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Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Dial a Verbal Beat Down



The Butcher would like to introduce a new special here in the shop. For a limited time, we are offering what we call Dial a Verbal Beat Down. It works like this.

You send us your name (pseudonym if you are a pussy), some basic information about yourself (i.e. where you live, what you enjoy, your love life, whatever), and we finely craft a ferocious, completely unfair and totally humiliating verbal beat down of the highest order.

In case anybody gets the wrong idea and decides that we are so good at this that they want to contact their lawyer, we will issue a disclaimer with each beat down explaining that this is all in good fun and that we in no way actually mean anything we are saying in the beat down.

It will merely be coincidence, naturally, were we to, say, hit the proverbial nail on the head in the course of bitch slapping your good name all over the Tron-o-sphere. Don't kill the messenger.

If you would like to throw your name into the hat, please contact us via the submissions @ blindbutcher . com email address, and we will install your new asshole post haste.

You know what to do, motherfuckers!

11 Comments:

roberto said...

I'll throw my name in the hat. But first, and I think to show your good faith in the project, I'd like to first see the authors take one for the team. Maybe Ms. Unspeakable can do one about Herr Blind or vice versa. Then you can lay it on me. I can't imagine that I need to send you any material for this, but if i do, let me know.

Herr Blind Metzger said...

The authors are the team, and thus will not be taking one for themselves. Shall we start with that gay little mustache in your profile photo, then?

roberto said...

If you are going to be so chicken shit as to not put yourself first in line as I think you should, i guess that's your prerogative (parallels between you and bobby brown absolutely intended). So ok, go ahead and lay it on me, though your commentary will be a little less ferocious and humiliating because of your lack of participation on this end of the rope. And I do hope you'll do better than the gay little mustache... really Herr Butcher or maybe we should call you Herr Doil maker.

Herr Blind Metzger said...

I underestimated how quickly I would lose interest in this idea. It seemed funny at the time. Never mind.

roberto said...

Oh well, i thought i seemed like a good idea, even a great one. Maybe a better subject will come along.

REBSTOCK said...

Your too big a pussy to call me anyway....even to chastise me....but you aer welcome too...im sure you got some good ideas. I love you. Bring it pansy!~

Herr Blind Metzger said...

You'll excuse me, Stock, if I don't seem enthralled at the idea of getting naked in a shitty-ass bar, dipping my johnson in the nether portals of strippers only to retrieve side dishes and the like. Tron is so superior. And it's "you're," not "your." Jesus.

As for a better subject coming along, it won't be coming out of me. I'm pretty much embarrassed by my worthlessness in this venture nowadays.

For now, moving on.

Anonymous said...

I disclaim my following comment.

As a member of the team offering beatdowns to strangers, I would like to take this opportunity to totally be on the cutting board.

So:

My name is The Unspeakable
I live in Houston texas

I enjoy the moments in my day where I answer to no one-and to no one's discomfort or excitability, and have no hand in their lack of success or preordained failure.

I only want to know that you love me, even if my actions force you into despair. Despair is your problem. I didn't create your pain. That's impossible, because I am so empathetic... right?
I honestly don't need love. I need comrades who love and aren't loved. I need diversity and honesty.

My love life can be heated and necessary or heated and obligatory, but make no mistake- my love life is mine.. I don't know "equal", and it frustrates me. But it is mine. Mine. And my love life has never been closer to love.

The idea for us to expose ourselves here at Blind Butcher in order to satisfy lust for blood when considering this offer to construct a tailored insult for you, isn't too much to ask. Not at all. I mean, what we are pretty much suggesting is that we offer a service to communicate on your behalf in an anonymous fashion- your anger. I am no stranger to offering this service. I have been the letter writing henchman for struggling villagers and
successful quitters for almost 2 decades. I speak for people and then they sign and then they get what they want. Every time.

Here is my meat so that you may properly find use in your journey:

I am depressed by the fact that the entire planet is committed to a god. I honestly don't see any merit in relying on the unseen and unproven to determine justice.

I struggle with the fact that being passionate is a price you pay and the tax is time ticking.

I wish I had the energy to love my children unconditionally from tantrum to tantrum.

I find it hard to accept that I wouldn't want to find myself fending on a plane crash with 95% of my closest friends. Truly, when I first meet you- I envision how you would handle a plane crash. Most of you fail and I die for you. This is just how I measure from a distance.

I am just another loser with an opinion for every scenario, and feeling mortal drives the emotion of my every day.

I will leave my daughter with a memory that does nothing to reflect my love for her and my understanding of what a fucking nightmare I have handed her the baton for. Race if I can.. Race if you can't. You will be remembered regardless of how you wish to be memorialized.

Monuments and memorials are fragile. When they crumble- they are gone. Say what you want about a family story passed from generation to generation. Archeology has given us more than anthropology when we look at yesterday.

Burn me at the stake. At least I would have burned on your behalf while looking you in the eye.

The insult machine is a bad idea, but not because the criticism that is dispensed here is insignificant.

Anonymous said...
This post has been removed by a blog administrator.
The Unspeakable said...

yeah... It seemed like my comment made TOTAL sense when I wrote it in the wee hours. Now, not so much.

Ryan said...

I used to play this game with a former girlfriend - the insult game, where we would say the worst possible shit to one another. It always ended badly, especially since we knew every insecurity about each other.