The Not That Great Podcast

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Thursday, December 31, 2015

Atheistjustin Hauls in the New Year

Well Hello again. Fag.

This year has been a shit show. From pledging a fraternity, to losing a hot girlfriend, succumbing to various intercourse ordeals which left me wondering, "what just happened?," to making a shitty EP that not even I can fully listen to, to spending my summer nights stuck behind a dirty deli counter, 2015 has been a fuck show the likes of which I am happy to leave behind.

Last New Year, I was lucky enough to persuade a young lady to let me put my penis in her, only to find that I didn't have a condom. After pulling out and ruining the back seat of my car, I'd like to let all my male readers know that the best way to get out stains is with Seltzer and Salt.

Put the salt on, then add seltzer. Let sit for 5 mins. Then arduously scrub. Scrub as hard as you can because this car is a lease and I don't know if they'll be cool with finding Jizz stains you made on accident with a girl you barely know.

Let's go for a repeat tonight!

Perhaps the most exciting thing to happen to me since the last time I posted was my attendance to the new Star Wars film.

For those who don't know, Star Wars was an integral part of my youth. I was a weird kid and didn't have a lot of 'Friends.'

Not much has changed.

Asshole and Joe didn't become a part of my shitty life until about 12. So, for those years growing up, I spent most of my life playing with Star Wars video games, action figures, posters, movies, books, etc.

My dick has also received a frivolous beating.

So when the new star wars premiered, it was only natural that I bought 3 tickets. I bought the seats next to me so that nobody would be near me, bothering me, as I coerced myself in this science-fiction action-packed drama that gave me my first boner (Thanks Princess Leia).

Just like many boys in the early 80's, my first love was Princess Leia. I'm still trying to get a girl to have sex with me in a metal bikini.

So far it has not been a well-recieved request. No, bitch, they're not 'chains.' They're fucking metal underwear ok?????? Now stay still.

I'm not going to lie, I cried pretty hard when I saw the new movie. Seeing Han Solo and Chewie back in the Millennium Falcon fucking shit up and killing pussy ass bitches was more satisfying than any sexual encounter I have ever experienced.

Anyway, last year I vowed to make more short stories and piss people off, since I did quite a bit of that in 2014. This year, I had a few published but sadly didn't find anybody pissed off enough at me.

I'll try harder this year.

As I sit here in my room, waiting for the hours to pass before I can leave to go get shit faced at a party I didn't pay for, I think about all the fabulous memories I have made this year alone.

I realize now I have spent far too much time masturbating.


This year, I have made a resolution. No, it's not to go the gym. We all know that won't last long. My resolution is to somehow make this fucking blog work for me so I can stop wasting my life away on here aimlessly and instead pretend this was all worth something.


I'm trying to get ads to work on the side of this piece of shit and so far that has been as successful as having sex with a girl in the metal bikini- it hasn't worked out yet, but I am persistent.

To be horribly honest, I am very not tech-savvy and about the only thing I'm really good at is finding HD porn for free. If any asian readers of mine know how they could help me out, you know where to find me.

If you don't know where to find me, ask Liam Neeson. He knows all.

As does Ron Swanson.

For all my readers, I challenge you with a New Years resolution. How about you get off your fucking phone and your fucking stupid fucking snapchat and your fucking instagram and your shitty twitter and do something creative with your life.

Here's what I want from you, you piece of shit: are you still reading? Good.

Write a blog.

Write something funny.

Write something hilarious and then send it to me so I can judge it horribly and put it on this fucking website and then you can tell your fucking friends "hey look assholes! I did something! I used that organ in my head that produces thoughts to write something longer than a 2 sentence caption on my finsta!!"

Be a fucking person and turn off your phone every once in a while. If you find yourself in an awkward moment, or a moment of silence, or at a shitty party, stop being a fucking pussy and get off your electronic gateway.

You know what you say to everyone around you when you're standing around on your phone?

You're effectively saying, "I don't want to be here, I wish I was rather in this person's shitty snapchat or licking this person's enlarged breasts in this instagram."

Now while those things may be true, you are denying yourself the opportunity to find other venues to enjoy a shitty party or an awkward moment. How about instead of retaking that selfie 6 times you go up to another fully functional human being and make some fucking words you cocksucking motherfucking disappointment


Sorry for yelling at u. I've been drinking.

This year I will approach my 20th birthday and be the most useless age of all. I can't do anything except say, "I'm not a teenager anymore." Well whoopty-fucking-do, you 20 year old piece of shit. Now you're old enough to get put in jail for texting that sophomore in high school, but not old enough to drink away the pain that you get no ass.

Being 20 is not something I look forward to, but at least I'll be able to say stuff like, "I've been pissing in public for 20 years!"

Well, I've effectively killed 45 minutes of my life trying to make this piece of shit blogpost and now I think it's time to go.

I wish all of my readers a Happy New Years and I leave you with a picture of an avocado.







Friday, November 13, 2015

Atheistjustin Starts Getting Paid by You Pieces of Shit

Hello fellow assholes,

Being that I am now a 19-year old piece of shit, I am over 18 and technically an 'adult.' I still don't know how to adequately get a dentist appointment and my mom had to pick me up from college when I had a 103 degree fever, and I pissed my pants a few weeks ago- but fuck you, I'm an adult.

Anyway, because I'm an adult- and a poor piece of shit- I found out I can put ads on the side of this blog and make a few dollars off of all my delicious readers. How does this affect you? It doesn't. Fuck you.

But, I will be 'cleaning' my blog a little bit. Being that I've had this fucking website since I was about 15, I am sure that many of my blog posts are probably too personal and possibly incriminating- or they're just written really, really badly. Either way, your boy has some cleaning to do.

So, if you have any desire in stalking my old self, you may want to do so quickly before I edit some of the older blogs.

However, in this venture, I actually found a blogpost I never hit the 'publish' button for and that can be found below this post. You can read all about my wonderful summer job working the overnight shifts at 'blah-blah.'

Anyway, even if I make 8 cents from this fucking blog, that's still 8 cents I can say I made doing something I love: complaining over the internet and telling people to suck my ass.

I love you all and thank you for remaining dedicated readers for something like 4 years. God Bless America. Actually, I don't believe in God so never mind. Instead, I will leave you with a picture of a young me.



Fuck that cake. 


Atheistjustin Works The Overnight Shifts


Here's a post I wrote a while ago when I was working Overnight Shifts at a local convenience store.

Suck my dirty dick and have a laugh.



On the very first day of work, they tell you not to talk about it on social media. They tell you horror stories of how people who have mentioned company names have lost their jobs or been sued for defacing company images.

I'm not a little bitch though.

I, myself, tweeted about how Tilly's was the only store 13-year old Jewish girls and Mexicans would get together to buy Neff t-shirts and skinny jeans. Somehow this was deemed 'offensive' though Mexicans DO love Neff. I'm not quite sure why, but the Latino community really seems to be into t-shirts with cartoons of emo smiley faces.

They also like speaking in Spanish. I am also unsure of this reason.

I ended up getting fired from Tilly's but fuck that shit hole.

I'm going to break this rule again for this blog post and talk to you about my job.

Now, before I begin, I will go on record here and say that I enjoy my job- about as much as anybody can enjoy a job. Would I rather not spend 8-10 hours there? Of course. Would I rather sit around and get paid to masturbate and talk shit about people I don't like? Of course. That's my dream job: a comedian.


For legal and protective purposes I will refer to my company of employment as "Blah-Blah."

Blah-Blah is a great company and has genuinely impressive benefits for its employees. Blah-Blah offers healthcare, a solid 401k plan, and even an opportunity to invest in the company's private stock.

As a matter of fact, the perks of working at Blah-Blah are so good it makes me consider dropping my dream job of becoming a professional masturbator.

The people I work with are great and are genuinely enthusiastic about going to work. I have a pretty great set of bosses and even though I think one of them has attempted murder to me, I enjoy working with them.

However, there is one aspect of this job I do not enjoy- as a matter of fact I would venture to say that I dislike this aspect. Actually, I fucking hate this horse shit.

Overnight shifts.

Between the odd hours of the night, Blah-Blah continues to operate. Here is where things get interesting.

Perhaps the most fabulous part of Blah-Blah is that it is a place that people actually enjoy going to. As opposed to my previous job, which was run by a human being with the intelligence of a ringworm, people come into Blah-Blah all the time.

All. The. Fucking. Cocksucking. Piece of shit. Whore. Asshole. Time.

People that I know come in. People that I don't know come in. People that I vaguely remember from high school come in.

I think that's the best part of overnights. Sometimes, it'll be 3 in the morning and some random person who barely graduated high school will stumble in.

Often at times I find myself asking, "how the fuck are you still alive?"

On a sidenote, it is good to see that these people are not dead.

On a sidenote-sidenote, I am genuinely surprised.

It's almost depressing to see what happens to people after high school. You know what they become? Nothing. Some of them get pregnant. Some of them die. Most of them becoming boring and watching their snapchat stories are more depressing and saddening than an Edgar Allan Poe short story.

That's right. You are all nothing. I am amazing. I am motherfuckin atheistjustin. Bitch, I am a writing, blogging, music recording, slut-slaying, shit-talking, Jew-speaking, life-living, entertaining God amongst men and even though I am making your sandwich behind the deli of Blah-Blah whilst wearing rubber gloves I am still your motherfucking Lord.

Bow down before me bitches.

Also, shouts out to the African gentleman with the sweet Afro who told me he reads my blog. You are handsome. I can't believe black people read this piece of shit website.

Moving on, overnights are a challenging shift. Mainly because you are supposed to be working at a time period where everyone you know is asleep and the sun won't rise for several hours. The only people who may come into your workplace at this hour are either going to kill you or purchase some odd items.

Working an overnight shift is like being a prostitute: you're up all night, you're working weird hours, you have to deal with weird people, and at some point in the night you're going to get fucked in the ass.

The usual customers for these shifts include: intoxicated young adults, high people, murderers, robbers, homeless people, delivery guys, truck drivers, and a Chinese tai-kwan-do master who practices Tai-Chi at 4:45am every day.

The sheer amount of tasks that are done during this time is actually baffling and the shift does go by fast. But it does get incredibly irritating when you have to stop what you're doing because some guy named "Fuckboy" came into the store high as shit and really wanted a chicken quesadilla.

Also people, stop getting your sandwiches toasted. First of all, it completely ruins the sandwich. Why the fuck do you want your turkey to be hot? What the fuck is wrong with you?

If you get mayonnaise on your sandwich and toast it, you are not someone we need on this planet. 

Though, because the hours are odd, the people who come in are odd and often leave me with a nice little story. 

One man came in, drunk as shit, and told me about how Obama is trying to kill off all the jews after he noticed my Hebrew tattoo on my arm. 

It was truly amazing.

Another guy came in once and asked me if I knew how to get a divorce. First of all sir, I am an 19-year old working the overnight deli at blah-blah. Why the fuck would I know more about divorce than you? Also, why are you here at 4 in the morning wondering about divorces?

One of my favorite situations was when a girl came into Blah-Blah so high that I had to order her macaroni and cheese for her. She was unable to click buttons. I would like to point out that she drove a vehicle down a high way to get to my store. She later operated this piece of heavy machinery again when she left the store.

How she did not die I am unaware, but good job. 










Friday, November 6, 2015

Atheistjustin Talks About His Job

Looks like its another bullshit night in suck city aka a night where I will be in my dorm wearing underwear and socks as I jerk off aimlessly and watch Netflix documentaries on whale intercourse because my roommate decided to visit his girlfriend in Quinnipiac and "get laid."

Did I spell the name of that school right?

Who gives a shit.

This isn't the first nor will it be the last time I have nothing to do and instead of being productive and doing school work, I'd rather beat off to amateur bukkake and write an angry blogpost to make white people say, "LOL" to other whites.

Fuck you. LOL.

Whatever.

Anyway, I just busted a nut and now I'm angry. This usually is what happens after orgasming- you can ask all of my ex girlfriends.

On a side note, I took some time today to realize that most of my ex girlfriends have blocked me on twitter, Facebook, instagram, and snapchat but at the end of the day I jizzed in your mouth so whose the real winner here?

Girls, you can talk shit about me, block me, make fun of me with your girlfriends, or do whatever else you want- but you can never unsuck my dick.

Hi mom, bet you're really glad you opened up this blog post!

Sometimes the hardest part about having this blog is knowing that I shouldn't advertise it on social media because my parents will probably read it. But at the same time I'm a 19-year old grown ass adult and my penis has been places.

Hi Grandma.

So, anyway, I wanted to tell you all the story of my current occupation. Now, I've already written a small tidbit about my job at a bar where I am the bitchboy who does dishes and cuts lemons, but I want to tell you about my other job.

Hopefully I don't get fired!! :)

I am an assistant gym teacher at a private school.

Is it a good job? No. But sometimes life gives you lemons and you just have to make lemonade. Sometimes life fucks you in the ass with tuition bills and you're not good looking enough to do porn or act or fulfill your dreams so you take up shitty jobs dealing with children and cry yourself to sleep every night with underwear full of semen as your roommate anals his girlfriend- but hey man that's just life.

So, I work with these kids, right. They're about 4-7: so they're the worst possible age. They're the age where they can say things and don't shit themselves, but they're loud and hyper and not cute anymore.

When I first got the job, I thought, "Oh, this will be good because I want to be an English teacher (even though I'm not gonna get hired having this fucking blog) and I love kids."

Here's what I think about it now:

FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.FUCK KIDS.


So you can see, my attitude has changed.

I can only imagine how fun its going to be being a parent.

Children at this age are dirty- just fucking dirty. There's one kid that comes into gym, every single day, brown. He's brown. Not like his skin tone- he's brown covered in dirt and some other fucking shit. His shirt and his face are brown and nobody bothers to clean his ass. He's sticky as fuck. I question how he can walk around like this-like, how does this not bother you? He walks around like a little sticky AIDS virus.

That's just one kid- but here's what its like with ALL of these kids.

When you and I have to blow our nose, we excuse ourselves and blow it out. Now, this may be graphic, but it comes out a nice clear color or maybe a little yellow, right?

Not when you're a fucking 5 year old. No. Instead, they just let that shit sit in there- just sit at the edge of their fucking nostrils and they let their snot oxidize and turn green and it just sits there.

And its gym class, so they get hit and then they cry. And then this fucking green substance pours out of their face like diarrhea from my asshole after too much Hansel & Griddle. The green shit mixes with their tears and their spit and combine together to make a substance that I can only describe to you as, "cum."

It's literally cum.

They walk around with little, tiny, cum faces.

Who has to clean up this cum?

This guy.

It's my main job- basically just to clean the cum-like substance on these tiny little 5-year old faces.

It is a grueling job and the other day I was forced to do it whilst under the pain of a hangover so painful it was equivalent to the earthquakes that shattered Pangea.

There's one little shit face I hate.

I fucking hate this little cocksucker.

His name for all intents and purposes is "Fuckhead" because fuck him.

Fuckhead is a shitty kid. He's just a little shit. He shoves kids, he throws tantrums, and instead of listening to reasoning or listening to me when I speak, he stands still and wails.

His screeches sound like the mixture between the sounds of the Holocaust and the sound of the first plane crashing into the twin towers.

I love my job.

There's no calming this fuckhead down, either. Instead, Fuckhead will just go on a rampage and start throwing over coats and chairs. There's absolutely nothing I can do here. I have 0 power. I am as powerless as an African village.

Do you wanna hear what this little Fuckhead said to me the other day?

Do you want to hear what audacity- what blatant disrespect- what fucking bullshit this little Fuckhead tried to pull on me?

He said to me, "the days you work here are my favorite."

FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK YOUUUUUUUUUUUU.

YOU LYING LITTLE FUCKING SHIT YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKHEAD YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO MANIPULATE ME INTO LIKING YOU BY TELLING ME LIES EVEN THOUGH WE ARE BOTH ACUTELY AWARE THAT IF THERE WERE NO 'LAWS' I WOULD HAVE PUNTED YOU ACROSS THIS FUCKING GYM.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK.


Here's a video of me when I see this kid.




I hope it worked for you. I hope the volume was on full. I hope people overheard it.

Well, it's 10pm and I don't know where my children are but I promise you this, I wish this kid was kidnapped. I wish I never had to see this little Fuckhead ever again.

But, alas, next week I'll probably be at it again.

I will leave you all now with a picture of a fat gay man. Why? Because I'm not creative enough to come up with anything else.










Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Atheistjustin Almost Fights An Actual Irishman

Hello readers. Sorry I don't write in this all the time. I have a life.

Just kidding, I'm still masturbating a lot.

Anyway, as you all are probably aware, I am a sophomore at Rutgers University. This school is incredibly unique because of its intense diversity. I truly mean this when I say that Rutgers has a giant  amount of different groups of people.

In all honesty, there are too many groups of people.

There's asians (from Asia), asians (from America), Latinos, blacks, gays, transgenders, orphans, Jews, jehovah's witnesses, europeans, AIDS, people who talk to themselves on the bus, dancers, rapists, and honestly any type of person you can imagine.

Like I said, too many groups. Too many Chinese people.

So, finding an immigrant, or a person from another part of the world, is not uncommon.

It was this past Saturday at Rutgers in which I encountered 3 Irish people. One of whom was looking for a battle.

I was leaving the Michigan State game and though I was surprised my school wasn't decimated into oblivion, I was cold as fuck and my lips were chapped like the vagina lips of Madonna. So I was headed back and about to hop on a bus to get to my campus.

Whilst on line, my former RA (residential assistant) (hall monitor) (she's so beautiful) was behind me. She and I got to chatting and she ended up asking me to sit with her on the bus.

I was amazed she wanted to make words with me and sat down immediately upon her request.

We got off at the stop and she and I continued forward towards Easton Avenue. As we headed in this direction, we passed a bar called The Olive Branch. Currently, I am a part-time associate at this bar and work cleaning and assisting the bartenders. Pretty good gig and it's nice to say that I work in the same bar as my dad.

I'll repeat that again. I work in the same bar as my dad.

I

Work

In

The

Same

Bar

As

The

Man

Who

Fucked

My

Mom

As we passed this bar, 3 people stepped out of it. One was a lady, and the other two were males. The lady saw me and asked, "excuse me where are the bars?" I noticed her accent and asked her where she was  from.

She told me she and her 'mates' were from Ireland. I don't think she was saying that she was going to mate with these men, or in the laymen's term: get railed by these men. I think she meant to say that they were all pals.

(Europeans r gay and weird)

My RA joined in the conversation and said the rest of the bars are on Easton Avenue and they should walk with us since we're headed in the same direction.

The lady and one of the men were drunk- just regular drunk. The third guy, though, was obliterated. This dude was so drunk he was stopping every person on the street and asking them if they had ever seen a real Irishmen before. He said about 40% of his words properly.

I swear to god. He stopped and asked every, single, motherfucking, person.

As we finally (by we I mean myself) got him off of the last two groups of people, he started singing some sort of Irish limerick. The other Irishmen joined in and the obliterated one decided to hug me around the neck, very hard, and continue singing.

I was laughing at them because I didn't really think Irish people sang when they got drunk but holy shit is that a true stereotype. I tried singing one of the Irish limericks my father taught me (anybody whose seen me blackout drunk knows this song), but they were having none of it.

They carried on singing and I thought to myself how I get myself into these situations. I was basically in a headlock in the drunken-arms from a person who was born in Ireland. Does this shit happen to anybody else? Fuck you.

As we were almost at Easton, the obliterated Irishmen let go of me and went over to my Ex-RA. He stopped her and asked if she'd ever seen a real Irishmen before. It was getting weird- like very aggressive.

It was like he was angry and didn't think that she believed him.

Now, I'm not gonna lie, I was scared as shit for my Ex-RA. You see it's a stereotype that men in Ireland beat their wives. If this stereotype is as true as the stereotype of their love to sing, I was fearful for my Ex-RA's face.

I got in the middle and noticed that the 2 other Irish people were walking toward a bar without any acknowledgment of what was happening. What a fucking surprise: the Irish people were making a B-line right to the god damn bar.

I said to him, "hey buddy, your mates are leaving without you!"

He turned around and started stumbling away towards them and my Ex-RA and I went down some side street in order to get far, far away from them.

"Well that went from kind of interesting to extremely frightening."

She laughed and agreed with me and we both acknowledged this as being one of the most odd occurrences in either of our lives.

She ended up going to her girlfriend's house and I left with a kiss on the cheek and a boner in my underwear.

 It was yet another unsuccessful Saturday night in Rutgers University but it was a night I won't forget- and it was a night that Irish guy probably has no recollection of.

I will now leave you a picture of one of the greatest Irish men to ever walk the face of the earth: Liam Neeson.




Sinn Fein, lads.










Monday, September 7, 2015

Atheistjustin Begins Sophomore Year

Fuck you.

God damn it's hot in here. My dorm is roughly the size of Anne Frank's attic- or maybe half the size of Kim Kardashian's closet. Its just big enough that me and my roommate, Dylan, can walk in a single-file line and not have to sleep in the same bed. Sophomore year rocks!

I have finished the first week and many of you are probably wondering, "What are you up to?" Others are probably wondering, "does this kid know what a vagina feels like?"

Fucking sweating is what I'm up to. It is hot as FUCK in this fucking room. There's a wonderful little thermostat on the side of the light switch so I can be constantly reminded that its 87 degrees in the fucking dutch oven that I have to live in.

I am only on the second floor of my building and so I have presumed everybody in the floors above me to be dead.

Other than sweating, I've been spending my time beating the shit out of my roommate in FIFA as his skills are nothing in comparison to the hairy-fuck I had last year (Ethan).

My roommie and I are getting along swimmingly- so swimmingly it's like he's not even here. Because, often, for about 80% of the day, he's not here. Maybe I smell bad. Maybe I should put shorts on- or underwear.

My classes this year are variant: some of them are so easy I think all I have to do is show up. Some others look so difficult I thought lubricant should have come along in the syllabus because I am going to get fucked in the ass.

I have taken a course entitled, "Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace," where we will be reading the 1,300 page epic Russian novel. This book is so fucking massive, if I dropped it on a baby the baby would die. It would be a dead baby. Do you understand? My book is not only a giant piece of literature, it is a weapon. I could kill you with my book.

I'm still sweating.

In addition to sweating, masturbating, FIFA, and school work, I have found my penis and I encountering no partners in the social orgy that is this university. Part of it is due to the fact that I am a giant pussy and don't like talking to people- and another part is that Lauren Sager will never love me.

Damn you Lauren, you beautiful child.

Here's a live pic of my roommate as I write this.




Doesn't he looked THRILLED to be living in a cubicle with me? We're going to get so close this year that our penis heads may end up touching- not in a gay way, but because there is such a small amount of room to move in this tiny box of death that our genitals and bodies may collide together.

I swear I'm not gay. Lauren.

Of course there have been parties and dages and events and all other magnificent college activities, but other than standing around jerking off, not much has really come of anything. Perhaps the most exciting event was running into a girl who is a year younger than me.

Its very weird to see the grade below me come into my University. They were once so beneath me, they were once so insignificant and tiny in comparison to me, and now they are my equal. I mean, nobody will ever be as amazing, or long-cocked as me, but they are in the same living space as me.

I'm not sure where I was going with that- but the tip of my penis is really itchy.

Don't worry, there's definitely no STD because the closest my penis has been the walk to my building past the SDT building.

Haha SDT- STD. What an unfortunate name for a sorority.

One fabulous aspect of my new dorm is that I am in a building which has a big lounge. This lounge is used for studying, hanging out, and playing piano.

That's right. There's a fucking piano in the fucking lounge. Why? I don't fucking know.

Seriously: what the fuck is the point of the piano in the lounge?

"Hey guys, I know you're studying for your Calc 3 exam, but do you wanna hear me practice 'Don't Stop Believing?' OF COURSE YOU FUCKING DO LETS GO"

There's one piece of shit asshole cocksucking faggot douschebag loser whore scumbag jerkoff slutface anus who is ALWAYS IN THE FUCKING LOUNGE PLAYING PIANO AND SINGING. SINGING. SINGING IN THE FUCKING LOUNGE.

GUESS WHAT YOU PIECE OF SHIT ASSHOLE COCKSUCKING FAGGOT DOUSCHEBAG LOSER WHORE SCUMBAG JERKOFF SLUTFACE ANUS, I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU SINGING AS I'M ON THE WAY TO MY 9:50. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

One of these days, I am going to go up to him and scream "SHUT THE FUCK UP" but it will be after I have consumed enough alcohol to not care about how uncomfortable it will be once I see him again.

Coincidentally, there is also always a Jewish person in the lounge. He's a yarmulke wearing Jew, not a subtle jew like myself. I have no problem with yarmulke wearing Jews, I just find it very odd that he is always in the fucking lounge.

Whether he's reading a newspaper, playing scrabble, or just staring at the coupon's in the back of the R.U. Grill menu, he's always in their right next to piece of shit asshole cocksucking faggot douschebag loser whore scumbag jerk slutface anus.

Well boys and girls, I will go to rest my soul as I have a 9:50 tomorrow and it is almost 1 am. I will leave you with a picture of Anne Frank.











Friday, July 24, 2015

Atheistjustin Talks Music

Am I a music critic? No. But I am Jewish and since my people are in control of modern music, that makes me think my opinions have more weight than yours do. So here is a blog post where I talk about music that I like and 5 albums you should listen to.

Look, between you and me, I just want you to know that I care about you. Look, you've been reading these blogs for years. You have taken time out of your sweet vagina-filled life to read words that I assembled in particular order.

This has touched my heart and anus in many ways and I am glad that you can appreciate my humor.

Using both humor and my super-big-giant-penis, I will try and fill your eyeballs and brains with some ideas that may, I don't know, influence you positively in life.

Music is a great force and it is something I truly enjoy. Something about hearing organized noise and poetry is just good for the soul and for the gooch. I am not a doctor, but I am sure there is medical evidence somewhere that the key of C#dim is good for growing ass hairs.

Like most doctors, I base this hypothesis on absolutely no evidence.

By the way, before I give you 5 albums to listen to, I am going to throw my plug in for my own album.

To All The Part Time Lovers is a collection of songs I have written based on females who have let me enter their vaginas and the experiences I have faced as a growing lad.

When I release this, (most likely using soundcloud or some free pussy hipster shit) I will, of course, write a blog more in detail about it. I will probably also Facebook message you so you can take a listen and then judge my singing and make fun of me with your friends.

Shout out to Ethan Siegel aka HairyChestGod.

Without Further Apoo:



1. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles

Have you ever seen an album-ranking done by Rolling Stone or MTV or pretty much anyone? This album is usually number one. If you haven't listened to it, it's probably because you're a black person and nobody has ever encouraged you to listen to the music of old, pasty white people.

This album was made in 1967 and to this day you can hear a song from this album being played, talked about, rehearsed, or sung in a car by a lonely asian boy on any given day at any given time at any given place.

If you haven't listened to it, take an hour of your life to listen to something made almost 50 years ago using 'actual instruments.'

Also think about how hard it was to make this shit. Every flute, trumpet, trombone, drum, bass, guitar, organ, singer, oboe, clavichord, violin, cello, piano, etc. was done using an actual instrument and a real musician who had to fucking play that shit.

This shit wasn't done using ProTools 11 like Drake and Q might be doing. These 'hot ass beats' weren't made from a skinny 36 year old wearing Dr. Dre Beat headphones. This is really good music made by really good musicians and a guy named Ringo.



2. To Pimp A Butterfly by Kendrick Lamar

A lot of people did not like this album because they wanted to hear "Good Kid M.a.a.d. City 2." This album is very different. Kendrick didn't beat around the bush and say, 'Hm... how can I get these white people to start singing my shit.' Instead, Kendrick went into the studio and said, "Fuck you, fuck your face, fuck you if you don't understand me." He also did this very nicely.

Kendrick Lamar used profound and deep poetic lyricism in order to craft not only an album that aggressively spoke volumes about modern and past black culture, but was able to also continue a narrative structure by continuing the phrases, "I remember you was conflicted, misusing your influence..."

I'm sorry if I lost you a little bit in that last paragraph, I'm an English major.

If you got this album, listened to the first 5-6 songs and then quit on it after one listen, you're doing it wrong. In order to really appreciate this album you have to 'listen' to it. That doesn't mean have it on in the background while your parents are in the other room filming bukkake and you're busy trying to block out any noises.

Sit down, give yourself an hour, maybe play some FIFA, maybe take your pants off, and really dive into this lyrical genius.



3. Born Sinner by J. Cole

If you don't already have this album- stop being a pussy and get it.

J. Cole is a name I've heard for a long time but neglected to actually listen to. It wasn't for any particular reason, I just had no motivation to go and listen to new rap at the time. I was probably too busy masturbating.

Cole not only was able to make some sweet bangers and genuinely, tonally appealing songs, but was able to also deliver a message to his listeners speaking against greed and materialism and confessing his own inadequacies and insecurities in relation to his fame, success, and fortune.

Cole uses religion, a thing I am not particularly fond of, to actually serve a good purpose for what may be the first time in human history. Cole creates a chorus, harmonic, and religious undertone which is able to reach demographics beyond the typical rap audience.

This album is a true masterpiece and his following album 2014 Forrest Hill Drive continued a career of stellar music without losing his unique sound and without becoming redundant.

Though the album is long by the end of it you will want there to be more.



4. X by Ed Sheeran

I'm going to admit that I thoroughly enjoy Ed Sheeran. The reason being is that he did not get famous or successful, like most pop singers do, by using his attractiveness or good looks.

Unlike Justin Bieber or Nicki Minaj, Ed Sheeran wasn't able to come out as a 'hot dude' or 'girl with a giant ass' and sell copies by selling sex. Ed Sheeran is ugly and he used to be pretty fat.

Ed Sheeran got famous the good old fashioned way: by having talent. I used to sit and watch his videos of his live performances or recordings and his use of the loop pedal and harmonious, multi-layered, self-made beats are entertaining and impressive.

In this album, Sheeran gets a little sappy and love-dovey at times, which definitely throws me off as a heterosexual man. But some songs like "Runaway" or "Don't" really get me moving, man. They get me in the mood to go out and dance. And then after I finish that dance I'll drive home by myself and go into my room alone and then remember that I'm probably going to die without anybody caring about me so I'll throw on a different record from this album and cry hysterically in the fetal position whilst massaging my own asshole for 36.6 minutes.

So if you haven't checked out this album, I recommend it. Also, I enjoy the "Don't Remix" which features Rick Ross.

Rick Ross and Ed Sheeran made a song together. Again proving my point that there probably is no god.



5. Duke Ellington & John Coltrane by Duke Ellington & John Coltrane

This is an album you probably don't have. I find that not many, if any, people in my area are jazz listeners. I will explain to you, briefly, the importance and power of jazz music.

First of all, you should listen to jazz because it will make you a smarter person. It is music that you listen to when you are relaxing, when you are at ease. When your mind is clear and empty and you have room to think about fucking your ex-girlfriend in the ass, play some jazz.

Ron Swanson doubles as a secret jazz saxophonist, Duke Silver. If that's not enough to get you into jazz, I don't think there's anything I can do to change your mind.

Jazz is an impressive art form because most of it is improvisation and musicians must work together, working off of each other, in order to create a symmetrical, even, and enjoyable sound.

Sometimes this rule of making music sound nice is broken with jazz, especially when you listen to something like John Coltrane's A Love Supreme. But with this album, the melodious and soothing sound of Coltrane's horns are patterned well with Ellington's charming and elegant piano playing.

Heres's what you're going to do with this album.

When you get it, you are going to wait until a night where you are driving home by yourself. Let's make the time of day about dawn, so the sun is setting and you're about to head home after a long day of fisting your uncle's pet fish.

Put on the song, "In A Sentimental Mood" and really drink in the sounds and feelings that are going on here. If you find yourself not enjoying this song or what it's doing to your poorly-sized brain, make sure to steer into the other side of the road and kill yourself you piece of shit.

Of course, this album may not be for you and maybe the collaboration album of these two individuals is a bad place to start with jazz. But I encourage you, reader, to experience jazz at least once.

Well, children, that is all for you today. I will leave you now with a picture of my upcoming album. Make sure you tell all your friends and family. Eat my ass.




















Monday, June 22, 2015

Atheistjustin Goes to Firefly

Shit directly on my cock. I just returned home less than 9 hours ago and after falling into an 8 hour coma-like state, I have the vigor and vitality to write about this shitty, mind and body destroying experience.

First I will explain to my readers that I went to the Firefly Music Festival for 1 reason only: Sir James Paul McCartney. Do I give a fuck about the Kooks? Not really. Do I want to see DJ Mustard? No. I Fucking hate mustard I'd rather see DJ Horseradish.

I have loved the Beatles since I found them at 6. I was watching cartoons on the floor of the halfway house my mom was living in, at the time, and a commercial came on for a new Beatles CD set.

I had never heard anything like it before because at this point I had grown up mainly in the ghetto and all my mom ever played was rap or the Grateful Dead. The Grateful Dead may sound awesome when you're stoned out of your fucking mind, but to a 4-year old its incredibly confusing and pretty awful.

Anyway, right after I saw the commercial I found my mom and asked her to get me that CD and a week or so later my grandparents and my mom had showered me in Beatles CD's. Ever since then, I have been listening to the Beatles, religiously, every single day for 13 years.

I have Beatle posters, vinyls, fucking dolls. I have motherfucking Beatles dolls. They were $35 each. There are 4 Beatles.

I am fucking crazy.

Anyhow, I wasn't going to go to Firefly until my friend told me she had a ticket to sell. I asked my mom to go halvsies with the ticket and soon enough I started day dreaming about seeing that old fucking Walrus.

So Thursday afternoon I ventured forth. Some of my friends were already there or also going but I didn't want to go with anybody else. Firstly, I really had no desire to have to deal with waiting for anybody else. I wanted to go when I wanted to go.

I didn't even get a tent, I just decided I would sleep in my car like a recently separated husband.

The drive to Delaware was okay but fucking fuck me in the ass were there a lot of tolls. The big issue I had was the amount of tolls, not the amount of money. There were literally 5 fucking times I had to stop and pay a bullshit amount of money like 50 cents.

How the fuck is 50 cents doing anything for anybody except successfully pissing my dick off?

In retrospect I should have just taken my grandma's EZ-Pass because I doubt she would have even noticed that it was gone.

Eventually, I pulled into the festival area and immediately saw thousands of white people as far as the eye could see. They were all loud and incredibly drunk and high.




The walk from where I parked to the gate was so long I felt like a Jew following the Hebrews and Moses to the promised land every time I walked over. I actually had to cross a fucking bridge- it was ridiculous.

The sheer amount of people I saw was insane. There were literally 90,000 people and looking at all the sluts in tiny bathing suits and white guys with no shirts on, I realized this one very fact:

I hate people.

They're so gay.

My first day I kind of explored the area and walked around by myself as I silently judged the strange human beings I passed. It's almost sad to see how badly people crave attention. Don't get me wrong, I was an attention-deprived slut when I was 15-16, but I'm an adult now and I can understand that the time for loud noises and stupid shirts are in the past.

I met up with some slutty friends and eventually ditched them to go see the Kooks by myself.

The great thing about the Kooks is the lead singer. Though every other english singer loses their accent when they sing, this fucking dude has a thicker accent when he sings.

They put on a solid show but the ground was so fucking wet and muddy that my shoes looked as if I had dug them deep into Kim Kardashian's asshole by the end of their set.



After the show, I immigrated back to my car and slept inside which was really hard to do because everybody outside decided they needed to be loud as shit and talk, very voluminously, about the drugs and alcohol they were doing.

One dumb bitch even came up to my car window and knocked to see if anyone was inside.

Yes you fucking idiot there is someone inside.

Me.

I was sleeping.

Dumb bitch.

After a painful night, I awoke to the sheering sun shining directly through my car windshield into my cornea. This was a terrific way to start my day at 8:30am.

In the morning I looked for something to eat and somewhere to get coffee which took me about 35 minutes because nobody took fucking debit cards because we were in the middle of a bunch of fucking tents and a shitty forest.

Eventually I found a functioning ATM and got a 3$ cup of bullshit and an 8$ sausage, egg, and cheese burrito which tasted like it was crafted from the old pubic hairs of Bob Dylan and pieces of rat shit. I ate it anyway.

I waited on a line for 10 minutes to take a "shower." I use this term loosely because I would have much rather been showered in semen and used the jizzum of 300 men to clean myself than this tiny water pump on the side of the road.

I hate hippies.

At least a homosexual man was kind enough to be handing out free samples of Garnier-Fructis shampoo packets.

By 9:45 I decided I would head over to the gate and begin my journey to see Paul.

The gates didn't open until 12, so it was just myself and maybe a dozen other die hard fans getting ready to sprint to the front of the main stage.

I spent about 2 hours watching the clouds and talking to this guy from Connecticut who must have been about 45. I also met this guy named Bailey who was nice enough to actually help me get to the front of the check-in line.

Before we got to the check in, I was informed that I couldn't bring my sunblock because it was the spray as opposed to the lotion. This is a massive load of horse shit, if you ask me.

As soon as they scanned by wristband I ran as fast and as hard as my shitty lungs would allow me and made it to the very front of the main stage. I would remain at this exact spot for 12 hours.

To some people, they may think I am exaggerating when I say this.

No people.

I stood in this same spot.

For 12 fucking hours.

I spent 2 school days standing in the same spot talking to the people around me, listening to random bands, and fighting off crowds of people trying to get in front of me, just for Paul McCartney.

In the process, I suffered extreme dehydration, severe sunburn on my shoulders, a semi-ruptured eardrum, anxiety, rectal bleeding, strained calf muscles, and exhaustion just for Paul McCartney.

I had to sit through 4 other acts. I will now judge and review these performances.

The first was OK, at best. I don't remember their name but they were the group that sings that shitty song "there's no place I'd rather be." The violinist was pretty cool and you could tell he probably gets the most ass out of the rest of the group.

The rest of the group is also female so that may be why.

Manchester Orchestra played after and though I thought they would be an actual Orchestra, the band played pretty well and the lead singer/guitar player was great and kind of funny. He reminded me of myself even though he was about a foot taller than me and had a giant beard.

Following them was Cage The Elephant, a band I had known only because John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin had been in the band at one point in time. Unfortunately for myself, JPJ was not there but the lead singer dove into the crowd directly on top of me and I had to carry his skinny, sweaty body and hold him up like a loud, angry baby.

They were perhaps the most entertaining act of the day especially when you consider the asshole piece of shit faggot I'm about to tell you about.

I don't know if any of you know who Morrisey is, but this piece of shit was undoubtedly the worst performance I have ever seen.

First off, I would like to address these few things about Mr. Fuckboy.

1. He attempts to do this "haha, I'm weird and do strange things look at me I'm so weird" act by playing old and random videos before he started playing. This was annoying and contributed 0 entertainment value. He also did this act poorly.

2. Every fucking thing he sang sounded the motherfucking exact motherfucking same. His lyrics were terrible, actually awful. I like to think that I am not a pretentious person; but I could absolutely write better lyrics than this fucking retard.

3. His last song, "Meat Is Murder" is his pussy song about how we should all be vegetarians (a lifestyle that I highly disagree with). Accompanied with this song were videos of slaughterhouses with animals being cut open and be-headed. These videos were old as shit so they were incredibly gruesome and gory.

Listen, I get the whole idea of being a vegetarian. I get it. I don't agree with it-  but I get it. But showing a bunch of fucked up videos to 90,000 people, who are all here to see Paul McCartney, is a low-class, pathetic attempt to get a reaction out of people.

Morrissey is an asshole and a shitty artist and I'm really pissed off that I have to go the rest of my life knowing that he exists. I'm going to be so happy when he dies.

After that final challenge, Paul McCartney took the stage at 10pm and I burst into tears like a little girl. I took a video which I may have e-mailed to Paul's Manager.

He still hasn't replied.

Nevertheless, It was a great moment in my life- the greatest, really.

The man may be in his 70's but he can still, sing, play, and perform like it's 1964 baby. He did a lot of Beatles music, some Wings, some of his new shit, and brought a fan on stage.

I was kind of disappointed that Paul didn't pick me out of the crowd to go on stage and get my phone number and call me after the show and invite me to hang out with him and travel the world with him as his side kick- but whatever.

After Paul ended I figured this would not be the last time I'd be seeing him. I also really, really had to fucking pee. It had been about 14 hours of me waiting in total, and since it was almost 90 degrees, I drank a shitload of water.

The piss I took behind someone's tent was perhaps the most glorious stream of urine my young eyes have ever witnessed extend from my penis hole.

While driving back home, I thought about how much I had truly spent on this fucking shit.

In total I spent:

$300 on a ticket
$40 on overnight parking
$25 on bullshit food and water
$20 on sunblock that I had to fucking throw out
$30 on tolls

So, if you add that all up, I spent about an ass fucking and a half. But, in all sincerity, I would have spent 2 ass fuckings and a jizz shower to see Sir Paul. It was a truly life-enhancing experience.

By the time I got home, it was 4am and I'n not really sure how I didn't crash on the middle of the Turnpike because I was so tired from the hours of standing in the roasting sun that it was incredibly difficult to keep my eyes open while driving.

To this day, I still have the fucking parking sticker stuck on my car and the piece of shit won't come off.

I leave you all now with a picture of the Beatles dolls I brought up earlier. I know you tried to ignore that information, but I am a crazy person and want to show you all that you have been reading the words of an insane person.















Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Atheistjustin Becomes Mexican

Work sucks. That's why its called work and not fun-happy-sweet-money-time. There are some people who love their jobs and/or careers and these are people with minor forms of psychosomatic depression and mild to moderate schizophrenia.

Yes. I used autocorrect to spell those words right.

Anyway, after coming back home from getting fucked in the ass by my first year of college, I went a-lookin' for some currency. What I found was an ass fucking so grand, my anus may never fully recover.

I found myself working, outside, with Joe and Asshole on my uncle's lawn. We were mulching. For those who don't know what 'mulching' is, it is the process of picking up dirt and putting on top of other dirt. It is literally a shitty job.

Shit.

Shitty.

Job.

Poop.

Wood Chips of Shit.

After 14 hours of hard labor, Joe and I were pretty wiped out but since our days outside were nice, I kind of enjoyed the time. I include myself and Joe in those hours because Asshole was only around for 4 of them.

What about the other 10?

He didn't show up. Fucking Asshole.

Whilst working, the neighbors were getting their trees trimmed. The man who was trimming the branches was also the same person who had delivered the mulch to my uncle and the two of them got to talking.

I was currently unemployed, so when he asked my uncle if I was looking for work, I quickly responded with a yes. I figured it would be really cool to finally be outside, working in the sun doing real manly work. I've been working shitty jobs at the mall, making outfits for 15-year old girls since I was a wee-lad and I was dying for a change. I honestly could not handle spending another summer picking out shoes and opening dressing rooms for fat white people.

Working at the mall is almost as bad as being in the holocaust. I'm not going to give you a funny analogy that explains how, I'm just going to tell you that. Are you okay with that? No? Go fuck yourself, reader.

So there I was, hard working man Justin C. Hawthorne. I was ready for action baby. I went for my interview with a polo, some dress pants, and a pair of black loafers. I had assumed this would be a regular interview.

I was incorrect in this prior assumption.

I pulled up to the scene- down a long ass country road in the middle of MidFuckNowhere City. I pulled into a driveway and looked ahead at the massive pastures of absolute-nothingness. There were a fuckload of chickens and these things my boss referred to as 'guinea-hens' which slightly offended me as I am 15% Italian.

Sidenote- I am also 15% Korean.

Sidenote-Sidenote - I am also 15% full of shit.

The whole place smelt like sweat, men, and gasoline. Look out for my next dramatic short story entitled, "Getting Fucked In The Ass On A Farm While It Smells Like Shit."

Taking a tour of the area, I felt horribly out of place in my 'Jewfit.' This is my nick name for a "Jewish outfit." What is a jewish outfit? White shirt, black pants, black shoes, black belt, black yarmulke. Once you add the tie it becomes a pledge uniform, but if you don't, you're a full blown Latke-Lovin' Hasid.

I figured this would be a formal interview and he'd sit me down and ask me about my prior work experience. Instead, he gave me a tour of the farm.

There were mountains of shit. Tons and tons of mulch covered the area and there were giant trucks and pieces of heavy machinery.

My boss explained to me as we were going through the farm,

"Yeah, you could die at pretty much every step of the job. From the drive to the job, to handling the machinery, you could die at anytime."

Couldn't wait to start.

My boss proceeded to tell me a sweet story of one guy who was on his phone while chopping some wood and ended up losing his fucking finger. The moral of that story was: don't work here.

We hopped in a truck, which my boss promptly and repetitively explained costed $80,000, and drove off in hopes that I could get a feel of how it drove. Driving this thing is about as much fun as driving a rusty lawnmower over a hill of human feces.

It was slow, it was ugly, it was literally full of shit. I went to someone's driveway and uncomfortably backed this giant death machine up to the top and then deposited a massive, steaming pile of mulch.
This part of the job was the part I was most comfortable with since leaving a pile of shit on someone's lawn is something I am well-versed in.

My first few days were alright and the weather wasn't too bad. I drove some shit. I brought some bundles of sticks to the giant wood chipper and thought about diving myself into a very exciting death.

The highlight, I think, was when I had a job in Old Bridge. On the drive back, I cut through Englishtown (where many of my friends live) and even passed my old Middle and Elementary schools.

As I drove a giant truck, with 2 Mexicans, while listening to Spanish Radio, carrying tree-trimming shit, I never could have imagined someone telling the 14-year old Justin Hawthorne that he would one day be doing this.

On a sidenote, Spanish songs all sound the fucking same. Every. Single. One. They are all the fucking same I don't care what you say. Viv, I know you're probably reading this. You can't tell me I'm wrong. This shit is all the same.

Mexican food has the same ingredients.

Mexican music has the same rhythm and key.

Mexican drugs are all powders.

Mexicans are uncreative.

After a while, the work started wearing upon my soul and I was exhausted. On top of my allergies causing me to sneeze blood, I was tired from the constant pushing of tree trunks and various other machinery and equipment. This shit is awful. The Mexicans who worked with me are truly very strong, and strong headed men, but by God can I not do this.

They were some pretty nice guys and kept calling me Justin Beiber. The only other time someone called me Justin Beiber was when I told a Korean vacationer my name was Justin and he asked to take a picture with me.

Non-whites are weird.

The gentlemen at the farm have been working there for 15 years. I lasted 4 days.

I found myself with a different job opportunity in a fantastically air-conditioned area so I decided to say fuck trimming trees. I came to this realization that these immigrants have no other choice but to work jobs like these which do not require legal citizenship and taxable income.

But, since I was born here, I can work other places. Places with air conditioning- places with out giant heaps of shit- places where my chances of death aren't at every turn. Places like Wawa.

I leave you all now with a picture of me for a change, as well as a selfie I took with my Mexican comrades while driving them back home.












Monday, May 4, 2015

Atheistjustin Does Some Shit

It's been a while. I've been busy snap chatting Ethan's hairy ass and fingering my girlfriend (Joe Sada). I'd like to fill everyone in on the shit I've been up to.

Well, college is almost over. My class class is taking place as I write this blogpost and you can clearly tell that I really, really give a shit about 19th century black drama by the fact that I'm writing a blogpost in class.

Sidenote- this class kind of smells like weed.

I recently became a Brother of the Pi Kappa Alpha Fraternity AKA Pike. I am now a Frat boy and I can't wait to spend all of next semester wearing tiny shorts and boat shoes. Phi, Phi boys.

I watched the Manny Pacquaio/Floyd Mayweather fight and for everyone that follows me on twitter, you know that I was a huge Pacquaio supporter even though I'm not 100% sure on how to spell his name.

The interesting thing about this fight is that both contenders speak, at all times, as if they had just gotten the shit beaten out of them. This is because one of them is from the Philippines and has an accent, and the other one is borderline Autistic.

Floyd Mayweather is so dumb I think I could have a more intellectual conversation with my brother, Christopher. He's 2 years old and the only things he can say are: "Ball," "Bahney," and "Nigga."

I didn't teach him that last one.

Anyway, like the rest of us, I was pretty disappointed when the 38-year old kindergartener won the fight. But what really aggravates me isn't that he won, it's the fact that he has supporters.

My girlfriend Joe, who has appeared on this website more than he has appeared in Church, supported Mayweather before the fight. I asked him why and he said, "have you seen his instagram? He's so rich!"

Joe also supported Mayweather because they have the same IQ. 7. It's not Joe's fault that he's stupid. His head is the size of a peanut. A peanut, for those who don't know (Mayweather), is a small nut. Subsequently, Joe also has small nuts.

Back to the point: just because someone is wealthy doesn't mean you should support them. Hitler was pretty fucking wealthy, but I don't think Neo-Nazis support him because Hitler had nice cars.

Bill Gates is pretty fucking wealthy, but I don't see lots of inner-city black kids tweeting: "Bill Gates Tho *emojis* *fire* *100*

Sidenote- my classroom is starting to smell more and more like weed.


Bill Gates is a role model to people not because he is supremely wealthy, but because he is a good person. Bill Gates has literally given away billions of dollars to helping the world and even though Bill Gates has enough money to purchase most of Africa, he still wears white New Balances.

Real billionaires and/or role models are humble, have humility, and are really, really, really smart in the brain area.

I will probably never be a billionaire. And neither will Floyd Mayweather.

Getting back to how my life is going:

My birthday is next week and I will turn the big 19. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I will finally be able to buy cigarettes even though I have never smoked a cigarette a day in my life.

My moms smokes more than a 19th century railway train and because of this I have never contemplated smoking a boagie.

For those who don't know, 'boagie' is the term white people in my town call cigarettes. These people are not well educated.

But now that I'm 19, maybe I'll buy a pack and take a drag. I'll probably throw up a little and cry, but it's always fun to try something new.

Sidenote- this classroom smells dank as fuck and I think I have a slight high while sitting in this class. I just realized that my teacher is wearing crocs. Why are you wearing Crocs, sir?

In all sincerity, since I'm a blogging, chino-wearing, guitar-playing hipster, the fact that I don't smoke is almost surprising. I probably would be a smoker if I had enough money to afford cigarettes.

I'm still not quite sure how poverty-stricken homes are able to afford to smoke. Like, if you can't pay your electricity bill, how are you paying for the pack of Marlboro's every day? What the fuck? Huh?

I'll leave you all now with a picture of William Henry Gates. Feel free to send me chocolates or bottles of mayonnaise for my birthday next week.






Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Atheistjustin Teaches Joe Not To Fuck With Him


This is an older story that I had up on my website, atheistjustin.com. In honor of April Fool's, I figured today would be a solid opportunity to bring it back.




About 2 weeks ago, my friend startled me at work. I was pouring myself some coffee, nice and innocently, just minding my own business. My pussy friend named Joe comes up behind me and startles me. He laughed and I told him “it’s on.” He laughed, thinking the situation was over then, but oh no Joe, this had just begun. 

You do not scare atheistjustin.

Last week, I was wearing a gorilla suit around school chasing my friend who was in a Banana suit. Before you ask anymore questions, I’ll explain that it was for spirit week in my school and my high school has no ‘rules.’


 

 
That’s me on the left; I love my eyes in this pic.

With my gorilla suit, I decided to exact my revenge on Joe. His shift at work was 7 o’clock and my plan was to put on the gorilla suit and scare the living shit out of him. I waited in my car for 40 minutes for my goddam boss to leave, as I did not want her sweetness to get caught in the crossfire.

Joe texted me that she left and I told him I’d be over in 15 minutes.

I went in, I had the suit on, I had my camera ready, I went right in, went to the register and-

Joe didn’t give a fuck.

He asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

No fear.

40 minutes of my life wasted.
40 God damn minutes. 

I was in a giant gorilla suit full of sweat and sadness for 40 minutes and it meant nothing. I was so angry, and this only fueled my desire to scare the shit out of Joe even more. I was on a quest, a mission to fuck with this kid.

Sunday night, as I was closing up work, I told Joe that I was feeling bored, I wanted to do something insane that made me feel alive. I told Joe, “I’m 17 and I’ve wasted half my life on twitter. Let’s go do something insane. Let’s break something. Let’s set something on fucking fire! Let’s… let’s go to New York right now at 7:30 and get there at 9. We can stay till 4 a.m. and go to school right after. Let’s go!”

Joe told me I was fucking insane and that he was too busy studying to do anything like that. I went home, feeling disappointed. But I didn’t tell Joe I went home. Instead, it was time to get my revenge.

Around 8:30 I texted Joe saying I was on the bus headed to NY. He didn’t believe me so I googled “inside of bus at night.” I found a picture. I sent it to him.



He bought it and texted me “NO FUCKING WAY.”

I wrote back, “Phones on 6%, hope I don’t die lol.”

Joe grew concerned for my well-being, but this was not enough to feel fully justified.

Around 9:30, I realized that by now my mom would have grown concerned to my absence. Deciding to make this plan much more complex and much more interesting, I took my mom’s phone.

I said, “Hey, its Meleah, Justin’s mom. Are you with him? Do you know where he is? He’s not answering my calls or texts.”

Joe then texted and called me, “Call me” “answer me” “Your mom called me wtf do I do”

He wrote back to my mom, really me, saying, “I don’t know where he is.”

I then used my mom’s phone to let him know that I was still alive. I wrote, as my mom, “He just called me from someone else’s phone- He’s in the city!?!?!?! WTF!?!”

Joe’s reaction, “You have an odd boy.”

I let Joe relax for a minute, I figured I’d give the kid a break.

Around 11 o’clock, I text Joe, “Hey, you still awake?”

He says, “of course.”

I told him, “I’m in a club in Manhattan. I met this guy Brad on the bus, he’s showing me around the city.”

Joe began to freak out and said, “WTF?! How? Don’t trust this Brad guy, he’s going to rape you!?”

I told him, “Joe, he’s just like you! He wants to meet you! You shoulda came!”

Concerned still, Joe said, “Just be careful. Don’t die.” He then asked me, “How are you getting home?”

I told him, “There’s a bus scheduled to come back to NJ around 2 a.m. so I’ll hang out and take that one. No worries.”

Joe told me once again to not die and I let him go to sleep.

At 6 in the morning, now Monday, I texted Joe.

"Joe Help me."

"I don’t know where I am or how I got here."

"I can’t remember anything after midnight, I think I was drugged!"

Joe is a piece of shit and his school starts at 8:30, so he sleeps until 8:25. Therefore, it was not UNTIL 8 that he wrote back. By this time I was already in class.

He texts me, “are you okay!? Where are you?!”

I wrote back, “I’m on the bus home now. I don’t know what happened after midnight, I woke up on the bus bench waiting for the bus. My condom is missing and… oh my god, is this a tattoo!?”

I got a girl in my English class to sign her name on me





I told him I had no idea who Gabrielle was.

Joe told me I was crazy and that maybe I got raped or had sex with a girl named Gabrielle and just didn’t remember it. Either way, Joe wasn’t all that scared. What I had done, was successfully convinced Joe that I went into NY, got roofied, and had a crazy fucking night.

After a few hours, I decided this wasn’t enough. I had to legitimately SCARE THE FUCKING SHIT out of this pussy. How was I going to do it? I had to get him involved.
I thought about what would scare Joe most in this world. The only thing Joe loves is his dog Max (whom he has anal sex with) and money (which he also has sex with). Realizing Joe cares more about his money than his dog, I had a plan.

I took a friend’s phone in my class and changed their contact name to ‘Brad.’ I then sent THESE messages to myself and then sent them to Joe.







 
Joe was terrified. Why? Because 7 Victoria hill is NOT my address. Instead, it is Joe’s.

So, when Joe texted me, he was fucking pissed off and terrified. He wrote, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THIS GUY KNOWS WHERE I LIVE? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO FUCKING INVOLVE ME IN THIS? I DIDN’T EVEN FUCKING GO WITH YOU! TELL HIM ITS NOT YOUR ADDRESS.”

I told Joe, “I can’t give him a different address he’ll think I’m lying! You gotta give me $250 to pay him back! Please Joe, just give me the money I’ll pay you back!”

Joe denied me access to his money and continued to freak out more. I asked him how scared he was and he said “very.”
According to Joe, he was in the middle of a test while this was going on and couldn't remotely concentrate. 

At this point, my entire class and even my teacher laughed at Joe’s suffering and it was here that I knew my job was done. 

I had successfully infiltrated Joe’s head and convinced him of this: I went to NY at 8:30 last night, stayed until 8:30 the following morning, met a guy named ‘Brad’ who roofied me, got a girl’s signature on my ribs, lost my condom, and now had to pay back this ‘Brad’ $250 or else he was going to go to Joe’s house and kill him.

I called Joe and left a message. I told him, “Joe, there was no New York. I never met Brad- I never did any of that stuff. It was all me. Don’t you ever fucking startle me at work you piece of shit. I am fucking insane. I am a crazy person. I will get my revenge, Joe.”

After I left him this message I knew it would take him an hour or so to hear it. You see, in Joe’s school, they actually have 'rules' and can't blatantly be on their phone in the middle of class. How much does that suck?

After about an hour and a half, he texted me back simply saying: “That was planned amazingly.”

You’re goddam right Joe. Atheistjustin got his revenge and I taught Joe not to fuck with me. 



Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Atheistjustin is Looking For Writers

Are you funny? Do you hate yourself? Do you have one nipple? Have you ever killed a man? If you have answered yes to any of these questions, I want you.

Now, yes, I have built myself and this website with my own blood, sweat, and semen. But now, after almost 4 years, I would really like to open it up to other people.

There are a lot of people (mostly teenage girls) who have asked, "can you write a blog about me?" Usually, I offer these girls to have sex with me in exchange for having a cool story about them, but that generally ends up with me losing another reader.

A few months ago, I posted something my friend JewishWonder wrote. It was kinda funny and since I was too lazy to write my own post, I figured fuck it, I'll put it up.

I had to edit it a little bit to make it more Atheistjustin-esque, but generally the whole thing was written by him.

So now, people of the Atheistjustin community, I invite you to write a blogpost. Write about anything.

Did you have a shitty day at work? Did your roommate walk in on you masturbating? Did you have sex with a hot 19-year old only for her father to come home at 2 in the morning? Is your car a danger to yourself and everyone else on the road?

Whatever it is you think might be funny, or entertaining, I invite you to write it out and then send it to me.

I will judge your work based on this criteria:

1. Did it make me laugh?
2. Did it use the words nipples, semen, or mention sexual terms?
3. Would I recommend it to my friend?
4. Would my mom retweet it? (My mom will always retweet it)
5. Is Bill Cosby a rapist?

This is a sincere offer I have and will continue to run on this blog for as long as it, or I, exist.

For serious inquiries you can e-mail me at

whosteen1@gmail.com

Put your name in the subject and put your text/submission in the text box of the email. I don't want to download your shitty attachment.

If you have my phone number, feel free to text me "hey Atheistjustin, I wanna send u a pic of my dog from last halloween." And then send me a blogpost.

For those of you who have always wanted to be like me (Nicolette Lopocaro), here's a chance to be just that. You can also share a link to your blogpost to all your friends and hopefully none of your family because I highly doubt Grandma is going to want to hear this shit.





Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Atheistjustin Has Spring Break

When most people hear the term 'Spring break' they think of big wet, bouncing tits, of piles of cocaine, of alcohols, and college students all giving each other diseases.

When my friend Joe thinks of Spring break, he thinks of Selena Gomez because he can't get over that shitty movie we watched 3 years ago where we may have touched each other.

Why was Gucci Mane in that movie? Why was James Franco dressed as Riff Raff? Who let this fucking movie happen? Why does nobody talk about it? Why is my scrotum so fucking itchy?

Gucci Mane, to this day, has no knowledge of the filming of Spring Breakers.



When I think of Spring Break, I think of this sweet blog. Since this baby child was conceived that one Spring break of my incredibly boring Sophomore year, I think of Spring break kind of like its birthday.

For some reason, the images of jarlsburg cheese and Bree Olson also come to my head, but we'll disregard that. 

Being that I am now back in college at sweet Rutgers University, I am back to listening to my professors tell me stuff I don't care about and pledging a fraternity whose name shall not be mentioned.

I can assure all of you my butthole is fine. My gooch may not be, but my butthole is A-OK.

Break was great. I did nothing and it was everything I could have imagined it could be. I sat around and touched my penis, slept in until 3AM, I ate 2 digiorno pizzas (by myself) and went to Skyzone in Ocean.

For those who have never been to Skyzone, its a giant indoor trampoline place for kids of all ages, races, and sizes. However, the teenage black kids seem to be really fond of the basketball dunking section- not sure why.

There's one part of the place which has a dodgeball area. Seems like a fun idea, yes, but people get really, really, really into it. I watched a grown ass man shout at some kid.

"HEYO CELTIC! YOU'RE OUT NIGGA YOU FUCKIN' GOT HIT BY THE FUCKIN' BALL YOU'RE OUT SON!"

Sir, you're 30. why are you hollering at a small white child.

Sir.

Plz.

Sir.

Jesuz.

Perhaps the most exciting part of break was going to Pennsylvania State University. Though Penn State is just the Pennsylvanian version of Rutgers, it costs an additional 30k and has almost no black people.

You know what I hate most about Penn State? Their fucking motto.

'We Are Penn State.'

No fucking shit you're Penn State. Who else would you fucking be? I didn't think you were Notre Dame. I didn't think you were Harvard. I was pretty sure you were Penn State.

You know what Rutger's motto is? 'Go Fuck Yourself.'

And yeah, I know the story about how back in the 60's there was some football game where they were gonna only play with white people but then the coach was like, 'no we are all Penn State' or some gay ass shit.

Years later I think the coach was saying something else about the football players in Penn State. Something about the showers... I'm not sure.

I'd like to post a quality Halloween Costume a good friend of mine made


God is he a handsome man.

I have to say though, for a school that gets its motto for being united with black and white people, there are pretty much no black people there.

The drive to PSU was as much fun as putting a catheter up my urethra whilst playing the 'Star Spangled Banner' using a banana and glass crack pipe.

After a short 4 hours of driving, I arrived to the Valley meeting a girl friend of mine. No, no, not a girlfriend- she won't let me hit. But a girl with whom I am close.

I have to admit spending the night at Penn State reminded me how nice people not from New Jersey are. Seriously, you walk into a place and people are just like, 'hey how ya doin' here have this, take that, kiss this' and I'm like damn, bruh.

After a night out in PSU, I returned back to the promise land of New Jersey and brought with me the girl mentioned above. She decided it would be mucho-fun-time to come and meet my father and that side of the family where most of my relatives would be intoxicated.

As soon as we arrived, she started pounding down cups of wine. She's a class act.

Spring break was kind of like the intermission of a high school play. It was too short, it was well needed, and I really didn't want to go back to watching teenagers sing in unison.

Before I leave you all with a picture of something random, I would like to announce that my Gay Lover-Life Partner-Anal Companion-Penis Caresser-Nipple Consultant, Joe, has finally watched all 6 of the Star Wars films.

Since the beginning of our friendship, he has informed me that he had only seen episodes 1, 2, and 3 and therefore had never seen Luke Skywalker or Sweet Darth Vader.

It has been almost 6 years since me and Joe met in that hot tub in Asshole's backyard, so I finally decided we should get this out of the way.

Joe finished the series pissed off that Anakin from episodes 2-3 was in the last scene in the new editions of the films.

For those who don't know what I'm talking about, just go back to tweeting and suck my ass cheek.

I leave you all now with a picture of James Earl Jones, the true Master of the Universe.











Who IS Atheistjustin?

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I am Never Wrong. I am Awesome. I do NOT eat ass.