2012

It's 2012, and I'm here to tell you that John Post does indeed does, past present future, including but not limited to, heretofore and forevermore, time immemorial, suck.

Yes folks, let's say it together: John Post Sucks.

Now, you might ask yourself, "I've never met this John Post, why on Earth would I believe and say out loud in crowded public places that he sucks?"

You're a human being aren't you? You have good tastes and values? You know the difference between right and wrong, am I right? You put ketchup on your french fries, right? (vinegar for you Canadians). Well, those are ALL good reasons to say that John Post sucks!

It's 2012. Some of you believe we're all going to die this year. Some of you don't give a fuck. I don't really know or care. There is no God, only John Post. And he sucks.

Hey Honey, won't you come in for something refreshing? It must be SO hot outside!

John is trying to figure out what to do with his life.

He doesn't know if he should become a landscaper and spend his days smelling like gasoline in a tank-top with cutoff shorts, ogling housewives while making vaguely sexual comments to them that eventually devolve into exasperating lectures about how the phrase "trimming the bushes" was actually meant quite innocently when they were really just playing coy in the first place and thought he looked cute, even if he did seem a little dumb, but now he's totally missed his chance at getting a "something refreshing" inside

or,

if he should go to Spain where he will undoubtedly get arrested for working without a Visa. It's not that you can't get away with working in Spain without a Visa, it's just that John literally can't get away with any prank or mischief without wetting his pants in the foreign embassy. Last time we tried drinking the streets from Styrofoam cups on Cinco de Mayo, John had to be forcibly removed from the pant-leg of the Czech ambassador (who turned out to be a totally great guy who drank Svijany with us in the park and turned away some police officers with his diplomatic immunity), but not before John left a terrible stain on his carpet and ended up in the drunk tank hunched over like a soggy waffle.

Clubbing

Also, apparently John went clubbing last night.

This is what I imagine it looked like.

Texting = Sex

I just showed John this article: Social networking leads to sex faster?

If you don't want to read it, I will tell you, it's about how texting and social media has led to people going to bed together faster.

Then John told me he had to go because he was getting a text from his dog.

What do you make of this?

John Post Sucks So Much....

John Post sucks so much he was hired by BP to clean up the ocean. 

 John Post sucks so much they use him for the scientific study of black holes. 

HC Booth credits John Post as his inspiration for his revolutionary invention: the vacuum. 

John Post sucks so much I peed in a cup and sold it to him as lemonade. 

John Post sucks so much you should feel much better about yourself. 

John Post sucks so much he picks up girls on internet Risk. 

John Post sucks so much every cloud is a rain cloud. 

John Post sucks so much he put Tootsie Pops out of business. 

John Post sucks so much he defied Isaac Newton by being gravity. 

John Post sucks so much he got arrested for selling "lemonade" to people. 

John Post sucks so much we forgot about Katrina. 

John Post sucks so much he convinced Stephen King to kill John Lennon. 

John Post sucks so much he convinced Michael Jordan to try out baseball for a change. 

John Post sucks so much that everybody loves him. 

John Post sucks so much he sucks more than John Post.

Oozing with it

John has hot *panda bears* he secretly loves and wishes to romance.

He also dances like a drunken sorority girl.

The end.

Further Proof

That John loves me more than words could ever describe. Here