The fucking entire nation of Japan is fucking crazy.

Disagree?

Well, how about the masterminds behind the portable office tie, cockroach swatting slippers, hay fever hat, or Blogging Boner’s personal fave, the ten-in-one gardening tool.

You’re telling Blogging Boner these people aren’t fucking crazy? And it’s not just a select few — this mindset is typical of the entire Japanese population.

It’s a fact.

C’mon, these are the same crazy fucks who brainwashed young men back in the 1940s into thinking that Kamikazi missions were en vogue.

Cripes.

The latest crazy fucking thing to come out of “The Land of the Rising Sun” is a portable toilet for cars.

Here’s a snip:

“The toilet comes with a curtain large enough to conceal users and a plastic bag to collect waste.”

Only the heavens know what’s next because these crazy Japanese fucks are as unpredictable as the tectonic faults on which they live.

Blogging Boner does not live anywhere near the “Ring of Fire.” But there are surly rednecks and an overabundance of pedophiles around every corner.

If he was trapped in his car because if these Southern predators do you know where he would relieve himself?

In a Gatorade bottle.

He — and others just like him (kinda) — have been doing it since the large-mouthed containers were introduced circa 1983.

Not like the crazy fucking Japanese would have any clue about that $2 remedy.

Blame no one.
Expect nothing.
Do something.

– Bill Parcells, the loquacious and legendary NFL football coach for the New York Giants, New England Patriots and Dallas Cowboys

PS: What does the pic of UFC ring girl Rachelle Leah have to do with this? Absolutely squat. But if Blogging Boner had to “Do Something” it would be nice to … nevermind.

Blogging Boner isn’t sure what is worse:

The fact that some twisted nut hatched this cruel joke and let it loose across the World Wide Web or the thought that Blogging Boner felt the need to repurpose it on his rad Web site.

Ho-hum.

In addition to being a semi-warped blogger, Blogging Boner also manages his very own fantasy football team.

Thanks to the dope right leg of Dallas Cowboys kicker, Nick Folk, Blogging Boner’s squad, BiggityBonesBrigage, earned the “Premium Player of the Week” from Heineken.

Sounds cool, right? (The Award. Blogging Boner knows his team name is super.)

Well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be — there’s no free beer, blow-up dolls, er, furniture or other green flair.

Just a lame sign on a Web site that only 10 people read.

So lame, in fact, Blogging Boner had to share it with everyone who doesn’t read this site.

His real name is Robert Otto Marella.

That wasn’t cool enough for pro wrestling fans so he changed it to perhaps the coolest goddamn nickname in the history of cool nicknames.

This tall tale of Monsoon’s childhood sums it up:

“… a terrifying giant from Manchuria. Supposedly born on an isolated farm, ‘Monsoon’ traveled across the countryside with a gypsy caravan wrestling bears, spoke no English, ate raw meat, and drank his victims’ blood.”

There are some cool real names out there.

For example, former defenseman for the New York Rangers of the NHL, Jeff Beukeboom, has a killer last name. Blogging Boner has always been fascinated with that last name since the mid- to-late 1990s for some unknown reason.

Weird.

That’s besides the point. The point is Gorilla Monsoon has the coolest goddamn nickname in the history of cool nicknames.

It’s even better than Blogging Boner.

Beer really is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.

Just ask the owners of a bar called the Bierdrome in London, England.

These terrorists sell the most expensive beer in the world, which is called Vielle Bon Secours. And one bottle costs you the bill that is graced by none other than New Jersey’s pride and joy, Grover Cleveland.

Ever wonder how the only U.S. president from the armpit of the United States got on the $1,000 bill? It was probably a big mistake.

Kinda like Route 17.

Anyway, Blogging Boner has no idea how powerful this shit is. But at that cost it better taste like a liquid Burger King Whopper with cheese (no tomatoes) and knock you on your keester after a few tugs.

Short of that and Blogging Boner will stick to a potent mix of the Heineken Experience and a nice session at the local Grasshopper.

And that’ll only set you back a coupola Abraham Lincoln’s.

That’s money well spent.

… because just when he went to order UFC 74: “Respect” the little booger went and did some crazy shit like puke on the remote control.

What a great spot. The only better spot is on the neck. When Blogging Boner gets real heated he tells punks, “Hey, step and I will puke on your neck!”

It’s an amazing deterrent and sounds cool as shit.

Anyway, the tan-colored mucous glop pictured above was basically formula. Not Mother’s Milk or hour-hold pureed squash.

It still made the buttons all sticky.

It’s true. And there’s is even a “New Hunky Aroma.”

It must be so rad to have great-smelling jizz because that means whores probably enjoy the taste and want to eat it like bon bons.

Poor Pamela Bach. Too bad, so sad.