunky tool.
Pudgy manhood.
Plus-sized willy.
Big wood.


Short Answer: I think Plump Rod, Blubbery Johnson and Plus-Sized Willy were in clown college together. Porky Shaft and Flabby Pickle may also have attended.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Question: Have you read or seen 50 Shades of Grey?

I don't read anything with a pun title. Seriously, that's a pretty good title until you find out the dude's name is Grey. That's fuckin' weak.


I've seen 50 Shades of Disney, which shows all the princesses preparing to be rammed. That was a good time.


I read one paragraph of the book. I didn't think it was all that bad, prose wise, though I suppose I didn't give it a fair shake. Everyone else keeps telling me that it's terribly written. But that's a lot like when someone complains about bad acting: whether they're right or wrong, they don't really know what the fuck they're talking about, or how to explain what's so bad.


So I'll just accept that it's probably written poorly. As for the story, I think I get the gist. Doesn't seem like anything new or interesting. That doesn't inherently mean it's bad by any means, but it does mean I'm not very interested to watch the film.


To be completely honest and fair to the question, I don't find the female lead all that attractive. If this was 50 Shades of Twenty-Two Year Old Salma Hayek, I'd have been in the theater on the first day with a circular hole cut in the bottom of my popcorn bag.


Short Answer: I won't bother to watch or read this.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Question: Could you describe what it's like to have sex with...me?

I'll just go ahead and assume this is one of the many moms out there that I nailed because one of my so-called fans asked a stupid question and needed a mom-fucking reprimand.


Listen, lady. It's like waiting for your toast to be done, and then when it finally pops, it's underdone. That's right. Underdone toast.


Though there were a few better experiences while I was giving it to all your mothers. With one woman I remember distinctly feeling like I was having sex with a watermelon that had grown baby teeth.


Another time, it felt like a slightly stale everything bagel.


There was the time I thought someone had managed to create a sandworm and stick it tail first into that mom's butt, and then...


You know what, that's about enough. I don't want to be disrespectful to anyone's mother.


Short Answer: If this was my wife asking this question, here's a different answer. Having sex with you is like getting to ejaculate while touching all the boobs and all the bums. Seriously, that shit is everywhere with you. I can close my eyes and reach out in any direction and I mash a bunch of pleasant flesh. (Moms tend to be hairier and bonier in general. But they sure do appreciate the attention. If only you called your mother once in a while, then maybe I wouldn't have to be rough up her duff.)

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Question: Can you describe what it's like to have sex with AskKeithAnything?

Sure.


It's like if you were riding a bicycle seat made out of a giant, fleshy thumb and then you hit a bump in the road and the thumb was sucked out of your bottom, and it made that popping noise you can make with your finger and your mouth.


It's like the feeling of many penises near and in your mouth.


It's like that time you saw that movie in the theatre, and you couldn't be sure why, but you felt unsatisfied and squirmy in your seat and later you took a bad whisky dump but you hadn't been drinking.


It's like riding one of those carnival attractions that shoots you up into the air super quick, leaving you with a sense of exhilaration, but also the feeling that it all happened a little too fast.


It's like having sex with an older man who calls himself your uncle though you're not related, to your knowledge.


It's like a mime show with a funny ending.


It's like Timothy Hutton in an expensive suit.


It's like playing Mario Kart 64 for the first time and you're high on weed and you'd never played the SNES version.


It's like the end of Se7en, but you know damn well what's in the box.


Short Answer: It's like watching yourself have sex with yourself, while your mom is in the corner masturbating to a streaming feed of a close-up ball sack.


Note: It's my ball sack.

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Question: I'm drunk! Doyou drunk? Arror or you to special and fancy?

I am both special and fancy.


Now, I will answer this question as though I were also drunk.


YOurrt the one who's facny, assss!!!


Now, I will answer this question as though I were sober.


You need to take a nap.


Short Answer: I do drunk on occasion. But I only drunk special and fancy liquors, and then I twirl my considerable mustaches whilst listening to high-brow music on the gramophone.

Friday, September 4, 2015

Question: What did you mean when you said "Elephants would be great" on November 17, 2001?

http://askkeithanything.blogspot.ca/2011/11/question-on-topic-of-domestication.html


Wow. That's some odd and specific shit.


I just meant that they'd be great pets, because they're intelligent, majestic and beautiful. Plus they can pleasure a human woman by blowing hard water straight out of their nose and onto the vagina crevice.


Short Answer: If you don't know why having a pet elephant would be awesome, then you've never needed a fan, or wanted someone you know to get totally trampled.

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Question: What are the best movies you've ever seen that include the word Ask or Anything?

Or Keith? So, there's no good movies with my name in them? Fuck you!


By the friggin' way, every movie has the word ask or anything, so I assume you mean in the title.


Top Ten Ask Anything Movies


10) Anything Goes (1936) - Ethel Merman was in it, so it must be decent.
9) Ask Me Anything (2014) - Had to include this, I guess.
8) Ask the Dust (2006) - Full Salma Hayek nudity. Justified inclusion.
7) Frequently Asked Questions About Time Travel (2009) - Chris O'Dowd is funny.
6) Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask (1972) - Woody Allen did this.
5) Say Anything (1989) - This is the best one. But that's it. The rest is crap. List over.


Short Answer: I'm not going to include a bunch of crap, and I'm not going to go back and call it a top six. This is what you get. You know who you came to!

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Question: Is the phrase "suck a dick" better used as an insult or compliment?

Back with a profane bang, baby!


I would like to comically entertain the possibility that this could be used as a compliment, but I just don't see it. I could see it as encouragement. Like, 'Yea...suck that dick' but that's not exactly 'Yea...suck a dick' as if I'm giving my wife sexy permission to get in on the neighbor's pole.


Suck a dick isn't even really an insult. You're a piece of a shit is an insult. Suck a dick is merely a suggestion. And a good one at that.


Short Answer: So in honor of my return from vacation, everyone suck a dick!