Select Farmers Only Profiles

Name: Bob Billingsley

Age: 61

Looking For: A woman who shares my distrust of the federal government and its unconstitutional tax policies.

Hobbies: Hobbies are for commies and people with too much time on their hands

Bio: Ladies, this is Bob, and I'm looking for a companion who doesn't mind hard work, because that's the only kind I do. I'm an apple farmer, and that means that there will be lots of picking/washing/sorting/loading to do around the farm. In the evenings I like to kick back with Fox News and get royally pissed about the direction this county is going. I have a ten foot tall statue of George Washington in the driveway, and he's clutching a rifle and shooting lasers from his eyes like God intended. In the bed room I am more than serviceable. At this point in my life, when I see a kid, I shoot it.

...

Name: Bobby Harman

Age: 5 going on 6

Looking For: Somebody to play with me

Hobbies: Playing with dinosaurs, monster trucks, eating random objects for fun

Bio: Hey this is Bobby and I am a dinosaur farmer, won't somebody come and help me play with my dinosaurs? I got a T. Rex and a triceratops, and a bunch of others that are really cool. If you buy me dinosaurs I won't chew on the electrical cords. Also love orange juice that's been spilled on the floor. Please buy me a spinosaurus, it's just the coolest and it would complete my collection. I have 15 cents that I found under the couch while looking for snacks. I'll give it to you if you play with me.

...

Name: You can just call me "Bro," bro

Age: 35 (BUT I DON'T LOOK IT)

Looking For: Someone to appreciate all the time and dedication I put into my muscles

Hobbies: Lifting (Duh), anabolic steroids, being secretly gay

Bio: Yo, bitches, you wanna see a muscle farmer? Cuz that's what I am. Check out deez arms, fools! 22 inches and counting. You don't wanna see what steroids have done to my balls, it is freaky, really, you don't want to see. Only interested in girls who have bigger tits than myself. Hope you like the Funky Bunch. Don't email me, just come to the gym and gawk at my huuuge muscles and maybe I'll pop my top for you, eh? Sounds like a date to me.

Hanging with the Goon

Well howdy everbody, did y'all know that I is in a wedding? Ol' Slack is finally tying the knot wit his cousin Cinderalla. It is a story of undying love, true grit, and mutual masturbation. It took a long time fer Slack to woo da beautiful Cinderelly, but he's always been a charmer. For bout ten hour he stood outside her winder, howlin and caterwallin, singing her praises and tell her that he'd always leave da nightlight on in da trailer and that teh rat problem was finally taken care of. He has me to thank fer that: I got me rat stick an spent a whole day clubbin them fer naught but ten bucks which I promptly spent on an authentic Hulk Hogan Stretch Armstrong doll. I guess cuz of my labors Slack figured I was his bestest of men. He sure as hell couldn't have picked Rubin or Willy, cuz they both is in jail fer robbing Booger King again.

So da Goon has to write him a bestest man speech. I thought I'd talk about Batman an how he is the bestest of crime fighters, an how even Ben Afflick couldn't sully da cape an cowl. Maybe I could talk too bout Conan the Barbarian which is Slack's favorite movie, cuz he's a sucker fer oily muscle men with big man boobs. But mostly I think I just talk bout life in da Goon household, an how it's no easy picknick, an how Miss Cinderelly better be capable of making ten pancakes and twenty hot dogs every morn ta feed all of us ungratful sonsabitches. It ain't easy being a woman: the Goon knows. This one time, when Willy came home from his first stint in jail, he made teh Goon dress up and prance around, which the Goon hates to do, but Willy's got one hell of a temper and fists like King Kong, so I was a woman for about two weeks, shush, don't tell anyone. I don't think I oughta mention that in teh bestest man speech.

In utter news teh orchard is struggling wit all dis rain we's a getting. It's hard to keep all teh rots off da apples, though Sammy is spraying all teh time like a horse in heat. He's getting mighty cantankerous, ol Sammy: the Goon think that all teh drinking and chewing is finally getting to his brains. Me an Hernando had ourselves a good long talk bout it, an we concluded that if anything happened to Sammy, we oughta bury him in the old orchard an claim teh place as our own. Hernando says dats how it works in Mexico, an I'm liable to believe him, he's a smart man. I asked him bout writing teh bestest man speech an he said I should praise teh endowments of teh bride an groom. I don't know what that means, but it sounded like a good idea.

So teh next time you hear from da Goon, he gonna have himself a sister-in-law! I sure be nice to have someone to hug and kiss all teh time who cant do nutting bout it! Wit love an understanding I welcome Cinderelly into our humble home.

The Diary of Mitch R. Singer

In a field, a church on the horizon
What a beautiful, sunny day. I am lucky to be alive. My appreciation of life is at full bloom, white-flowered like an apple tree. The earth beneath my feet is solid; the sounds in my ears are of birds singing and insects humming. Perfect little machines they are, windup toys set in motion by a deity that seems to peer down smiling from the rolling, butterball clouds. Ahead is the rock, the foundation of my existence, the altar constructed by human hands. I walk slowly, appreciating the distance between myself and my destination. I need to get there, that is true. All in good time.

Inside the holy walls
I break down and pray at the foot of the altar. No one is around me; everything is silent. The righteousness of my being is palpable, and I feel that I can commit no wrong, for I have left human fallibility behind back there in the place beyond the field. How can you describe a religious experience? It is beyond explanation. I lie my consciousness down beside God and ask him to relieve me of it. He takes my sense of self, my essence of being, and throws it into the heavens from whence it came. I am nothing but a cipher now. I am a machine man reset and reprogrammed.

Out in town, rambling around
I see the city streets as a dog would. The desires and pains of my past are gone, and I live only in the present. A beggar man hops up to me and asks me for change. I empty my pockets; everything I have in them I give to him. There is no thanks in his eyes, no look of gratitude. He is like me in a way. The shirt off my back is taken; my pants are given; my shoes are discarded and stolen. They stare but I keep walking. I walk myself out of town.

Beneath a tree on a dark night
By the faintest light of the moon I see the band still encircling my finger. It is scratched and worn smooth, its luster having faded long ago. There was an inscription on the inside once. If it is still there, I cannot read it.

In the graveyard, clutching a headstone
There is a skeleton lurching out of a grave next to me, the fingers brown with the texture of old wood. Ants roam about, moving on top of and through soft earth. Little machines obsessed with their purpose. I realize suddenly that I defined myself through my possessions. Without a definition, I am afraid. There is nothing in my skull yet I fear the ground beneath me, as well as the weathered bones protruding from the soil. Whether or not consciousness was a burden seems irrelevant now. I get the unshakable sense that I have failed someone. What a way to go.

New Album: Songs Your Mother Taught Us

What a perty flower!

Over a year in the making, with fifteen songs written and recorded by Theme Park Mistress, Songs Your Mother Taught Us is now available for purchase on Google Play. An eclectic mix of alt-rock, country, and weird folk, Songs Your Mother Taught Us is guaranteed to be the best six bucks you ever spent on the internet. Buy it here.

Dean Ambrose Explains Things Cincinnati Style

Yo, it's the Lunatic Fringe here, and I'm gonna tell you all how to do various things Cincinnati-style. A couple weeks ago on Raw I mentioned to Roman that I wanted to give Seth Rollins a beat-down Natty-style, by which I meant that I wanted to beat him senseless with a bar of soap placed inside a worn-out sock. There are a lot of things you can do Natty-style. Wherever you go, the Natty never leaves you. I live my life in the Natty. It is my cage.

 
Of course, you can cook chili Natty-style. They tell me it's Greek or some shit, but really it's hobo poop on top of spaghetti. If you ever wondered why Cincinnati natives have such bad breath, it's because they eat poopy chili by Odysseus. If you want to get down-right ornery, then have yourself a bowl of the Cincinnati Treat. Just make sure you're wearing underwear and not doing that Natty-style. When you've got John Cena's junk in your face, you really don't need any other distractions like undigested chili running down the sides of your legs. Take it from the Lunatic Fringe.

You could also listen to a baseball game Cincinnati-style, which means listening to Hall of Famer Marty Brennaman. Unfortunately, Marty would rather talk about his golf game and how he much Joey Votto sucks than whatever is going on with the Reds. But this is a Cincinnati tradition--all Natty sports fans enjoy criticizing their team, especially the Bengals. I don't know if Marty has ever done a wrestling match, but if he does one, I'm going to DDT his ass and then kick his weathered old carcass out of the ring for Big Show to masticate. That's called a Cincinnati-style welcome.

I'm getting tired of this shit, so I'm just going to list various other things you can do Natty-style:

Natty-style piledriver--wear no underwear (Natty-style), sit on someone's face for a minute, then finished them off with a piledriver.

Natty-style handshake--spit in your hand, shove it down your pants, and then slap the offending person in the face.

Natty-style traffic stop--run over any pedestrian in your way. Twice.

Natty-style breakfast--go to MacDonald's three hours after they've stopped serving breakfast and demand ten pancakes, and then go take a shit in the store when they refuse to serve you.

Change a light bulb, Natty--style-keep throwing light bulbs at the socket until one sticks or they all break.

Friday night, Cincinnati-style--drive around beating mailboxes with a bat, and then look for a building to burn down.

Date night, Cincinnati-style--take your lady to the old Blockbuster parking lot and try to get her to sniff your underpants.

Mother's Day, Natty-style--get your mom tickets to the Dale Earnhardt museum and a box of rocks to throw at children.

Cincinnati-style marriage--Get your old lady knocked up, but don't marry her until the paternity test comes back, and then only after you've knocked her up again.

If I think of any others, I'll let you guys know.

Excerpts from the Journal of the Hillsdale Paranormal Society

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How to Write a Best Man Speech

As I labor away on the Greatest Speech in the World, I thought I'd share some tips so that everyone can compose good best man speeches. Do not listen to the naysayers; my reputation has been unfairly sullied. Just follow this guide.

1. List all the faults of the groom. This is the big one. Everyone wants to hear what a douche the groom is. Make sure you list every trivial slight, every minor transgression. You have a kept audience. What are they going to do about it?

2. Strongly hint that the groom is a repressed homosexual. Because he is. Right?

3. Open the speech with some florid literary quote, then end it with a selection from the Terminator or Predator.

4. Mention that time you and the groom went whoring in Mexico and contracted herpes. Everyone will think that's a hoot.

5. Make fun of everyone's religion, especially if this is a Catholic wedding. Catholics have thick skin. They can take it.

6. Start crying midway through the speech so that everyone knows you are a tornado of emotion.

7. Be stinking of alcohol and roast pig, then puke at the end of your speech. Everyone will clap and interpret this as a blessing.

8. Gesticulate wildly throughout the speech. Watch a video of Hitler speaking for inspiration. That guy was great at giving speeches.

9. Scream "There can only be one!" at various points during your oration.

10. Put special speaking goggles on and pass around a bowl of rotten fruit so that everyone has ammunition.

11. Make sure your speech is at least forty minutes long. The longer, the better. Remember, people really care about this speech. It is the most important occurrence in the wedding.

12. Apologize at the end for various oppressed groups. Tell everyone that you're a member of PETA and you've poisoned the meat. Fart and bow, and then leave the arena. Congratulations. You have given the best best man speech of all time. When you arrive home, your Nobel Prize will be waiting. 

Mr. Redlegs Speaks

Greetings, mortals. It looks like 2015 is a sunk season for your Cincinnati Reds. Were the front office competent, they'd sell at the trading deadline, but you can never be sure what ol' Bob and Walt are planning, their brains having been removed by yours truly in a botched scheme for immortality. I was relatively inexperienced back then, and I did not know what I was doing, but they knew the risks. Every time Walt Jocketty dips a green bean in a glass of coke, you have me to thank. Due to their lack of mental ability, I shall properly evaluate the worth of the Red's pieces in baseball terms as well as according to Nyarlathotep's scale of judgement. You have been informed.

Johnny Cueto

Cueto is the Red's ace and one of the best pitchers in baseball. He is also secretly a mutant. His injury problems over the years are a cover for molting season, during which Johnny sheds his skin and becomes reborn. The Red's should be able to get one A prospect or a couple B prospects for half a season of Cueto. Nyarlathotep believes Cueto is worth half a ham sandwich and a bucket of bleach. He doesn't understand baseball.

Aroldis Chapman

Chapman can throw a baseball over 104 mph! He is the Red's closer and obviously the most dominant relief pitcher in the game. It's hard to say what the Red's could get for a reliever, even one as dominant as Chapman. He might be included along with Cueto in a blockbuster deal. I can't see a team surrendering a top one-hundred prospect for Chapman, but you never know, there are a lot of teams that could use him. Nyarlathotep says that his soul is made of butter, and that he will never be able to escape the demons that haunt him. I guess that means he's worth half a goat or whatever.

Mike Leake

Leake is a decent back of the rotation starter, a proven innings eater. A couple fringe prospects seems like a good trade for Leake. Nyarlathotep says that he is worth his weight in gold, and that his hands burn with the eternal fire, longing for pockets to plunder. The Crawling Chaos also says that if given the choice, he would rather devour Leake than drain his being of its energy, so take that as you will, GMs.

Todd Frazier

The Todd Father is the Red's all-star third baseman, continuing his breakout performance from last season. Now, some of you will object to trading Frazier, considering that he's still in his prime and probably the Red's best player. The Reds, however, will have to contend with the Cubs, Cardinals, and Pirates the next couple of years, all teams that are better positioned to succeed than our Redlegs. Why not trade Frazier now? Frazier would surely net you two top one-hundred prospects, maybe even more. He may be the best third baseman in the National League. Even the Stalker Among the Stars Agrees. "Frazier is darkness at the edges of chaos, the mover in shadows, the devouring deity that crawls and gnaws on the fringes of our being." Nyarlathotep says he would trade one whole ham sandwich covered in mayonnaise for Todd Frazier. 

How to Tell if You Are a Terrible Person

Have you ever made a snap judgement on a person based on a single weekend? Then you are a terrible person.

Have you ever invented a new racial slur? You are a terrible person.

Can you point out all the scientific inaccuracies in Jurassic Park within three minutes? Terrible person, you.

Do you automatically dislike a female entertainer because her physical appearance does not match your inflexible ideal of female beauty? You might be a terrible person.

Have you ever berated someone for losing at euchre? You are the worst person in the world.

Do you categorize your sexual partners based on their age and mental stability? You are a terrible, terrible person.

Have you ever voted Republican or Democrat? You are the scum of the earth.

Have you ever launched into a twenty-minute diatribe on ontology? Furthermore, have you ever advanced an argument for determinism? Have you ever spent thirty minutes telling someone that there is no god? You are kin to Stalin and Hitler, you terrible person.

Have you ever referred to a group of people as "the gays?" Terrible person.

Have you ever pooped on a public toilet seat and just left it there? You are less than human.

Do you forget your wife's anniversary but still remember the original team members of the X-Men? How did you ever get laid, you bad, bad person.

Do you own a television? Do you not own a television? Either way, you're going to hell.

Do you frequently quote Arnold Schwarzenegger movies? Terrible. Just terrible.

Do you have a blog? Insects are better than you, you vile being.

Is Harry Potter the only book you've ever read? What are you doing with your life?

Do you have hairy nipples? Good luck with that, buddy.

Have you ever been to the Creation Museum? Further, do you live in Kentucky? You are a terrible excuse for a man or woman.

You see, we are all terrible people. The question is, can we do anything about it? You are terrible just for asking.

The Conans Answer the Most Important Questions on the Internet

Those crazy bodybuilders the Conan Brothers are back to answer the internet's most important questions, like who would win in a fight between Batman and Darth Vader. Let's get down to business!

 ...

Dinogeek asks "Spinosaurus versus T. Rex versus Giganotosaurus? Who ends up in a pile of blood?"

Arnold: Dude, a dinosaur question? We ain't paleontologists.

Dave: I can barely read.

Arnold: Good thing we have the internet. According to wikipedia, Spinosaurus was about 49 feet long, with T. Rex and Giganotosaurus measuring around 41 to 43 feet. Based on size, I guess Spinosaurus.

Dave: Recent work suggests that Spinosaurus was aquatic, piscivorous, and possibly a quadruped. T. Rex had bone crushing adaptations in its skull, giving it a big force greater than any living animal. Giganotosaurus, despite possibly being longer than T. Rex, was considerably lighter built. I'm going with the bone-crushing dinosaur over the fish-eater and the lightweight. Therefore, T. Rex wins.

Arnold: Fuck, Dave. You put more work into this than you should.

Dave: Answering stupid questions is not a job, it's an artform.

...

TrekkieGod asks "Who would win in a fight? Worf or Chewbacca?"

Arnold: What?

Dave: Don't pretend you don't watch Star Trek.

Arnold: I'm surprised this is a question. The answer is obvious.

Dave: Yeah, does Chewbacca ever get his ass kicked? Even if he does, it doesn't happen every episode like with Worf.

Arnold: Worf was such a ridiculous motherfucker. He was always leaping around, shoving his phaser in people's faces. He's lucky no one beat him to death with their bare hands. I'm pretty sure that ridged head would've popped like a balloon.

...

ComicBuffaloBill asks "Okay so in a fight, does Captain America, the Hulk, Iron Man, or Black Widow come out on top? Please answer cuz I got a lot of money invested in this."

Arnold: No one wins. Everybody loses. Especially us.

Dave: The Avengers was a big nasty hot tub full of man splooge.

Arnold: I wonder if people will ever get tired of invulnerable muscle men beating each other senseless.

Dave: That might be the gayest thing you've ever said.

Arnold: Seriously, though, I'm done with it. The whole comic book thing. Yeah, I love comics as a kid. I also ate paint chips and played with my poop.

Dave: But who wins, Arnold?

Arnold: Black Widow.

Dave: Why?

Arnold: Because there's no rational argument here.

Dave: I thought you were going to say "boobies."

Arnold: Email us at gganate@gmail.com if you have any other pressing questions.

A Summary of True Detective, Season 2: Episode One

COLIN FARREL is a bad cop stuck with a guilty conscience and a mustache out of the seventies. He gets out of his cop car and rings the doorbell of a suburban home. He asks to speak to a child unbelievably named "Aspen." When Aspen comes to the door, COLIN FARREL grabs his dad and beats the living hell out of him. "I'm gonna buttfuck your dad with the corpse of your mom's butt!" he screams. The kid looks terrified but confused. Apparently Aspen shit in COLIN FARREL's kid's Lebron basketball shoes, or something. He is a bad cop and a bad man.

...

TAYLOR KITSCH is a highway patrol man with a lot of scars. He has to take a pill in order to achieve an erection to have sex with his smoking-hot girlfriend. This implies that he is emotionally-damaged. He has the most boring blow-job face imaginable. Later, he tries to kill himself but is distracted by the corpse of STEVE BUSCEMI. So far, he is my least favorite character.

...

RACHEL MCADAMS is a sexy lady cop with a chip on her shoulder and some strange sexual preferences. Her sister is a porn star and that really bothers her. She goes to some hippy camp to tell her hippy father about her sister's porn career. He doesn't see the problem, probably because he's too stoned or something. Before taking on the role of sexy lady cop, RACHEL MCADAMS had her ability to smile surgically removed. This was a wise decision. Nobody smiles in TRUE DECTECTIVE SEASON TWO.

...

VINCE VAUGHN is a bad gangster man who wants to be a good non-gangster man. I keep waiting for him to do that thing where he talks really fast but he never does it. He mostly stands around and talks to other gangster-businessmen. Later, he meets COLIN FARREL in a bar and pays him for beating up some guy with dreadlocks. We learn that he's trying to have kids but his ovaries are messed up. While this occurs, a singer plays the most depressing song in the world.

...

At the end, all the cop people gather around the corpse of STEVE BUSCEMI. They all give each other glowering cop stares. Who will solve the murder? Will it be COLIN FARREL, bad cop with a bad mustache? Will it be TAYLOR KITSCH, possible homosexual? Or perhaps it will be RACHEL MCADAMS, the lady cop who cannot smile. Tune in for TRUE DETECTIVE EPISODE 2 to find out. I guess.