Matt Kelley is Great.com

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

A Letter To The President Current mood: crushed Category: Blogging Dear Mr. Bush, My name is Matt Kelley and I am a 25 year old dude from Chicago, Illinois.  I don’t really like you very much and you probably wouldn’t like me, but there is an evil awakened in this land and we need your help to stop it.  So far, you have been a pretty shitty president but if you help me stop this one thing I thing it will make up for all those years of bad decision making, deceit and loss of life.  Of course, I am talking about American Idol.  Dude, that shit fucking sucks.  Doesn’t America have enouigh problems with foreign policy?  That show makes us look like even bigger turds then we already are.  I don’t see how a bunch of American jerks singing 1/3 of a Whitney Houston song helps anything at all.  So, I propose a deal to you.  You cancel American Idol, and I will support the war on Iraq.  I’ll put an American flag on my porch and I’ll get one of those dumb shirts that say “These Colors Don’t Run.”  If you do this for me, whenever somebody says something like, “I can’t afford food for my family because of President Bush,” I’ll be like, “Hey, maybe you’re so poor that you can’t afford to feed your family, but at least that terrible television show, American Idol is cancelled.”  Then I’ll say, ” God Bless You Mr. Bush!”  Then, I’ll be like “Gee, I’m so glad we are still at war in Iraq.”  I’ll totally be cool about it.  You know what?  I’ll do you one better.  I don’t think you have the balls to cancel American Idol.  If you cancel American Idol AND all those shitty shows on MTV about rich kids, I’ll go to Iraq and fight myself.  Wait!  Even better!  Just send those rich kids.  That way I won’t have to go.  We could have a new Dirty Dozen consisting of all rich kids form TV.  Let’s just give those pretty blonde girls guns and drop them over in the middle of the desert.  America has plenty of pretty rich girls.  I would say too many.  A surplus if you will.  We can afford to lose some of them I think.  Bring back some of the poor black dudes you have over there and send in the pretty rich girls.  You know if you do that, I’ll even start watching American Idol.  I’ll even vote.  I’ll vote for whoever you want me to.  I think I have provided some options for you here.  Any of my suggestions work for me.  Let me know what you think next time you read my blog.  Yours Truly, Matt ”Jellypants” Kelley      Currently reading : Essentials of Fire Fighting By Ifsta Committee Release date: By June, 1998

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Thursday, May 03, 2007

The Adventures Of George Marcus And The Turd Sandwich
Current mood: calm
Category: Blogging

George Marcus (some dumbfuck) sent me some hate mail last week on my website. (www.mattkelleyisgreat.com) Appearantly, he didn’t like what I had to say about Margaret Cho. Now look, I hope people out there know that most stuff that I post on here is greatly exaggerated. I have to. It makes things more interesting. If I didn’t exaggerate and use my imagination, this blog would just be another one of those boring blogs about somebody’s boring life. Nobody wants to read about the trials and tribulations of some dude painting his garage. That shit is boring. I write to exercise my imagination. Mr. Marcus, I am sorry you did not enjoy my rant about Margaret Cho. In response to your hate mail, I present to you a tale of fiction. For an audience of one, I give you:

THE ADVENTURES OF GEORGE MARCUS AND THE TURD SANDWICH!!!!!!!!!!

George Marcus awoke to find himself covered in a sticky goo. He had been masturbating to his favorite Margaret Cho stand up video again.

“Turd sandwich?” he called. “Turd sandwich, where are you?”

“I’m right here,” said the turd sandwich.

The turd sandwich was just finishing the New York Times crossword puzzle.

“What’s a 3-letter word for love?” asked the turd sandwich.

George Marcus took a deep breath. He looked back at the shitty Asian-American stand up comedian dancing on the television set.

“Cho,” George Marcus said.

The turd sandwich had had enough of George Marcus’ pining for Margaret Cho. It had been going on for 10 years now. George’s apartment was covered in Cho memoribilia, almost to the point of stalker status. On his desk was a change jar he had been saving since he was a little boy. He was saving this money to for what he called his “Chonoplasty.” George Marcus had a dream of one day marrying Margaret Cho, but alas he was not good-looking enough, very poor, had way sub-par personal hygene, was stupid, really bad with women and he was really fat. Yes, it seemed as if God himself had cursed poor George Marcus, but it never got him down. As soon as he could afford it, George was going to get plastic surgery to look Asian American and someday marry Margaret Cho.

Now, of course this would never work because everybody knew that George Marcus was a piece of shit. But who was going to tell him? His only friend, a turd sandwich?

“You’re a piece of shit,” said the turd sandwich. “You’ve almost got the money saved up. Why don’t you just buy the tools and do the plastic surgery yourself?”

“By Jove, I think you’ve go it turd sandwich!” said George and he jumped out of his chair and ran out the door forgetting even to put his pants on.

George rushed to the store and bought a bunch of crap. He then came home.

Upon George Marcus’ arrival, he noticed something was odd. The front door was open and there was a repulsive odor different from his own repulsive odor. George creeped to the bedroom and was shocked to see what he saw.

It was Margaret Cho! It was really her, standing alone in George Marcus’ super small shitty apartment.

“It’s really you.” George said.

Margaret Cho didn’t say anything. Her mouth was full of something. In fact her entire face was covered with a slimy brown substance.

“No,” George said. “It can’t be.”

A half-eaten turd sandwich appeared from underneath the covers of George’s bed.

“I’m sorry George Marcus, but it’s true. Margaret Cho, has been eating me, a turd sandwich, for the past 21 years. You never had a chance.”

Margaret Cho tried to say something but a turd just fell out of her mouth instead. This also often happened during most of her stand-up bits. (ohhhhh burn on cho!)

George Marcus was crushed. All his dreams were gone. He would never marry Margaret Cho and his only friend, a turd sandwich had betrayed him.

“How could you do this to me!?” George screamed. “Why?”

The turd sandwich farted.

“I was your friend!” George yelled.

The turd sandwich let out a 10 second long fart.

Suddenly, a meteor fell from the sky and blew up George Marcus’ shitty apartment. Pieces of himself and Margaret Cho flew all over the place. His terrible life was finally over. All that was left was a pile of Cho memoribilia. But wait! There was something moving under the ash and debris. it looked like a hand! No! It was…the turd sandwich! Somehow the turd sandwich had survived the blast. Good for him.

“I gotta go get me some pussy,” said the turd sandwich.

Freeze frame.

Roll credits.

THE END

Currently watching :
Roland GR-33 DVD Owner’s Manual
Release date: By 19 May, 2006

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