it's the hate of the month get up get up get up: THE DUMPIN BLOG OTHER FUCKERS WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO WRITE THIS BULLSHIT

Frist off (I was gonna correct my spelling, but I'd like to think that former faggassee Senator Dr. Bill Frist was a straight up dude), I should preface my complaining about other contribudores to this site by saying if there was no you, random internet faceless statcounter number, there would be no us. We appreciate each and every unique one of you, especially when you have looked up something warped like pissing in your daughter's mouth or your wife Michelle getting fucked in the next room to get here. We hope that once you come, you'll take a look around, and stay. We don't really have anything to sell, so there's no profit motive, so I guess basically we're esteem-deficient losers who feel better about our hopeless futures when fuckfaces like you drum up our daily stats on the internets.
So now, let us talk of the lack of activity (aka lacktivity, not to be confused with titfeeding) going on around here. We had mentioned, or I did, that the EWA was probably dead, but then it wasn't because we changed the rules for how we do it, thanks to that dude John. Except nobody done it since we changed it. And I'm being a petty fag where I don't write shit if nobody else will because I think everybody's heard enough of my stupid shit for two lifetimes on the internets. John is awol, probably on some serious shit, so I do not fault him at all. But that BWT dude shows up in the EWA Clubhouse like once every two weeks to be like, "Yo the new Clipse mixtape is crazy bonkers, I'mma write shit on Thursday my day off," then nobody sees him for two more weeks. I am not sure what goes on with Keenon, and he has been with the EWA dorkrod posse forever, and I know he DJs in the real lifes, so I would give him a pass. Except I see him posting all over stupid ass fuckface message boards, and what the fuck is a blog except feeling so self-important about your stupid assed endless message board postings that you decide to accumulate them all in one place, with labels to make for meme-following easy action? I figure one hour wasted on a shitty message board should equal two stupid fucking blog posts.
Non-EWA dumpin posters have slacked too. I guess Jay Pud has his own blog, which I've forgotten to check at all since the first week, mostly because he made me start masturbating about Rachel Ray all the time. Before his blog, I thought I was a solitary freak, but he opened my eyes, so I have embraced my lust for that bitch. You know they had some new chick on Saturday Night Lifes last week, and she did a Rachel Ray character briefly, tits all about to pop out her top, maniacal grin. I like that Rachel Ray's stereotype is for her tits to be about to pop out. I bet she likes that too, old ass mid-life crisis pudge belly slut. (If you are crazy ego-driven and google yourself, my bad Rach, I'm just saying that shit for our shitty fuckers who read this shit, trying to seem like I'm all hard. I'm a nice guy and my dick's not the biggest, but it looks good in Polaroids and I am a great cunninglinguster, although to be honest, while doing that I'll probably lift your legs up and flick your ass too to gauge your reaction, then lick that, but not because I like tasting ass but because I am deprecating myself to lay the groundwork for stuffing my penis into your ass. I like that for some reason with strange women; I think there's animalistic dominance issues going on, which would make sense with some of the other issues I have going on. But hit me up if you read this and you're ever in Virginia - tongueplusdickplusfingerequals16inches@gmail.com.)
I do not know what happened to Diora. I never would have expected porn-related things to be boring, but asking that one slut questions, but nothing porn-related, that was a weird ass thing. I should mention I do not trust porn because I think it's a giant conspiracy by reverse jews to make us all gay, because it's always dudes standing around together training some chick with no respect for her, and the only love they show is to each other. I read somewhere recently about there being feminist porn coming out now, but usually feminist porn goes by the definition of feminism that goes roughly, "Oh yeah? You wanna fuck with us? Well check this out..." where they fuck with we. Why can't there be some sweet nice mutually pleasurable porn that a family can sit down together at Sunday dinner and watch? I have three daughters and the fact that they will in all likelihood date someone who knows the term "Dirty Sanchez" makes me want to scrape the outer layer of the earth off with homemade cluster bombs. Apparently Mike also added some dude to the dumpin blog who is a black dude friend of Diora's who reviews porn tapes, but unless he's like Chris Nieratko from the hood, then fuck that shit. Although I reserve the right to enjoy whatever he does and act like I was down from the get-go.
I had, like three days ago, realized my inner-gangsta while watching Get Rich or Die Trying, and I had planned on making mention how when you see DUMPIN.NET, in your mind I know you are thinking out "dumpin dot net" but I wanted you to understand it was "dumpin bullethole net" because that's how hard shit is around here. But it's not hard. It's a bunch of pussy faggots who don't write shit in the robot internet land of pussy faggotry, so then stupid ass fuckface me comes along and goes, "I'll make a quick hate post" and then I talk forever about nothing in particular. So from now on, when your eyes cross that "DUMPIN.NET" and your mind makes the words play out for your brain to comprehend and shit, take a pause, and re-train yourself to say "dumpin pussyhole net" because that's what this place is. (Also, the idea of a pussyhole net is intriguing to me, like a net that only captured the valuable parts of women while letting the rest pass on by. I may have accidentally unearthed gold with that idea. I should start making some initial sketches.)

grumble grumble grumble: STUPID FANTASY BASEBALL

Last year we had a fantastical baseball thing and it was the first time I ever did it. It's hard for me to support regular baseball, being it's a long boring white ass game for people too stupid to understand golf, and even if I was completely hyped beyond control, I could barely watch two innings of a stupid baseball game. But nerds keep it going, and most sports editors are nerds, so newspapers pretend people still care even though they don't, when most people would rather see some mixed martial artist faggot coverage or soccer or mock drafts than even one fucking baseball story.
I didn't watch any baseball last year, at all, and still finished third in the thing because it's nerd shit and all you need to do is be an asshole about numbers. I shudder to think of people actually sitting around doing fantasy drafts with homemade jerseys of their fake teams. If you do that type of thing, whatever, to each his own. But you have no right to make fun of real dolls or furries or really anything. I would feel more comfortable pounding some brews with a dude talking about how real his real doll is than a guy talking my ear off about his fantasy team.
Anyways, we have a stupid fantasy league set up, but it's important you're not a fag about this type of thing. No fantasy fags are allowed, but last year Mike secretly had two teams, leading me to think he might be in the closet when it comes to baseball dorkery. But you, random internet homo, are welcome to join. I know you want to because you are the internet most likely reading about rap dork shit, so you are probably obsessive compulsive and feel that misunderstood genius thing in your real life, like people around you in real life don't understand the true awesomeness of indy rap or something, and that misunderstood genius Napoleonic complex of a psychological variety is a key demographic of the fantasy baseball fuckface. So point your semen-coated little optical mouse to the stupid yahoo fantasy sports webpage (you ought to be able to find that bullshit yourself) and click the join a league bullshit. Our league number is 121090 and the password is juicyone. Because I got one juicy dick for you fantasy baseball fags to use your mouth as a holster for.

dumbass fuckface retard raven hating on shit again like an old man: MY EMPTY PO BOX

So I have to re-up my stupid PO Box, which is lame, because they moved. The old post office was downtown (meaning where the 3 blocks of town are) by the playground near the river so I could take the kids to the park, and walk up and check my po box with some little 1952 looking ass box with a glass window and shit that the key hardly ever worked in, and there were secret "asbestos warning" symbols going into certain parts of the little post office, but it was tight. Some serious ass small town bullshit and whenever we had a baby the post office lady would let us weigh her on the electronic scale and she knew she didn't have to ask me what I was mailing media class because I knew the rules. Plus, when my zine was bumping, they kinda knew any wackass weird boxes they got with odd labelling was probably mine so they'd ask, and I'd always say yes. Usually it was for me though.
Well they moved their shit uptown to the re-stuccod strip mall, and now it's sterile and white and I've got a metal door to look at and open and see there's nothing in the fucker. Plus, it's bigger so they cost me more. Plus, they changed my fucking number too because they don't even go up to my old number no more. It sucks going to the post office now, next door to the liquor store and the Federated Auto Parts, drink machines in effect like mad, and nothing fucking there.
But I am going to pay my bullshit, mostly because I think the internet and blog faggotry is overrated. Plus none of these other faggots other than Mike even want to write shit for the EWA anymore, always popping in to be like, "YO! I'm gonna write some shit this weekend, school and shit..." and never showing back up to write shit. And I don't care enough about any of that crap. The internet seems boring. Downloading naked pics of chicks is not quite as awesome as chicks sending you naked Polaroids of them sitting on their couch, cooch hairs all over the cushions. Those were the good ole days.
Well anyways, I'm scaling back my internetted nonsense because I started a new zine called LOVE LETTER TO MYSELF. I'm getting off this fucker to crack open a 6-pack of Yuengling I had bought to drink with a crazy old dude who lives on the side of a mountain nearby because he had left his glasses at my mom's house, but his gate was all padlocked up like an air force base, and his phone was busy all day long. So I have the whole 6-pack to myself. I will open it and finish this first issue. I won't hyped it here (hah, I probably will next time too, though it won't register with you robots and your keyboard life force tentacle programming hardwiring) all the time and shit, but here's the deal on acquiring it if you would like.
RAVEN MACK PO BOX 270 SCOTTSVILLE, VA 24590 that is the address, and you mail me (if you are an American fucker) three stamps, and one address other than your own. It will only take one stamp to mail, so I'll use one for someone else I know to send it to, one for you, and might send that third one to your second address you give me, or might not. I might mail my Best Buy bill with it. Hard to say. If you are foreign fucker, you figure out your foreign bullshit, and send me 3 pieces of appropriate foriegn mail things, but also go ahead and send me two other addresses, because most likely I don't know foreign fuckers from your land. Eventually, once these are like the greatest kook retard thing ever, and it eventually gets back to the internet how awesome they are, I'll sell back issues for like $10 each plus the three stamps, so you best get the fuck in now.
Also, my post office box is a wacky thing. It loves treasure and kookiness, and usually it forces me to reward by sending wacky shit back. But not always. Also, if you are some random internet dude who I owe something to for some sort of dorkery welching, do not email me about it. I have a hard time connecting internet with real life. Also, I do not care if you think I should mail you one because of some shit you did for me at some point or some money you gave me. This is the internet, and no one here is real. (If you are that dude in Indiana, this doesn't mean you; I'm gonna mail you a bunch of shit as soon as the 8-ball doesn't block my view of paychecks.)

hate hate hate: THE AMERICAN GANGSTER MOVIE

I got this since it came out this week and I watched it tonight. It was like a really shitty episode of The Wire, except instead of the awesomeness of McNulty, there was some boring ass fuckface Russell Crowe in his place. Also, Denzel Washington should really stop with his "I am Denzel Washington and I am seriously acting, for real," schtick, because that shit is getting tired. It's like he's forgotten how to show any range of emotion. You are a robot internerd fuck, so you've probably already seen this, but in the rare chance you are not completely immersed into popular culture, unless you are the type of person who has no personal ambitions in life and likes to waste every non-employed moment watching bullshit forms of media, you could probably pass on this flick. It's an overrated piece of crap, but it has that "Two major stars plus it's almost 3 hours long" trick to make all the dumbasses around you think it's like the greatest shit since The Godfather.

haterz everywhere we go haterz everywhere we go haterz going down for the count: ARMENIANS

I hate Armenians. Not the dead ones from that mysterious genocide nobody wanted to believe in for like a hundred years, but the modern ones that are all hung up on that shit and like, "I AM ARMENIAN, WE ARE LIKE ULTRA-JEWS BECAUSE WE GOT KILLED BUT NOBODY RECOGNIZES OUR PLIGHT, RECOGNIZE MY PLIGHT!" I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm all for motherfuckers and their trifling ass psychologically-paralyzing plights getting some recognition, but damn, chill the fuck out.
Plus I worked for some Armenians, but they seemed more like just asshole New Yorkers to me, but they had Armenian to them somehow. They sucked. Mike Dikk actually knew one of those dudes too, and it has been a wonderful thing this one kid Mark Telfian (who will surely google search himself and see this) who Mike knew from shithead NY kid hardcore bullshit and I knew from dirtbag Richmond VA housepainter bullshit. Supposedly the kid did a spoken word 7-inch, which is hilarious to me because the Mexicans at work called him "Mongol" for how slow he talked. He also apparently is gay now, which is also funny because his older bros were straight up date-raper types, except I think one of them liked Depeche Mode too, which is always a dead-give-away in a dude for closeted behavior. One time that Depeche Mode liking dude was burning paint off a house with us with a blow torch (dental trimwork had to be stripped of paint and shit) and he had his ladder in a stupid way and fell and landed on a wrought iron rail and caught his shirt on fire. Everybody wanted to laugh their ass but he was the boss, so we had to wait for him to drive off in a frustrated fury and then we all sat around drinking Icehouses and getting our laughs in then.
To me, that little slice of my memory sums up Armenians - full of shit and precariously positioned, with bad taste in music, and apt to look like a goofy fucker much to my amusement. My apologies to all straight up Armenians who aren't complete tools. You should probably start some media-manipulating PR organizations like the Jews did.

anger hatred: STUCK UP BITCHES AT THE STORE WITH GROCERIES

Don't have much time today but like I have never been in my life attracted to little scrawny weasel face women with dark hair and pale face that scrunch it up because they have like seventeen generations of uptightedness in their DNA. So if I smile at some bitch in the LET'S CHARGE DOUBLE EXTRA FOR FAKE ORGANIC BULLSHIT part of the store, it's because I'm a goofy friendly dude trying to buy some organic milk for my daughters so that bovine hormones don't cause them to have sizable breasts by age 10. I am not flirting with your ugly stupid ass, so don't get all insulted and make mental note of identifying features on me to tell the sketch artist later as you drive off in your fucking Saab paranoid I'm a serial rapist. If your life was not full of so much fear, maybe your face wouldn't be all squeezed together in a constant grimace, and then maybe somebody would try harder to give you an orgasm to calm your fucking ass down a touch.

dumbass hate o' the day: HAVING TO HATE THINGS

It is hard to hate every day, even after one day (but rest assured I hate hate hate everything, especially things about you), and today (which is really yesterday) I was overwhelmed with feelings of enjoy. I had to go buy the shit to eat for my birthday, and I decided to make my wife cook a giant ham which I will glaze with brown sugars (if you know what I mean) when I get home from work, which I will do even though I'm self-employed, mostly because I didn't work the previous 19 days and still need money because the lottery didn't come through (again). I was counting on that shit to pay my credit card bill next week too. Fuck.
Anyways, while at the store, I was mesmerized by 37 flavors of female, which are always great because scientifically 99 out of every 100 females has a vagina (aka yoni), and vaginas (aka yonis) are fucking great. They are great to look at, to touch, to sniff and play with, and especially to prod with my fifth largest appendage (unless my head is an appendage too, but isn't that more like the mainframe of the whole operation? who the fuck knows)... vagin4s are just all-around great fun. I love them. I have actually become ridiculously attracted to chicks just because I imagine they had really cute vaginas. Seriously. LOL, I guess I have a vagina fetish.
I am getting older (turn 35 today, which is tomorrow), and my standards in women have not lowered so much as expanded. The age range has widened greatly, and in fact, I have felt it necessary to dial the lower end up a little bit (being 35 and thinking a 15-year-old is sexy is not a good life habit), and whereas I used to just love certain youthful sluts, I have learned to love the vagina-containing beauty of many different types of women. Being in the grocery store buying a giant ham, I was exposed to many executron womens, those of solid jobs with health benefits who have to buy things for their stupid private school kids and uncaring balding ponytail husband who ain't hitting that shit right. And while unknowingly following behind one chick down the pickle/olive/condiment aisle, I realized a fashion style I love like crazy nowadays - those dressy black pants working chicks wear that look like stretch black yoga pants had sex with thin baggy pants and made an offspring pants. You know what the fuck I'm talking about - they're kinda snug on the ass, but not skintight, and the legs taper out so it's not all wackily yoga pantsish, but it's not bellbottoms or some shit either, very classy. I love the way a properly rounded woman's ass looks in those pants, like two balloons waiting to get clutched and twisted into a giraffe shape, except it won't twist so you just squeeze them and enjoy the slap of your beer belly against the top of their ass, while your swinging open air testicles cook up an extra powerful orgasm. Man, that's some great stuff.
I know this is the internet and some of you are probably not very sexually experienced, but let me assure you that looking at naked chicks is nothing like touching naked chicks. So if you lack sexual experience, lower your standards. Fuck fat chicks or ugly chicks or retarded chicks or fuck... have sex with effeminate dudes. You'd be amazed at how good it feels to have an actual live human being involved in your orgasms.
Anyways, I love those style of pants working women wear, highlighting their round asses of lust induction, and I will tell you women, even though you're probably not reading this and it's just some skeevy dude seeing this instead, I am not afraid to lick your ass, but not because I like that type of stuff, but more because I know you will like it and then I can do other things with you. That's my style - a little give, a little take. Although, it's not you reading this but aforementioned skeevy dudes, so they're all either like, "Ewwww... he'd lick an ass," or they think I have a scat fetish. Fucking fruits.
Ahh... I ended up finding hate after all. The internet is a reverse wonderful place.

wackass raven mack's hate o' tha day: PAUL SIMON

Mike says I hate everything, but he only knows me through the robotertrons, which filters all my neurological impulses into negative charges, so that's not really fair. But I ain't writing shit else for the stupid internetronics lately, and probably won't, so I'll share my Hate O' Tha Days with you stupid fuckers, and Mike. What else are you gonna do clicking on this shit? You think the mixtape challenge is gonna wrap up? Another EWA? The top 20 stupid jamz ever? Jokes on you jack.

Today, I hate Paul Simon. Not for any of his music, though that Graceland album is like 17 thousand variations of annoying. But he had that "Slip Slidin' Away" song and I had young parents and my mom had an older half-brother who was a biker who had various addictions over the years and could punch through cinderblocks as a bar trick. One time he was visiting and there was an ice storm and I was playing in the snow and he was all drunk and sliding out to his car to drive home (this was the '70s, so people weren't pussies about driving under influences yet), and he almost busted his big biker swastika tattoo forearm ass a couple of times, and as he drove off, he had the windows down since the defrost didn't work probably, and was singing "Slip Slidin' Away" really loud, smiling at me, wearing sunglasses in an ice storm, leaving a young stupid Raven with quite the mentally etched visual while building my snow fort to fight Germans or Iranians or Dr. Hook or whatever stupid shit I fought back then in fake fights in my imagination. So because of that moment and my crazy uncle Ray, I give Paul Simon's music a pass.
But I hate Paul Simon for marrying Edie Brickell and keeping that bitch locked up ever since. When I was 15, I smoked tons of weed, and was into homely looking cute chicks who could sing. One night, this chick Renee gave me a ride home, and she was my boy's girlfriend, but I was way fucked up (weed plus vodka plus pill equals oh shit how did I get here?), so she gave me a ride home, and she sang on the way while I wavered between passed out and almost dead in the passenger seat. Her soft lullaby voice made me really want to rape her when we got to my house, but I was too drunk to pull it off, and nothing sucks more than getting your ass kicked by a chick you're trying to force sex on. Well, Edie Brickell, when she busted out with her New Bohemian buddies, was a similar type of chick. Very hot in the English major future English teacher "let's drink a nice bottle of wine and then you can fuck me in the ass while I growl" type ladies, looking like Simone from Head of the Class, but secretly like any of the 39 porn stars named Simone.
So my destiny at this point was to wander off to college, probably in West Virginia because it's wild and wonderful like me, and Edie Brickell and her New Bohemians would play a show there, and we'd end up meeting and shit and she'd love me because, you know, I'm the shit, and I'd love her, so then I wouldn't have to go to college because I just live off her record sales money and have sex with her and just chill. It was gonna be real chill, and quite the destiny. They didn't have crazy video game consoles where you have to push 19 buttons at once and you can import holographs of yourself into the game at that point, but I'm sure I was counting on playing a lot of Bases Loaded, always beaming that Okonkwo fucker so he'd charge the mound and get ejected.
Then along comes Paul Simon with his 1967 in Central Park strumming guitar ass. And I guess creepy old acoustic guitar professor types are as attractive to future english teacher types as future english teacher types are to young drug and alcohol fueled raven macks, because Edie Brickell married that fucker and is never to be heard from again. I often imagine he and Woody Allen get together to play pinochle, and Edie Brickell and the little chink girl hang out in the kitchen drinking wine together and mixing up an awesome organic greens salad with grilled wild salmon, talking about paint colors for their guest rooms and what type of faux finish they'd like to get. Poor bitches.
So Paul Simon, I hope you get this emailed to you as a link so you can see how you ruined my life. I could've been rich and lazy by now, and probably would be cheating on Edie Brickell with Lucinda Williams who wouldn't mind my heavy drinking as much as well, but you fucked it all up, little man.
(Also, I googled image searched Edie up, and she's homelier than ever, but I imagine living with a worldly musical little NYC troll will cause that in a woman.)