Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Update on Boshnickels

Hey gang. Notice the lack of an exclamation point at the end of that sentence? Well sorry, but there's not much to exclame about right now. I've come with a heavy heart today to give you some news about our friend Boshnickels. We're not sure how it happened, but it seems that Boshnickels has become temporarily paralyzed from the waist up. That's right, from the waist up. He can still walk, but currently his arms are immobile, which means no typing, at least until the paralyzation, which I assure you, as do his doctors, is temporary, lets up. He won't give us any clue as to what happened, but I surmise it has something to do with one of the rival gangs he often finds himself in conflict with.
Anyways, gang-a-lang, he is stil able to speak, and he wanted me to give you this message: "no worriez homiez, fo' long I be back in da mix, stirrin up troubullz like da ushawool. much luv to y'alls and keep on hustlin. also, deez medical billz is gettin expensiv, so if anyone, ya know, could send sum dead prezidentz my directshun..."
I'll be keeping you up to speed, gang. Toodles.

Sunday, July 06, 2008

The Smart Retard Wears His Shoes Wherever He Wants

I am smart.
Riddle me this: What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening, and is not smart?
If you want the answer to that, look in the mirror. Take a long look. Look at how not smart you are. It hurts doesn't it.
I'm tired of talking about you and how not smart you are.
I'm talking about shoes. Shoes in the house and shoes out of the house. No difference to me. I where shoes where I want to. On the carpet. In the bathtub. On your face. I walk through rain puddles, splashing and the like, making my shoes wet and muddy. Then I walk on my mom's carpet. She has a Bissel. She can take care of it.
When I was born I was wearing shoes. That's true. I wear shoes while getting a pedicure. Not true. I never get pedicures. I do my own clipping and filing. My toes are amazing. Yours aren't. You have horrible foot fungus and Athlete's Foot. You need to start wearing flip flops in the shower, especially since you started playing intramural racquetball at the Rec Center, which you are terrible at, btw. Btw means by the way. I know you didn't know that. Not smart.
Most Asian countries take their shoes off when entering the house. I don't. I wear shoes in the house because I don't want people to see my hairy feet. And I like the grip and performance of the Vibram sole. All of my shoes have the Vibram sole. Yours don't. You wear Voits. Shannon Spomer used to wear Voits. He never achieved his full potential in athletics because he lacked the grip and performance of the Vibram sole. In his defense the Vibram sole didn't exist then. What's your excuse?
Not smart.
I'm not allowed in most Asian homes anymore. Some take no shoes in the house very seriously. Most do. Some yell loudly. I'm not sure what they are saying. Not good, though.
Maybe not the most smart thing to wear shoes in Asian homes. Still not as not smart as you. Naturally.
What did we learn? You're not smart. Shannon Spomer prefers Voits. I like precision traction and agility that only comes from the Vibram sole. Smart.
I am smart.
I am the smart retard.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Smart Talkin in the Philippines

I am smart.
You are not smart.
Pop quiz, hot shot: you use your keys so your car can start, and YOU use your brain so that you can be not (fill in the blank).
I'm in the Philippines. Sound this out: Feel-a-peeness. Again: feel-a-peeness. Again: feel-a-peeness.
Your mind is in the gutter. Don't even think I meant something dirty by that. You will though, not smarty pants.
I have probably eaten feces every day here. That's shocking, isn't it. Whatever. I'm not asking your opinion. I will have to clean my hands with fire when I get back. Whatevs.
Hold on a second- I can feel your not-smartness through the computer. Stiff arm. You can't get through my defense.
Um, how many not smart people does it take to ruin my day?
Let me think- you.
This is the least creative blog I've ever done in my life.
I am the Smart Retard.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Blogger Friend Profiles: Shelly Mortenson

Howdy ho gang! Can you believe this? two posts in a row? Looks like Ol Phil has been working over time to get all of this blogposure. That's "blog exposure," btw. Oh, and btw means "by the way."
Head explosion! TMI, right? (Sorry for this, but I gotta explain it: TMI means "too much information." I'm so, so sorry) I'll try to keep the knowledge I present down to a minimum. That's my promise to you guys. And you know why? Cuz I love you. Honest injun.
So Ol Phil's got something to talk about today. Or should I say, someone. Who is she? Well, if you're mentally retarded, you might already know. Or you might know, but have no idea how to compute that information in your weird, very weird, brain.
Shelly Mortenson.
Quite the name, eh? In Gaellic, it means: "the one who buys pennies." What does that even mean? Not sure, but pretty cool, nonetheless.
Shelly. Rhymes with a lot of other words, wouldn't you say? Here's a couple: jelly, Kelly, tele, heli, and I didn't want to say this one, cuz I know you all are gonna jump all over this, but...smelly. I said it. No connection to Shelly WHATSOEVER, so don't even go there, you rascals.
So who is this Shelly Mortenson? Let me describe her: friend, woman, white, hair, clothes, feet with shoes on them, green water bottle in or near hand, teeth that are sometimes brushed or possibly have plaque on them if she just ate and hasn't had some Trident gum, eyes which tend to not move independently of each other. Starting to sound like someone you might know? Now, hold on a second.
What do you think Shelly does for work? Don't even worry about guessing, cuz I'll tell you. Shelly works with "different" people. And that's just her coworkers I'm talking about. Zing! Actually, Shelly has an employment that is very similar to one of Phil's very close friends. For that matter, TWO of Phil's very close friends. She works with mentally re-started people. Why do I call them mentally re-STARTED people? Well, first of all, no matter what the Smart Retard tells you, saying retarded is a little offensive, wouldn't you say? I sure think so. And secondly, I guess because it's like their brains re-start every so often, and by often, I mean every two seconds. Everything that goes in that brain of theirs sits there for a bit, and then, ZOINK, RESTART,back to a blank screen. That's probably exaggerating a little, but you get my nifty-drifty.
So, after that 'splaining, I'll tell you that Shelly makes sure that Re-starts have personal rights and what not, which, you know, whatever, but the important thing about Shelly's job is that she makes sure to keep her schedule wide open so that she can attend to the needs of her dear friends. She isn't one of those types who gets a high profile job and forgets about all of the little people. Nopey dopey, she texts her friends, and sends emails to her friends, and writes to her friends on facebook, and frequents chat rooms where her friends may or may not be, not really important, and makes phone calls to her friends, telegrams her friends, sends letters to her friends by horse-messenger, etc.
And Shelly also blogs, just like Ol Phil. To check her out (not like that, sillies, although there are some pics of her that might catch your attention- whoops, said too much), go to
If you meet Shelly some day and talk to her, what do you think you're gonna get? I'll tell you: conversation. All different kinds of conversation. You got some hot political issue you've been dying to rap about? Shelly will spit witchya. Problems from work pressing on you? Shelly will lend an open ear and give you advice as needed, and if she doesn't have the answer for you, which is unlikely, she will tell you that, cuz Shelly never misleads.
"But Phil," you're probably thinking, "is everything so serious with Shelly?"
On the contrary. Shelly loves not taking things seriously. She's got jokes, and I beg you to test her fiery wit. It'll bite you, bite your face right off. Let me give you an idea of a joke that I can see Shelly telling:
(told in a Katherine Hepburn-style voice): "So three Mexicans walk into a bar and have a drink. Now, you're probably thinking, 'just one drink?' Well, okay, you got me...(and then Shelly proceeds to put on a sombrero and pretend to shoot pistols and yells 'arriba!')"
So Shelly Shelly Bo Belly, Banana Fanna Fo Felly, Me My Mo Melly,
Shelly Mortenson:Blogger friend, co-member of Fans of the Kennedy Assassination Group.

Friday, March 28, 2008

Everything You Wanted To Know About Jail But Were Too Afraid To Ask

Howdy gang! Toodley-woodles!! Did you have a happy Easter? Oh boy did I have a crazy time. That's what you can expect, I suppose, when one half of your family is celebrating the resurrection of Jesus and the other half is celebrating the mouth watering combination of malted milk enveloped in chocolate and bound by a thin layer of sweet candy shell. Woozers did we have a lot of arguments! My mom was like, "this day is not about the Easter bunny. It's about Jesus resurrecting from the dead." And all that my dad would say to that was, "Well you know what I wish would resurrect? The tradition of you buying marshmallow peeps. You know I love those." My parents can be so zany sometimes. I just wish they hadn't forced us to watch them yell at each other when we were children.
But enough of that. That's not what we're here to talk about. Today we're here to talk about jail. Now, you all know how I spent a little time in the clinky-dink for being bad. If you don't, well, I'm not going to get into the details, but it was a difficult time in my life. But now I'm a changed man. Yep, it's the straight and narrow for Ol' Phil. Nowadays, I keep the bad thoughts pushed way down deep, where they don't bother anyone, and can have all the time they need to well up inside me into some powerful ball of hate that will, on many occasions, threaten to overpower my decision making and lead to an uncontrolled outburst of rage, but which I'm sure I'll be able to keep suppressed.
But the real reason I'm talking about jail is to answer all of the questions that I should have been asked over the years, the questions that all of you have wanted to be answered, but were too afraid to ask. These are the things that everyone wonders when they think about jail. So without any more dilly dally, let's get right into it.

1. Is jail a dangerous place?
Answer: All I can say is that it sure can be. I think I got pretty lucky, since I made it a point to establish my power the minute I got there by stabbing whom I believed to be the toughest inmate, but believe me, not everyone has that same experience. You know who wasn't so lucky? The guy that I stabbed.
2. Are people raped in jail?
Answer: Oh shmoleys, I get this question so many times. Well let me see if I can explain my answer with a little analogy. To understand if people are raped in jail, and if so, why this happens, imagine you've been working the same job for ten years, with the same guys, and in the same office. And now imagine someone new showing up, someone young and cocky, someone pale skinned, clean shaven, someone innocent and emotionally stable, who doesn't know to constantly watch over his shoulder in the shower room. And this guy thinks that he's just one of the boys, that he deserves exactly what you got. So you do exactly what anyone else would do in that situation- you get five of your coworkers together to corner the new guy in the janitor's closet and stick pointy things that are attached to you in his butt.
3. Were you raped in jail?
Answer: Why do you people always ask that? Does it really matter? Is it important to know if a man was forced against his will by another man to lie face down on the bunk and wait patiently while his anus is intruded for an undetermined length of time? To know that that man was beaten each time he started crying? Hmm? Do we really care that much to know this? Well if not, then stop asking me, assholes.
4. What was the food like in jail?
Answer: That all depends. If you enjoy eating food that is dry and soggy at the same time, food that uses salt when it should be sugar, food that should have been thrown away a week before, that is made out of horse penis and elf scrotum, and that has already been eaten once, then you would probably really enjoy jail food.
5. What did you do in jail?
Answer: I think I've already given a few examples of what we did, such as eating, raping, group beatings, but how about the lazy afternoons or those Christmas' after gifts have been exchanged and everyone's just laying around? Animal noises.
6. Is it true that cigarettes are the primary currency in jail?
Answer: Yes.
7. Did you have conjugal visits when you were there?
Answer: Well Ol' Phil never got married, so no conjugal visits. But my grandma came to visit me once, and I showed her the scar I got from the knife fight I won defending my right to stockpile cup o' noodles.
8. Was the warden nice?
Answer: It was Ronald McDonald, actually. And no, he was not nice. Very manipulative.
9. Is most of your knowledge about jail taken from The Shawshank Redemption?

That's about all I can say of Jail, gang. Hope this was informative. And if you've had any of your own experiences you'd like to share about jail, just let Ol' Phil know.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

I Gotsta Be Strait Witcha

Was up in da heezy, snizzles? Dis is Boshnickey-ickey comin correct. Been a long time since I busted up y'alls minds wit my spittin. Yo I been maxin and relaxin and spoutin sum at da honeyz and- I can't do this anymore. I've been living a lie. Although you may believe that I am a black man living in the ghetto, hustling drugs by day, and sporting nine millimeter pistols with a crew of gangsters by night, this is actually not true. I am a white man. I live in a duplex. I own zero firearms. I do not know anyone who says things like "was up in da heezy," or "spoutin sum at da honeyz." If my friends knew that I was talking like that they would probably hate me. In fact, they may already hate me, so maybe I'm worrying for no reason.
I actually believe that pronouncing the "ing" sound after words is a good thing. I also am a believer in using the definite article, "the," and not spelling it "da." And I'm not sure why I call women "honeyz."
Is there a reason that I pretend to be someone I'm not? I suppose so. I suppose that I'm heavily influenced by the gangster rap music that I listen to. And I suppose that I find it really easy to pretend to be someone different as long as I have the internet to hide behind. You see, I am not a brave or courageous person. I am unable to offer my opinions while in the presence of other people. I find that I am much tougher when typing.
I guess from here on out I'll just have to be the normal "me." No more speaking like stereotypes. Yes, I think this is a good step for me. I'll probably grow a lot as a person. Maybe I'll start meeting girls. I wonder what that will be like.
So, hello world! I'm ready to step out and fulfill my destiny.
But before I go, let me just say this- booyakasha snizzle dizzles! Boshnickels is reprusentin FO EVA!! Fo shizzle in my hizzle.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

The Smart Retard Speaks Out About His Peculiar Name

I am smart.
You are not smart. If we were both bodily functions I would be a bloody nose and you would be a not smart. This is your life. Learn to love it.
Let's not delay: I'm talking about my name. Smart Retard. You might wonder what it means. Don't even try. You can't figure it out. You are not smart. But I am. And I know that the first part means "Smart," which is saying that I am smart. Obviously. The second part is Retard. Don't even pretend you are offended. You probably think you are. You probably think when I say retard it is derogatory. Shut up. I can't believe you feel that way. You are definitely really not smart.
Quick test: you go the store with fifteen pennies. you buy something that costs eleven pennies. if you need two pennies for parking, how much smarts will you have left?
The answer is none. Of course it is.
My name is Smart Retard because I am a smart retard. Here's the deal: I am smart, but I also have to wear a helmet so I don't hurt my brain when I fall into things. Whatever. I can't differentiate rubber cement from edible food sometimes. So what. You think I am limited mentally? Try this on for size: Galilleo, laws of motion, rubix cube. That's not even a tenth of what I know.
Listen to me: I can say retard whenever I feel like. You know why? Don't worry, I already know you don't. And because why? Because you are something that rhymes with hot fart.
Here's the deal: I have ownership of the word. I am a retard. If you want to call yourself "not smart" you can do it all day. You can also call yourself stupid face. I won't be offended by it. Guess what? I'm lying. You offend me always.
Retard. It's our word. Retards have suffered for centuries to claim the word retarded. There was a time when retards were treated like the house dog. Or gorilla. They were put in cages. Some people still think this would be good. F them. They know nothing. Here's what they can't handle: technology, umbrellas in stormy weather, not eating two hours before going to bed. Smart.
Read my lips: I will say retard whenever I feel like it. If you say it, you are anti-retard. You have to call me developmentally delayed. Or special.
You know something? You owe me money for what your ancestors did to my retarded ancestors. Thanks, by the way. It was great for my grandparents to be persecuted.
Fill in the blank (hint: use the same word): I am ____. You are not ____.
It's cool for me to wear a helmet. There's nothing wrong with only being allowed to use spoons. I don't know why I talk to you sometimes.
I am smart.
I am the Smart Retard.