Get 2 Choppin

Well folks here it is. The clock is ticking down, the ball is about to drop and I don’t mean Bellow’s testicle that migrated north into it’s own little bat cave because of lack of use. This is the end of ’07 and the start of ’08. Don’t player hate on ‘o8, let’s get this year off on a good foot.

We have waded through the murky depths of the magical pond and come out still choppin. We have been bingo, bango, bongoed and still are keeping ahead of the normal rhythm of life. We’ve dropped the soap in the shower and come out unscathed, not one spilled drop of a shower beer has been reported. The prick has packed a wallop and he continues to be choppin’ the heads off assholes and slapdicks like goddamn children playing in a field of fresh dandelions.

Wham Dickham. What can I say but wham, bam, thank you tractor sex man. Keeping the Dixie Chopper lubed up if you know what I mean. We have had our diabolical plans and not one lemur has been injured in the process. We have raised our glasses and yelled “here’s, cheers and beers to you” to numerous deserving people. We have grinded our gears so much that the tranny (not that kind of tranny, Bellows, tell your nut to go back to sleep) is as loose as a fat guys o-ring after eating a crave case from White Castle.

We are so fighting and will still be fighting. Increase the hate in ‘08 for guido’s and onions. We have been politically active and actively political. Most of all though we have been choppin’ and we will continue to be choppin’ because you can’t stop the buzzsaw that is get2choppin.com.

Just remember you’ve been chopped. Welcome to the jungle, you better have your machete in hand because shit’s about to get crazy up in this bitch.      

Well the year is coming to an end and we at get2choppin.com have called upon all the members and contributors of this site to tell us what their resolutions and revolutions are going to be for ‘08.

Bellows: My resolution is to bust this slump. Seriously am I hideous ladies? am I that much of a jackass?  So what if I get so drunk I think that when someone says, “Hey bellows, you broad, you are in a state of denial, my response is, “No I am in Michigan and don’t make me jack you off………this porch.” 

Hans Onyerbunz: Vell, My resolution is too help to break Herr Bellow’s slump. Vill that count? My revolution is too teach Dick Wiley about vee nut tug special vith the tiny in da hiney move.

Wham Dickham: My goal is to perfect the first ever moving tractor sex-capade.  I want to enter myself into my lady, I mean and my lady into choppin’ legend lore. The tricky part will be the shifting of the both the shaft and the tractor without grinding the gears, if you know what I mean. I should probably think about dismantling the horn just in case her a situation arises where she is pressed into action if you are picking up what I am putting down.

Dick Wiley: My revolution and resolution go hand in hand. It is to further my understanding of the nut tug special and all its variations while spreading the seed of knowledge upon the face of a new day. I don’t want people to think I am a whack job because this move is a stroke of genius and people need to experience it hands on.

Chef Ben Dyson: I will put the enticing back into your slicin’. I will put the sizzle back into your hollandaise sauce drizzle. I will have your friends and neighbors running amok with stories about your holiday duck. We will slam the ham. We will take the cake and wave it under their stuffy noses and say, “No, No, Not for you.”

John E. Bravo: My resolution is to not be as much of a fucking prick. Just kidding. Fuck you little pieces of non-choppinness. You sensitive tit-fuckers and whorepants who think I would change cause of your little bleeding heart feelings. The only feelings you need is the feeling of kicking somebody’s pathetic ass cause they wore sunglasses inside at night. I resolve to be more of fucking prick and if you don’t like you can stick fucking feathers up your puckered assholes and try to fly off the Empire States building without a back up parachute. You can go fucking swimming with the goddamn sharks with a raw piece of bloody steak in your back pocket because then you will know what it will feel like when I tear your ass apart. The resolution should be to piss off ass many of these sensitive slapdicks as possible. The revolution is get2choppin and you have been chopped.             

This onion of the week is for all non-choppin’ girls out there who think they can step into the ranks of the Big Boys when it comes to drinking. First of all, this is not retro metro-sexual night at the local bistro that brews its own fruit flavored beer. It is also not gay-day at the techno club where the bathroom attendants are going down more than the apple martinis and cosmopolitans. 

This is real life, and I am a drinkin’-since-noon-and-the-thirty-pack-is-gone-and-its-only-eight pm, time to hit the dive bar so put on your drinking socks and let’s go dance kinda guy. The people that constitute this website and the choppin’ nation don’t take kindly to idle threats.

This is not the time to throw down the gauntlet and think that you can beat anybody that represents the choppin’ nation in a drinking contest. There will be women allowed in the choppin’ nation (there are officially none in the current crop of candidates) but trust me they will have proved themselves and will have been voted in by the choppin’ legends following strict choppin’ conduct guidelines. Until then know that this is not some easy-bake oven cook-off contest. This is not some knitting your boyfriend an ugly sweater he will never wear contest. This is drinking until you think that you’re Amish. This is drinking until you think that a pool table is something you eat dinner on while swimming. This is drinking until you think that homosapiens are gay monkeys. This is drinking until you think that by marrying a midget you will get half off your bill wherever you go.

So the onion of the week goes to you balls of brass girl who thinks she can hang but in reality your self-delusional world is about to collapse like a beer can on a frat guys head. Ouch.

Well It is christmas day and I hope all you choppinites were nice and not naughty, okay maybe a little bit naughty.

Anyway this post is for good old St. Nick. This guy has probably got the hardest job on the planet. First of all he has to work with a bunch of midgets, I mean any heavy lifting around the place and he is the guy. That big sack of presents ain’t getting budged by no weak little elf. His back is probably shot. The only good thing about it would be the weekly basketball game. It would like ex-pro basketball player Greg Heston tearing it up in the Filipino Professional league.

Second he has the pressure of having to deliver all those gifts in one night. Thank god he doesn’t work for the post office or we would never see a damn present and he would probably flip out under the pressure and leave grenades in everyone’s stockings.

Think about the fact that he has to ride around on a damn sled, can’t he hire any smart elves to bring that thing into the 21st century. Plus, imagine riding around having to smell reindeer gas, it is not like rudolph and his buddies are on a high fiber diet. It is all grains. I don’t want to mention the whole reindeer poop spit thing, but I bet by the end of the night his beard is crustier than the underside of a booger picker’s chair.

Plus it has to be torture on that fat dude seeing all those treats left for him. You know he ain’t in the best shape with that extra weight. He is probably one christmas cookie away from a diabetic coma. I just hope he isn’t lactose intolerant. Poor Mrs. Claus better stay away from his candy cane if you know what I mean.

The worst part is the hazards of breaking and entering through a chimney. By the end of the night and all that chimney soot on him people probably think he is a black guy trying to steal their shit. You know what that means, Mrs. Claus might have to pick out the occoasional buckshot out of Pere Noel’s dimpled ass (imagine that smell after a night of work in all that wool).

So here’s, cheers, and beers to you Santa Claus and tell that damn lazy midget next to you to get you another drink. Pronto. You have earned it.

I thought I would post before the big fellow comes a knockin’ later tonight. Yeah my fat roly, poly neighbor likes to drink a little bit and come converse with me about the state of affairs in choppin’ nation. He is petitioning to become a part of the nation but so far his efforts have fallen flat.

Anyway my latest diabolical plan has been put into motion. Currently we have a member of the choppin’ nation working as a super secret double undercover agent in a very elite branch of the government. I will not name names for the sake of his safety and because this site is probably being monitored as we speak by people from the homeland security division of internet affairs and all around suspicious behavior.

My goal is to sneak across the border into canada probably with a mini-submarine. While there I will buy cheap prescription Viagra in bulk while wearing a fake moustache and a beret and speaking with a fake french accent. I will then transport said Viagra across the murky gap toward the French outpost of Detroit from the English colony of Windsor. The secret double agent will nonchalantly say to the other not so secret agents, “Hey is that a teradactyl” as he points to the sky. When I hear him whistling the start to Guns & Roses song Patience,  I will then climb out of the submarine while they are distracted and make a run for it. 

Now here is where the profit comes in, I will then go to senior citizen homes in rich neighborhoods (probably rich jewish ones because they know how to hold on to their money) and sell the Viagra at a 100 percent mark up. So while the old geezer’s units are percolating I will be circulating my new found wealth. Insert sinister laugh here. Ha, Ha, Ha…Ha, Ha, Ha.